Infamous (3 page)

Jenny settled down into her chair, pulling her iPod mini from her pocket. Well, she thought, anything was possible.

Instant Message Inbox

VerenaArneval:
So, R U going to miss Alan over vacay?

AlisonQuentin:
Uh, we’re taking a break, so…NO.

VerenaArneval:
What? I never got that bulletin.

AlisonQuentin:
Just happened yesterday. Apparently his ex is home for the holidays too, and wants to get together and smoke some J’s.

VerenaArneval:
So? Alan’s a pothead. Big deal?

AlisonQuentin:
Yeah…but I know what Alan likes to do when he gets stoned.

VerenaArneval:
So why are you on a break, then? Doesn’t that give him permission to do it?

AlisonQuentin:
Not if he ever wants to talk to me again!

Email Inbox

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Date:
Wednesday, November 27, 3:15 P.M.

Subject:
Fwd: Flight info

So you won’t forget—see you soon, love. We’ll talk. Xox Mom

Wednesday, November 27

Depart 8:15 P.M. New York (
JFK
)

Delta Nonstop Flight 399 to Atlanta (
ATL
)

Brandon Buchanan tried to stuff his last bottle of Acqua di Parma shaving gel into his bulging John Varvatos distressed leather duffel bag, but the zipper wouldn’t close. Heath Ferro, with whom he’d been unlucky enough to share a room for the past two years, had kept him up half the night with his drunken, incoherent ramblings about how much he hated Thanksgiving until Brandon said, “I’d be thankful if someone would shut the fuck up.” Instead, Heath had taken that as an invitation to list all the things
he
was thankful for, starting with string bikinis and going all the way to string cheese.

But Brandon hadn’t been able to sleep, anyway. He was completely dreading Thanksgiving break. To be honest, he dreaded every single break—having to take the train out to Connecticut, to his father and stepmonster’s soulless house and his two incredibly annoying twin stepbrothers, who, by this time, had learned how to walk and would wobble around the house, pulling out drawers of silver and knocking over bookshelves as his stepmother cooed about how brilliant they were. But this time, it was even harder to leave, because he’d be without Sage Francis, his girlfriend of a little over a month now. The past few days, he’d dreamed up wild scenarios that included them hopping a plane to Paris for Thanksgiving or jetting down to Florida to his parents’ winter place in West Palm Beach for a sunny holiday. But it was too late for any last-minute heroics—all the flights were booked.

A knock at the door startled him—Richards Hall was almost empty at this point—and he looked up to find Sage herself standing in his doorway in a new kelly green belted wool coat, her silky blond hair pulled back from her face in a French braid, a few strands sliding out glamorously. The top of her head was covered in melting snowflakes. “
Hey
,” he said, immediately feeling ten times better. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”

“
Heath’s
side is a mess,” Sage quipped, her wide, ocean blue eyes staring at a pair of Heath’s gray Calvin Klein boxer briefs hung precariously from a stack of textbooks on the corner of his desk. “Yours is always…immaculate. It’s like there’s a line going through the middle of the room or something.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Brandon lightly touched Sage’s waist, fingering the fabric of her new coat. “I like this. Is it Michael Kors?”

“How did you…” Sage nodded, her voice trailing off. Her eyes flitted around the room, as if searching for something. “Never mind. You always know.”

Brandon hesitated, wondering if this was the moment to give her his little going-away present. She seemed kind of…annoyed with him, although they’d stayed out until curfew last night, sitting on one of the overstuffed couches in Maxwell and complaining about their families. It was probably just because she was nervous about spending time with her older sister over break. The sister who Sage claimed had always been the family’s pretty and smart one (Brandon found that hard to believe.) But wasn’t Sage relieved to have a boyfriend who actually enjoyed hearing her thoughts, and wasn’t trying to get in her pants all the time?

“Do you have room for this?” He reached under his pillow and pulled out the small package wrapped in newspaper. He knew wrapping the gift was too much, but he hoped the fact that it was wrapped in newspaper would negate the elaborate gesture.

Sage leaned against the door frame, tilting her head slightly. “Depends on what it is, I guess,” she said slyly. Brandon held out the small, newspaper-wrapped package to her, and, after staring at it for a minute, she took it. She tore an edge of the newspaper and peered inside.

“Open it,” Brandon encouraged her. “It’s just something little, so you’ll know I’m thinking of you.” He felt the heat rising to his face. Over the past few weeks, he’d slipped sweet notes into her mailbox, sneaked into Dumbarton to leave a single rose at her doorstep for their one-month anniversary, taken her up to the bluffs to hold hands and watch the sun rise.

“I remember this kid in grade school wrapped up his pet turtle once and gave it to a girl he liked,” Sage said suspiciously. “This better not be a turtle.”

That’s a weird thing to say
, Brandon thought. “Uh, I wouldn’t even know where to find a turtle,” he offered, wondering if maybe Sage had an unnatural fear of reptiles.

“Hope it’s your size,” he continued, sitting on the edge of his desk and smoothing out his Armani sweater.

Sage ripped the paper free and held the small jewelry box in her palm. A look of horror came over her face, and fear shot through him. “What did you
do
?” Sage asked, her voice panicked.

Brandon strode over to her and pried off the lid to the box, lifting out the candy necklace and stretching it open for Sage to duck into. He’d remembered how Sage said she used to love candy necklaces in elementary school, but had been so sad when she could never find one with her name on it like the other girls. Brandon had scoured the Internet to find a company that could overnight one monogrammed withSAGE, and it hadn’t been cheap. “It’s got your name on it.”

“Wow.” Sage stepped backward slightly, touching her chipped pink fingernails to her temple. “That’s really…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” Brandon asked, stroking his jaw worriedly. He took a step closer to her, catching the scent of the Frédéric Fekkai moisturizing mist she sprayed on her hair. “Do you have a candy allergy?” He scoured his brain for any mention of allergies—aspirin, maybe, but definitely not cheap candy necklaces.

Sage took the necklace and threaded it between her fingers, examining the tiny letters printed on the candy. “No, it’s really sweet.”

Encouraged, Brandon placed his hand on her hip, her coat cold beneath his skin. “Just something to, you know, remind you of me.” The thought of being without her for four days made him want to grab her and press his lips to hers, but he held back. “I thought maybe you could save the last two and we could eat them when we get back.”

Sage’s eyes were focused on the toes of her shiny leather Elie Tahari riding boots. “Um, yeah, okay.” But before Brandon could say anything else, Sage raised her head, her eyes suddenly filled with confusion. “No, wait. Actually, no. It’s
too
sweet.”

The pipes shuddered in the walls and let out a loud creak. Brandon’s heart fell to the floor.
Too sweet
. He collapsed involuntarily onto his neatly made bed. “What does that mean?”

Sage pressed her thin lips together. “I don’t think I can go out with you anymore,” she blurted out.

“Because of a stupid candy necklace?”

“No, Brandon,” Sage said gently, and it made Brandon feel even worse that she was trying not to feel bad for him. “Not because of the candy necklace. I came over here kind of knowing I had to break up with you.”

“Why?” Brandon moaned. “Things are going so—”

“You’re just too
sweet
, Brandon.” Sage’s chandelier earrings dragged down her earlobes, something he’d always noticed. He already had a pair of diamond studs from Tiffany picked out for her for Christmas. Good thing he hadn’t put down a deposit yet. “Everything you do is just so super-thoughtful and super-sweet. You’re just kind of…too…I don’t know…
feminine
.”

“
Feminine
?” Brandon got to his feet. He knew what feminine was code for:
gay
. “Because I try to do nice things for you?” How could this be happening again? It felt like a repeat of the nightmare of Callie dumping him—except at least Sage was doing him the courtesy of telling him about it rather than making out with Easy Walsh in public to signal the fact that their relationship was over.

“You’re so
emotional
. I’ve got enough girlfriends, okay?” She kicked his suitcase, rattling the toiletries inside. “What a girl really wants is a guy who can’t keep his hands off her, who could just throw her down at any moment and ravage her.”

You’re insane
, Brandon wanted to shout, but he didn’t really feel like that. “I guess I’m just too much of a gentleman to be the ravaging type.” His voice didn’t quite come out as coldly as he liked—it sounded kind of whiny.

Sage met Brandon’s eyes for the first time since she’d entered his room. “I think that’s the problem.” Before he knew what was happening, Sage had stepped toward him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, okay?”

Right. Like that was going to happen
now
.

Email Inbox

From:
[email protected]

To:
Student Body

Date:
Wednesday, November 27, 4:45 P.M.

Subject:
Thanksgiving Holiday meal

Dear Students,

Please enjoy a safe and happy Thanksgiving break.

For all of our international students and those without plans for the holidays, the Waverly Dining Hall will be open its regular hours over break, with a limited menu.

The talented staff in Dining Services are also pleased to be hosting a very special, culturally diverse Thanksgiving feast tomorrow, from 5 to 6:30 P.M. Myself and several of your favorite professors will be hosting the meal, and we look forward to thought-provoking conversation about the history of our country and what it means to give thanks.

Enjoy your break from schoolwork.

Best,

Dean Marymount

Jenny watched the Hudson River slink by out the window as they approached the city, her eyes heavy with sleep. In the window, Callie and Tinsley’s reflections were still, their chatter silenced by the soothing lull of the train as it made its way south. The bustle of the first few minutes on the train died down quickly as everyone plugged into their iPods or pulled out their BlackBerries, furiously texting about their weekend plans. Jenny closed her eyes, still wondering who Tinsley’s lost love might have been. Eric Dalton, the sexy young teacher from Brown that she’d torn away from Brett, whom Brett had subsequently gotten booted out of Waverly? It seemed unlikely—Tinsley had treated the whole thing as a joke, another notch on her leather Prada belt.

“Hey, girls!” a breathless voice above them with a slight British accent sang out.

Jenny knew even before opening her eyes that Yvonne Stidder, a dorky girl from the first floor in Dumbarton, was standing over them. She was nice enough, but every time she spoke to Jenny, Jenny got the feeling Yvonne was sucking up to her or something. “Do you have any big, exciting plans for break?”

Tinsley opened a single eye and gave the birdlike blond girl a cold stare. “That’s an excellent question.” She closed her eye again, her long thick lashes leaving shadows on her cheeks.

“Not really.” Jenny felt bad for Yvonne, but she didn’t exactly want to be strolling down Columbus Avenue with her, either. Still, she wasn’t about to be rude. “I just can’t wait to get back to my own apartment.”

Yvonne grinned at Jenny, her pale eyes full of a gratitude that made Jenny slightly uncomfortable. The train swayed and Yvonne grabbed the back of Callie’s chair for support. Callie stared at Yvonne as if she couldn’t imagine why she was talking to
her
.

“Because if you don’t have any plans tonight,” Yvonne soldiered on, pushing up her wire-rimmed glasses, “you’re totally invited to my Thanksgiving party.” She scanned Tins-ley’s and Callie’s faces for a reaction, then, not having received one, turned back to Jenny. “Corner of Eightieth and Park. Look for the green awning. Number seven. Nine o’clock.”

Callie pretended to fumble through her burnt orange Lanvin tote, which Jenny knew meant she was trying not to giggle at Yvonne. She glanced up for a brief second, her hazel eyes scanning Yvonne’s too-short chocolate brown corduroys and her orange Ralph Lauren sweater with the little blue polo insignia on the breast. “Maybe if my plane gets delayed.”

“Yeah,” Jenny chimed in, “If my dad doesn’t have anything planned tonight, I’ll definitely stop by.”

“Awesome.” Yvonne smiled at Jenny, her pale cheeks flushing with color. “See you there. Spread the word.” Yvonne skittered down the aisle, stopping at the next group of Waverly students.