Then he looked up and saw her, and his face dissolved into a huge crooked grin. "Hey," he said, standing up and brushing off his hands on his already dusty dark jeans. "What do you think?" He held his arms out to indicate the clearing.

Callie approached slowly, aware that even the sight of Easy doing something so simple as holding his arms out was making all of her old feelings for him come back. f.u.c.k. This was definitely going to be harder than she thought, unshaved legs or no. "It's nice," she commented politely. "Where are the flowers?" "Well, it is October." "What, there are no flowers in fall?" she asked petulantly, already feeling herself slide into the slightly contrary att.i.tude that Easy had always gotten off on. She didn't mean to-it just felt so . . . natural. "That's stupid." Easy laughed. His dark blue eyes crinkled up at the edges, and Callie could tell from his expression that he wanted to kiss her, the way he had done a thousand times-which broke her heart. Yes, she'd been hoping with every ounce of her being that he would realize how stupid he had been and come running back to her, throwing himself at her feet and begging for forgiveness. She missed him. She missed his deep laugh that came from somewhere down in his belly, the way he raised one eyebrow slightly when he thought she was bulls.h.i.tting him about something. "Whatever. The leaves will make a pretty cool background, especially once the sun starts to set," he said.

Callie felt Easy's gaze wash over her. Did he look at all of his models this way? A few weeks ago, Tinsley had insinuated that Easy had been out in this very painting spot with Jenny. That hurt. No way was she going to let him hurt her again, not like that. Callie shook her head disdainfully. "So, what do you want me to do here? Stand in front of the leaves?" Easy scratched his neck and narrowed his eyes, focusing intently on her face. Callie felt her stomach flop but tried not to let her face betray her feelings. "I want to do some sketches first to sort of get some ideas out." He picked up an enormous sketch pad and pulled a stubby pencil from behind his ear. "So maybe just sort of sit on the rock for now?" Callie eyed the rock. She'd sort of thought modeling would mean stretching out on a luxurious, velvet chaise lounge, maybe just wearing some silky robe casually thrown about her. Something t.i.tanic-like, the heart of the ocean around her neck. Not perching on a dirty, uncomfortable rock in the middle of October when it was freezing out and she had to wear her puffy red vest with the fur-trimmed hood. If Easy wanted to paint an Eskimo, he could've looked one up in the library. Well, whatever. He was the artist. She eased herself down on top of the rock, hooking her stacked heels on a small ledge. "How's this?" "You look like you're p.i.s.sed to be sitting on a rock," Easy said with a knowing smile. "Or being forced this close to nature." She knew Easy kind of got off on the fact that she was a bit of a sheltered princess. "Fine." Callie pivoted on the rock and leaned over, throwing her arms around it in a giant bear hug. "Oh, rock, I love you so much and I am so excited to be sitting on you, even though you are cold and dirty and uncomfortable." She tried to put the most lovesick look on her face that she could manage and blew kisses at it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Easy bent over with laughter.

Callie got really into it, striking a series of exaggerated poses around the rock, then getting up and pouncing on the birch trees. "O trees, o nature," she said throatily, wrapping her arms around a skinny white birch tree and fake-kissing it, bringing her lips as close to the peeling white bark as she could bear without thinking too much about the bugs that lived in it. She tossed her hair like a real spotlight-loving prima donna and watched as Easy's pencil flew across the page.

But when she tried to pull away from the tree, she felt a sharp tug on her scalp. "Ow!" she cried, reaching up toward her head. Her hair was stuck on a branch. f.u.c.king nature.

"Are you okay?" Easy was at her side in seconds, his sketch pad and pencil abandoned on the ground. "Don't pull." As he reached over her to try and untangle her hair from the branch, she caught the familiar smell of his Ivory soap mingled with musty, stable-y smells. She glanced up at him, tenderly working on her hair, trying not to pull against her scalp, and she felt her hazel eyes fill up with fat tears.

"There." Easy pushed the branch away from her head. "You're free." And then he saw her face. "Did I hurt you?" Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, she chastised herself, but that just made the tears spill over. She covered her face with her hands. "Yes," she said softly, meaning it. Not her hair though, her heart. She tried to turn away from him, but he was too quick. His strong arms pulled her to his chest before she could protest, and once her body was against his, she just melted into the scratchy wool of his sweater. Easy.

She felt his cheek resting again her head. "I know. I'm so sorry, but I swear I will never, ever hurt you again," he whispered as he kissed the spot where her hair had gotten snagged by the tree. She had to close her eyes. "I love you, Callie. I really do." And before she could stop to think about it any more, she kissed him. His cheek first, then his eyebrows, his nose, and finally, his soft, warm, waiting mouth.

19.

A WAVERLY OWL KEEPS HER LIPS SEALED. OR NOT.

Brett glanced down at her calculus homework, unable to concentrate on the lines of letters and numbers. She'd come over to Kara's for some study time, but so far hadn't been able to focus. She bit the end of her pen.

"What did you get for number twelve? It's n2 + 2n, right?" Kara asked from her perch in her red b.u.t.terfly chair, her calculus textbook balanced on her thighs. She pressed the eraser end of her pencil to her forehead, right between her eyes. "Because if it's not, I'm going to take this book over to Dr. Goldstein's house right now and set it on fire on her front lawn, right next to her freaky little gnomes." Dr. Goldstein lived in one of the small white clapboard faculty houses at the edge of campus, and her lawn was peppered with brightly colored ceramic gnomes that would probably have been stolen by frustrated calculus students if not for Spike, Dr. Goldstein's Rottweiler, which patrolled her yard, drooling and growling.

"Good thing you're right, because they say Spike can smell p.i.s.sed-off student blood a hundred yards away." Brett giggled. "A man-eating dog and garden gnomes-what is Dr. Goldstein's deal, anyway?" Kara leaned forward conspiratorially, slamming her heavy textbook closed. "Didn't you hear that, like, two years ago, she started hooking up with some genius graduate student from Caltech who was interviewing her for his senior thesis?" Kara's eyes widened and she drummed her bitten-down fingernails against her notebook. "Apparently, he lives in the city now and comes up every weekend to, you know, interview her." Brett gasped. Dr. Goldstein's shirts were always b.u.t.toned wrong and she wore mismatched socks. Brett had taken it as a sign of her absentminded brilliance-but maybe it was because she was up late the night before, getting some from her hunky young grad student? "Isn't she, like, a thousand? I definitely would not have guessed that she was-you know-having wild, pa.s.sionate s.e.x every weekend." Kara let her pencil fly across the room so that it landed right in Brett's lap. "I say more power to her." "Whatever. I've been with younger guys and older guys, and I think they're all the same breed of idiot." Brett picked up Kara's yellow number 2 pencil and examined it. No teeth marks. Brett's pencils were all chewed up at the ends, no matter how gross she knew the habit was. Someone had told her once-probably Heath-that chewing on pencils was a sign that you were s.e.xually repressed.

"That sounds so pessimistic," Kara said wistfully, dropping her calc book onto the floor and standing up to stretch, her gray American Apparel T-shirt rising to reveal a thin sliver of pale stomach above her black drawstring lounge pants. "I'm sure there are some good guys out there. Like, one or two." "Right." Brett ran her hand across Kara's bright-blue-and-red Batgirl bedspread, smoothing out the wrinkles she'd made by sprawling out across it for the past hour. G.o.d, how much easier would life be if she had a single? No more nutjob Tinsley to have to tiptoe around, worrying about when her next eruption was due. And Kara's room was just so . . . nice. It was so neat and clean, and smelled like new books and incense. She even had a leafy green plant dangling from her curtain rod. "They just happen to live in, like, outer Mongolia or something." Kara spun the dial on her stereo, turning up the volume on the new Aimee Mann CD. She did a few dance steps on the hardwood floor, looking kind of silly but totally unselfconscious. Brett envied her that. "And they probably don't have Internet there, do they?" Brett smiled as she watched Kara prance around her room. Until last weekend, Kara had hung out by herself-but after the lockdown party, she had sort of unquestioningly been taken in by the Waverly elite. Brett had noticed both Alison Quentin and Sage Francis wearing clothes from Kara's closet this week, and Heath and some other guys had been seen hanging out with her at various times. And yet she still sat with Yvonne Stidder and some of the other loners at dinner. To Brett, that was just so unimaginably cool. "Are you saying you wouldn't date someone who lived in outer Mongolia and didn't have Internet access?" Brett teased. "That's discrimination." Kara nodded with a wicked grin. "Sure am-no cybers.e.x, no deal!" Brett laughed loudly. It felt good to laugh, to forget about Jeremiah and how he had lied to her, and Mr. Dalton and how he had lied to her too. Forgetting guys was totally blissful.

"Ladies?" There was a stern knock on Kara's open door and Angelica Pardee, with her faded flowered bathrobe bunched tightly around her waist, glared into the room disapprovingly. "It's late. Time to turn in." "Sorry, Mrs. Pardee," Kara answered sweetly, quickly turning her music back down. "We just have a few more calc problems to finish off, and then we're done." Pardee cinched her belt tighter around her waist and sniffed the air disapprovingly, but not seeing any banned candles in sight, she seemed satisfied. "Not much longer." Brett got up and closed the door behind her. The hallway had already quieted down after Pardee's patrol, and Brett was suddenly very aware of the fact that she and Kara were completely alone. "So, what about that last problem?" She returned to Kara's bed and perched gingerly on the edge, her pulse racing. It was totally Heath's fault for putting the thought into her head this afternoon, but she couldn't help it now-she just kept thinking about the tiny kiss that she and Kara had shared.

Kara scooped up her calc notebook and sat down on the bed. The stereo was still playing, but quietly, and there were no noises from the hallway. It kind of felt like she and Kara were the only people-or at least the only sane people-awake right now. Kara leaned over and placed her finger on Brett's notebook. "I think you've got it." She flipped a page of the math book, then glanced up at Brett. "It's the summation, right?" Brett nodded, feeling kind of dazed.

"Are you okay?" Kara asked, swiping at a strand of light brown hair that had fallen in her face. "Are you still thinking about Dr. Goldstein and her boy toy?" "No!" Brett laughed and grabbed for her bottle of Evian on Kara's bedside table. "Don't give me nightmares." "Then what are you thinking about?" Kara asked, gently, her greenish-brown eyes curious.

Could she honestly tell her? What if Kara thought she was a freak and demanded Brett get the h.e.l.l out of her room? But she knew Kara wouldn't do that. Everything with her seemed so natural-even this didn't seem like a big deal. "Umm . . . about the meeting last night." Kara finally blushed, but only a little, like she knew immediately what Brett was referring to. "Oh." She played with the edge of her notebook paper, waving it back and forth. "That was . . ." She shrugged her slim shoulders, and a small grin crept onto her face. "Kinda fun." Brett pressed her lips together. "Yeah." A moment pa.s.sed, as they looked at each other. Brett noticed a tiny freckle just below Kara's pale pink lips. And then Brett leaned in, over the sprawled-open pages of mathematical problems and pencil scrawls, and pressed her mouth slowly to Kara's.

Their lips touched softly, and Brett closed her eyes, letting her mouth move almost imperceptibly against Kara's. It wasn't the sort of sloppy devouring she was used to from Jeremiah. Kara's mouth was neat and small, and in a totally weird way, it was sort of like . . . kissing herself.

It was nice.

20.

A WAVERLY OWL CAN CONfiDE IN HER ROOMMATE . . . RIGHT?

Jenny pounded up the stairs of Dumbarton on Wednesday night after spending the after-dinner hours in the library, working on her first long paper for European history. After three grueling hours, she was happy to come back to her room again. Finally, she didn't have to tiptoe around Callie anymore. They were both beyond that, and it felt exhilarating. She tried not to think too much about missing Easy-she just kind of hoped that she could push that sadness aside until one day it wasn't really sadness anymore, just nostalgia. It wasn't the end of the world, she kept telling herself. And it wasn't like she wasn't ever going to see him again. Maybe she could still go horseback riding with him? And she'd still get to be in art cla.s.s with him and joke around and see his FOOD NOT BOMBS T-shirt. She just wouldn't get to . . . kiss him.

Anyway. She paused in front of the door of 303, reading a note scrawled in red marker across her dry-erase board: Tomorrow night = 1. Coffee 2. Study 3. Gossip 4. All of the above? xo, Brett. Brett hadn't shown up for practice today, but because she was junior cla.s.s prefect, all she had to do was hint at some sort of important meeting and Smail let her skip, no questions asked.

Jenny opened the door quietly, half expecting Callie to be in bed already. But she brightened when she saw her roommate was still awake. In fact, she was standing in front of a completely empty closet in a pink tank top and white girly boxers folded over at the waist, staring into it, all of her expensive clothes stacked in teetering piles on top of the spare bed, threatening to spill over at any moment.

"You're cleaning?" Jenny blurted out, surprised. The room looked like an exclusive SoHo boutique had just exploded.

"Huh?" Callie glanced over her thin shoulder at Jenny and blinked a few times. "Oh. Yeah, I guess . . . I just got this urge." Callie's eyes ran over the towering stacks of clothing like she couldn't remember how they'd gotten there. "I guess I didn't think it was such a big project." "Why don't you just leave it?" Jenny suggested awkwardly. "Finish it tomorrow?" She dropped her heavy bag onto the floor and sank down on her own bed, grateful that she'd soon be curled up under her father's old quilt that still sort of smelled like their apartment on 99th Street and West End Avenue.

Callie bit her lip and fingered the sleeve of a transparent, muslin-y blouse on the top of one precarious stack. "But the room is a total disaster," she finally answered, a little poutily.

"I don't mind if you don't." Jenny propped herself up on her elbows and kicked off her pink Chuck Taylors. They thudded gently against the hardwood floor. "It's not like it's usually clean," she added with a giggle. The room, even with only the two of them in all that s.p.a.ce, always seemed to be littered with empty Diet Pepsi bottles (Callie's) and half-eaten mini-bags of Baked Doritos (Jenny's), and the spare desk was always buried under ma.s.sive stacks of clean laundry, notebooks, old term papers, and various objects that were not needed at any precise moment. There was even a neatly folded tapestry that neither Jenny nor Callie laid claim to that had somehow appeared one day.

Callie bunched her hair into two fistfuls and tugged at it. Her arms looked as flimsy as plastic straws, and Jenny thought about how much she'd like to force-feed her roommate a cheeseburger. Maybe Callie was so out of it because she was starving? She didn't really know what she should do about that. Should she talk to Pardee? Suddenly she remembered the two Tootsie Pops she'd picked up at the snack bar. Jenny patted the pocket of her Waverly blazer and held out the two of them, like a peace offering.

Callie laughed, and Jenny mentally willed her to take one. She did, coming over to Jenny and taking the raspberry one shyly. "Thanks." Jenny smiled. Maybe Callie just needed to take her mind off things. "Hey, you know that really tall, cute freshman?" she asked as she unwrapped her orange lollipop and stuck it on her tongue.

"Julian?" Callie answered with her mouth full of lollipop, so that it came out sounding like "Mwwaniaw?" She pulled the sucker from her mouth, her lips already tinged purple. "What about him?" "I don't really know." Jenny tucked her feet up next to her on the bed and stuffed her folded pillow beneath her head. "He just kind of . . . keeps showing up around the dorm. Like, he was in the bushes outside when we got back from practice today." She giggled, thinking about their funny conversation when she'd found him. "And he was in the broom closet yesterday. Downstairs." "Wait, he snuck into the dorm?" Callie's hazel eyes focused on Jenny's face and lit up with excitement. She pulled the lollipop out of her mouth and waved it at Jenny. "Do you think he, like, likes you?" "Oh, definitely not," Jenny said quickly, her cheeks turning pink. She hated it when people suggested someone liked her and she didn't really think it was true. "I really have no idea what he was doing. He made up some lame excuse about looking for something." "Right." Callie rushed over to Jenny's bed, feeling very sisterly all of a sudden, and sat down near Jenny's yellow-socked feet. "I bet he was looking for you!" She felt energized just thinking about it. How perfect would that be? What Jenny needed was some cute guy to come out of nowhere and sweep her off her feet and make her forget that she had ever even known a boy named Easy Walsh. And Julian was totally hot-maybe a little tall for Jenny, but clearly she liked them tall. Callie patted her roommate's feet excitedly.

"No, that's totally silly. It wasn't like that." Jenny's whole mouth was orange from her lollipop and Callie had to giggle. She looked like she was just a little kid, albeit a really adorable one. And Julian was, what? A freshman? He couldn't be more perfect for her. "But I mean, we had this really nice kind of flirty chemistry thing going on." She sat up in bed, her eyes slightly dreamy, and toyed with a long brown curl.

"Maybe you'll run into him tomorrow?" Callie tried not to sound too eager-she didn't want Jenny to suspect that she had ulterior motives or anything. A tiny wave of guilt pa.s.sed over her as she realized that she was already lying to Jenny by not telling her about Easy. But it was for her own good, right? It would devastate Jenny if she knew that Easy and Callie were, kind of . . . Easy and Callie again.

Jenny stood up and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of cozy-looking navy Nick and Nora pj bottoms, the white stick of the Tootsie Pop extending out of her mouth like some kind of ber-skinny cigarette. She glanced at Callie and smiled devilishly. "Well, I did ask if he wanted to model for my art cla.s.s project. So . . . I probably will see him tomorrow." "That's awesome!" Callie exclaimed. She couldn't help it-she exploded off the bed and gave Jenny a huge hug. Please, please, please, please, please let Jenny and Julian fall madly in love! "Something's totally going to happen between you two. I can feel it!" She just hoped it would happen fast.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: Wednesday, October 9, 9:29 P.M.

Subject: Happy Wednesday!

Hi Dad, Didn't mean to sound like I was in a funk the other day-I think I was just a little drained after an excruciating Latin cla.s.s. (But you should hear me recite Cicero now-I've come far in a month!) Things are totally going well. As always, I'm loving my art cla.s.ses. I can't believe I get credit for drawing. We just got a new a.s.signment today that I'm hoping to tackle tomorrow-with the help of a cute boy who's going to model for me. (I love school!) We're reading Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse in English cla.s.s. Dad, I can't believe you let me make it through fifteen years of life on this planet without ever reading this. How could you?? =) Miss you. Have an extra cupcake at Bernard's for me (if you haven't already)!

Your favorite daughter and xoxo, Jenny From: [email protected] To: Julian [email protected] Date: Wednesday, October 9, 9:45 P.M.

Subject: Be a model citizen . . .

. . . or at least a model Owl. If you're still up for being part of my art project, will you meet me tomorrow in the art studio? Six-thirtyish maybe, or 6:45?

Let me know. Looking forward to seeing what T-shirt you'll wear next.

-Jenny ;)

21.

A WAVERLY OWL IS ALWAYS A GRACIOUS WINNER-ESPECIALLY WHEN SHE'S CHEATED.

Thursday morning, Tinsley was buzzed into Mary-mount's Stansfield Hall office. It was an enormous room on the second floor with huge bay windows that had sweeping views of the entire campus and, in early October, the flaming colors of the autumn foliage. As she strode across the dark mahogany floor and onto the distinguished, threadbare Turkish carpet in her Stuart Weitzman lace-up brown leather boots, Marymount stood up from his shockingly neat desk. It wasn't that it was empty-it was in complete geometric order. A large paper calendar was spread out in the middle, filled with carefully penned-in appointments and notes. Tiny cups of pens, dishes of paper clips, a tape dispenser, and a stapler were all lined up as if in military formation, ready at any moment to attack. Even the silver picture frame of the dean's family was angled perfectly toward his chair to allow his guests to just catch a glimpse of his blond, angelic-looking wife and children. Interesante. His wife was way prettier than Angelica freaking Pardee. Tinsley shook his outstretched hand.

"Ms. Carmichael," he said pleasantly, if a little efficiently. "What can I do for you today?" Tinsley noticed he was wearing a floral-print tie, with a field of red and pink tulips. His prematurely balding secretary, Mr. Topkins, had been wearing one with yellow daisies. Weird. Tinsley sank into one of the antique chairs and crossed her legs, primly stretching the hem of her army green b.u.t.ton-front shirtdress down over her knee. "I've been talking with Mrs. Feingold at the Rhinecliff Public Library about borrowing their copy of It Happened One Night to show at an upcoming Cinephiles event." That much was certainly true-she'd spent an hour listening to the elderly woman chew her ear off about how "debonair" Clark Gable was and how all the ladies in her day "swooned" over him.

"Ah!" Marymount exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers against his temples. "Excellent film. That Claudette Colbert-what a charmer." Tinsley nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. So, as I was talking to Mrs. Feingold, she mentioned the fact that the library occasionally holds outdoor screenings, and they have all the equipment for it and would be willing to lend it to the Cinephiles." Marymount's face was becoming decidedly darker as she was talking, almost comically so, as if he had suddenly sucked on a lemon.

Tinsley plowed on regardless. "And so . . . I was hoping to get permission for a special off-campus Cinephiles event. Mrs. Feingold also offered up the use of her old barn in town, as she says it would be perfect for screening the film on its side wall." That part was the fairly egregious lie-poor Mrs. Feingold probably would have swooned herself if she'd known how she was being implicated in this farce, yet Tinsley couldn't very well tell Marymount that the barn belonged to the liquor store guy.

Dean Marymount shook his head slowly and resolutely. "I'm afraid it is completely out of the question to grant permission for something like this." He ran his hand through his wispy, colorless hair and coughed. "The legal ramifications alone . . ." He was shaking his head faster now, like it was just such a phenomenally stupid idea he couldn't even believe Tinsley had bothered him with it. "But especially in light of all the trouble that has gone on here in the last few weeks." He looked sternly at her over the rims of his gla.s.ses. "It's simply not possible." "I understand your reservations, sir," Tinsley answered politely, sitting forward in her chair and lowering her eyes humbly. Her knees trembled a little at what she was about to say, but she kept her voice steady. She'd been excited about this meeting all of yesterday, for this precise moment. After she said it, there would be no turning back. Marymount would hate her forever, if he didn't already. But was it fair that she and Callie should be punished for getting caught that weekend in Boston, drunk and half naked, and yet he, who was arguably the worst offender, cheating on his wife with Pardee, should go completely unscathed? Tinsley had been forced to move into a room with pain-in-the-a.s.s Brett, and yet she had kept Mary-mount's secret. She was certainly ent.i.tled to some, ahem, fringe benefits of being his secret sharer.

And with that att.i.tude, she plunged forward. "I know the school's policy against off-campus activities, but I can a.s.sure you that this would be nothing like the trip to Boston." She paused, staring at the toes of her boots as if she were completely contrite and not, in fact, blackmailing him. "Something like that would never happen again. . . . I guess everyone just got a little crazy that weekend and wasn't thinking about the ramifications of their actions." There. She'd said it. Tinsley had thought and thought about the best way to say it, and had finally decided on veiling it enough so that Marymount would not be too humiliated or offended that he immediately expelled her. If she was subtle enough, she could give him an out-in his heart of hearts, he knew what she was saying, and she was allowing him to just play along with it and not so much think about it as actually being blackmailed. By one of his students. The silence lingered in the air, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, and the pounding of her heart were the only sounds her ears picked up. Maybe he was just going to explode-and expel her? She would actually be kind of impressed if he did.

After a sufficiently awkward silence, Marymount cleared his throat, and Tinsley looked up eagerly, her face the picture of innocence. Think Bambi, she told herself. Snow White.I have done nothing wrong. Let him see it. She felt his eyes searching her face for something, but they didn't seem to find it. Finally, he sighed heavily. "And when were you hoping to have this event?" Tinsley's heart leapt with joy. "This Friday-tomorrow, that is-would be perfect. I know it's short notice, but the weather is supposed to be terrific, and it just seems like a wonderful chance for this to happen before autumn really starts, you know?" Marymount took another deep breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Tinsley pretended not to notice what was going on with him and kept a pleasantly surprised and grateful expression on her face, squelching her triumphant elation. Always be a gracious winner. "I just want you to know, Ms. Carmichael"-Marymount's glance at the framed picture on his desk did not escape Tinsley's watchful eye-"that I am going to have to hold you fully responsible for anything that goes wrong." She nodded gravely, already thinking about making out with Julian in the barn. "Nothing will go wrong, sir, but I am willing to be responsible for anything that may." "And also," he continued, his voice unwavering, his eyes meeting Tinsley's directly for the first time in several minutes, "this is going to be the last time something like this occurs. Understood?" "Perfectly." She nodded, even though everyone knows that the first time, for anything, is rarely the last.

To: Undisclosed recipients From: [email protected] Date: Thursday, October 10, 12:38 P.M.

Subject: It Happened One Night-i.e., tomorrow Dear lucky invitees, You are cordially welcomed to join Cinephiles for a special off-campus party and screening of It Happened One Night at the Miller farm in Rhinecliff, tomorrow (Friday) night at 7 P.M.

Dean Marymount has graciously allowed us to hold this special showing of the film in honor of his undying love of the great Claudette Colbert. Be sure to send him a thank-you e-mail on Sat.u.r.day morning. That is, if you're not still hammered.

Transportation: I trust you are all inventive enough to work that out on your own.

Au revoir, mes enfants, Tinsley From: [email protected] To: Date: Thursday, October 10, 12:40 P.M.

Subject: Re: Be a model citizen . . .

J,.

I'm still down to help out with your project. I'll be there at 6:30.

So you like the T-shirts, huh? I'll try to surprise you. In the words of Right Said Fred, I'm too s.e.xy for my shirt. . . .

Just kidding-I promise I'll come fully clothed. See you later.

-(the other) J

22.

A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT OVERTHINK MATTERS OF THE HEART. EXCEPT WHEN SHE DOES.

Despite the soothing whir of the cappuccino machine and the Dar Williams music playing at CoffeeRoasters, the tiny coffee shop in downtown Rhinecliff, on day afternoon, Brett's whole body was atwitter. Across from her, Jenny was bent over her textbook, happily highlighting away. The people who hung out at CoffeeRoasters were of the soy-milk-ordering, organic-pumpkin-m.u.f.fin-eating variety, and although Brett was not crunchy by any stretch of the imagination, she kind of liked being around people who were.

But even with the study-inducing vibe-not to mention caffeine-all she could think about was what had happened last night with Kara. The kiss. Brett had never kissed a girl before, not seriously, but she'd never been a prude, either, so she just hadn't thought about it one way or another. She could think of plenty of times when at parties, drunken girls tended to get all huggy and kissy, but she'd always thought that was mainly for the benefit of the h.o.r.n.y boys watching. Kissing Kara was different. First of all, no one was watching, and second of all, they did it because they wanted to, and not because they were drunk.

If Brett had been worried that things would be awkward between her and Kara after their little make-out session, she needn't have wasted her energy. When Brett had run into Kara coming out of the bathroom this morning, a lock of wet hair clinging to her cheek, the two of them had instantly grinned at each other-the shy, knowing grin that exists only between two people who share a very exciting secret. And nothing was really different at lunch either. They chatted as they would have before, except everything was a little more charged, each of them knowing what the other was thinking about, and no one else in the world having a clue. It was definitely exciting. Maybe they stood a little closer to each other, but not enough that anyone else would notice.

Brett kept glancing up at Jenny, sitting across the tiny, slightly sticky table from her, her yellow highlighter poised over her biology textbook, ready to attack. She had to keep biting her cheek to prevent herself from spilling her guts to Jenny right now. But . . . Jenny had kept her secret about Dalton, after all. She could certainly be trusted. And Brett really felt like if she didn't tell someone about this, she might spontaneously combust.

Jenny looked up questioningly from her book before Brett could think of another reason not to spill. Her chocolate brown eyes were just so warm and friendly, and the freckles sprinkled across her slightly upturned nose just so rea.s.suring and nonjudgmental, Brett couldn't fight it any more. She flipped her book down on the table and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Have you ever kissed a girl?" she asked in a low voice.

"What?" Jenny absently tapped her highlighter against her cheek, apparently forgetting the top was off, leaving a tiny yellow splotch near the corner of her mouth. She looked a little bewildered. "I don't know. You mean, like . . . seriously? Or like you and Kara at the meeting the other night?" "Well . . ." Brett glanced around them, suddenly feeling paranoid. Was that guy from her calc cla.s.s over there eavesdropping? No, he had tiny white earphones stuck in his ears. "The thing is, we sort of did it again." Brett twisted the gold chain of her pendant necklace around her index finger. "Last night." "Wait, what?" Jenny looked like she'd suddenly been hit with a bucket of ice-cold water. "You mean, like, made out?" Her voice squealed a little on the last two words.

"Shhhh!" Brett pressed her finger to her lips. She didn't want to shock the two older women to her left. Although in their long, shapeless patterned dresses, they could be lesbians themselves. But wait-you couldn't tell a person's s.e.xuality just by looking at them, she reminded herself. That was exactly what she didn't want other people to be doing to her. She put her elbows on the table, forgetting that the delicate silk fabric of her Anna Sui peasant blouse would probably stick to the leftover coffee goo. "I don't know. Sort of. I mean . . . I really have no idea what it was." "OhmiG.o.d." Jenny made a steeple with her fingers and tapped them rapidly against each other. "That is so crazy. What was it like?" Brett felt a rush of warmth for Jenny. She had responded totally perfectly-surprised and curious, of course, but not shocked or horrified. Brett never would have been able to tell something like this to Tinsley-even back in the day, when they were allegedly friends-without Tinsley making a snide comment about Brett needing to buy a pair of butch Birkenstocks or something like that. "It was . . . nice," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "But I'm just so confused, you know?" "I can imagine." Jenny took a sip from her navy blue coffee mug with the words MIKE'S AUTOMOTIVE on the side. The CoffeeRoasters owners allegedly bought their mismatched dishes and mugs at yard sales. The idea was sort of charming, actually. "So . . . do you, like, want to do it again?" Brett's face flushed. "Kind of." Meaning, yeah. She paused, eyeing Jenny's face. "Do you think that's weird?" "I doubt you're the first person in the world to kiss a girl and like it." Jenny giggled. The cappuccino machine whirred to life over Brett's shoulder, hissing loudly. "I mean, girls are beautiful. Why wouldn't you want to kiss them? Girls always smell nice, and boys can be totally grody sometimes." Then her face turned a little more serious. "And Kara is awesome. She's cute and sweet and fun to be around."

Brett felt herself start to blush. Was she really thinking about Kara like that? Well, she guessed so. Even though she'd been a little embarra.s.sed to start the conversation, she had to admit it felt good to get it all off her chest. As confused as she was, she was excited, too, and it was nice to get to talk about it with Jenny. "So, I must be bi, then, right?" Brett continued, lowering her voice. "Or is this just some sort of reaction to getting screwed over one too many times by a jacka.s.s guy?" Jenny swallowed a gulp of coffee. She peered over her mug thoughtfully. "I don't know. You've had a few big, I don't know, crashes lately." She traced her thumb along the rim of her cup before tearing open another packet of Splenda and emptying it into her drink. "But maybe it's a good idea to not try and label things yet, you know? Labels don't really mean anything." Brett pressed her lips together in a slight pout. "But I like labels," she admitted. "They make everything so much clearer." Her sister Bree always told her she liked things to be wrapped up too neatly, and that part of the point of life was its messiness, its refusal to be wrapped up. Brett always took the advice with a grain of salt-it was probably Bree's excuse for a messy room, or for breaking up with boys she'd dated without actually telling them. But maybe Jenny had a point?

Jenny tilted her head sympathetically. "You don't need to overa.n.a.lyze everything. Just . . . follow your heart. And don't worry-your secret's safe with me." She brought a dainty finger up to her mouth and pretended to zip her lips.

Brett nodded slightly. Follow her heart. Right. How many times had she been told to do that, and where had it led her so far? To its being broken twice in the past month and a half. But still. Kara was about as different from Eric Dalton and Jeremiah Mortimer as you could get-personality-wise as well as anatomically. Not that she knew much about Kara's anatomy. At least, not yet.

23.

A LITTLE HEALTHY COMPEt.i.tION IS GOOD FOR AN OWL.

"You suck, Buchanan," Julian spat as he threw his tall body across the blond wood squash court in a feeble effort to return the perfectly placed drop shot Brandon had just unloaded. He crashed into the smudged white wall of the court as the ball dropped harmlessly in front of him.

"How come I just kicked your a.s.s then?" Brandon let his racquet clatter to the ground and stretched a sweaty hand out to where Julian was sprawled, panting, on the floor. Julian took it and stood up with a groan. On the other courts the thwacking sounds of squash b.a.l.l.s. .h.i.tting racquets, walls, and sweaty boys continued, but Brandon had just beaten Julian, the second-best player on the team, for the fourth game in the row. It was one of the best feelings in the world when everything about his game seemed to be working for him-when his reflexes were instantaneous, when his shots were all slapped at exactly the right angle, when he could almost tell where the ball was going to land even before his opponent hit it. He was just . . . on. Maybe it had something to do with the s.e.xy text message he'd gotten from Elizabeth right before practice?

"Yeah, whatever." Julian shook Brandon's hand good-naturedly before wiping his once-white wristband against his glistening forehead. "Just wait until next time." "Do you think maybe your incredible losing streak to me may have something to do with that girly thing on your head?" Brandon gestured toward Julian's ponytail. Was the Tom-Cruise-in-Magnolia look ever a good idea? Was any Tom Cruise look ever a good idea? Brandon pushed open the court door and started to head toward the water fountain.