Adored (12 page)

Or loved him. The room started to spin and Tinsley’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, as if she’d just done a shot of Gold-schläger.

“I’ve actually never seen it.” Julian leaned against the back of his wooden chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He had on a faded blue long-sleeve T-shirt that read elliott bay book company, and he raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. “Wanna go to the screening room and watch it?”

But Tinsley was already on her feet, sliding her shaking feet back into her black crocheted Uggs. She had to get out of there. She needed some fresh air and a chance to calm down. “I can’t. I’ve, uh, got an Italian test tomorrow.” Completely rattled, Tinsley touched her lips to Julian’s cheek for a quick kiss before slipping on her coat. She hurried off before he could say another word.

Tinsley rushed past a flock of freshmen in the boys’ front lounge, one of them holding up a pair of handcuffs lined with pink fur. She hardly noticed—she couldn’t think about anything but who could have given Julian
To Have and Have Not
. She knew it was silly, and maybe masochistic of her, but the name she kept coming back to as she stomped across campus was
Jenny
. She’d
had
Julian—in more ways than one, apparently—and now she didn’t. But maybe she wanted him back? Tinsley leaned down and scooped up a handful of snow. She packed it into a tight ball and hurled it in the direction of Dumbarton. It exploded against a first-floor window.

“Did you just throw a
snowball
at the window?” Callie asked lazily as Tinsley stomped through the front door. She was curled up in one of the Dumbarton common room’s oversize leather armchairs, her fuzzy peach cashmere blanket wrapped up around her.

“No,” Tinsley lied, stamping the snow off her boots onto the mat in the foyer. Angelica Pardee, their recently separated dorm parent, had instituted a mandatory Sunday afternoon common area cleaning hour, when all the girls had to pick up the thumbed-through copies of
Cosmopolitan
and
Vogue
, assorted abandoned textbooks, crumpled potato chip bags, and empty Diet Sprite cans that had collected in the common room over the week. It was annoying, but at least now the slate blue room was spotless.

On the velvety navy couch, Jenny was sprawled out with a pink plaid flannel blanket across her legs. Her dark hair was falling in loose curls framing her face, and she looked tiny in an oversize Waverly sweatshirt. At the other end of the couch sat Brett, who nodded her head at Tinsley.

Jenny smiled shyly at Tinsley, as if afraid Tinsley would lash out at her again like she’d done in the bathroom. “We’re watching
When Harry Met Sally
. Come join us.” Jenny grabbed the remote and paused the movie—an undeniably sweet gesture.

But it was also “sweet” of
someone
to give Julian a copy of
To Have and Have Not
. Jenny certainly could have had someone drop it off at Julian’s room. While hanging out with Jenny was just about the last thing Tinsley felt like doing right now, she was savvy enough to know that maybe this was just the opportunity she needed. “’Kay,” Tinsley replied hesitantly. She left her boots at the door and plopped onto an empty couch, tucking her legs up beneath her.

A miniature illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra sat on the coffee table. Tinsley’s eyes widened as she saw it. “Whose is that?” It was open to a drawing of two naked people doing what looked like some kind of handstand.

“Rifat got it in her box today.” Callie giggled, pulling her blanket up to her chin. “Check out page seventy-eight.”

“I’m so tired of everyone being so perverted,” Brett fumed, shaking her head. Her fire-red hair bobbed furiously around her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. Jenny had finally told Brett—who had been totally on edge for the past week organizing the Holiday Ball—about the noxious Secret Satan e-mail goading everyone into buying dirty gifts for their secret person. “I’ve seen like five people carrying around candies shaped like penises.”

“I haven’t given Ryan Reynolds anything nearly that interesting. He’s perverted enough already.” Tinsley yawned, stretching out on her sofa like a cat. She grabbed the buttercream chenille throw on the back of the couch and wrapped it around her legs. “What about you, Jenny? Who do you have?”

Jenny bristled, sensing that Tinsley was somehow planning an ambush. She’d been so rude the other morning in the bathroom—now she wanted to know who Jenny was giving gifts to? Why, so she could make fun of her for that, too? If Jenny told her she had dorky Yvonne Stidder—who she’d overheard in the dining hall yesterday complaining about the boring jar of bath salts she’d gotten—she’d never hear the end of it. “There’s a reason they call it
Secret
Santa, you know,” Jenny joked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Tinsley’s violet eyes narrowed, and Jenny felt her pulse quicken. She definitely didn’t want to return to the early days of their relationship, when Tinsley was always on the verge of strangling her. “But look what I got today,” Jenny quickly added, tilting her head back and forth to show off the tiny, Victorian-looking barrettes with green crystal dragonflies at the tips.

“Wow.” Brett leaned forward to examine the barrettes that held back Jenny’s loose braids. “Pretty. At least one person on campus isn’t a pervert.”

“And I also got a little set of Philosophy shampoos and bath gel—in Caramel Mocha Latte and Café au Lait. Smell my hair.” Jenny leaned toward Brett, who sniffed and gave the thumbs-up.

Big deal
, Tinsley thought. So she smelled like a fucking coffeehouse. But inside she seethed. How come Jenny—and Julian—were both getting sweet, thoughtful gifts and all
she
was getting was olive oil?

Callie took a giant sip from the oversize bottle of Evian and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “All I got was a pair of knitting needles. And a framed photograph of an orange tabby cat with a pink scarf around its neck.” Callie made a face. “’Cause I’m an old maid, apparently.”

“I forgot, T—someone dropped this off for you.” Brett lifted a lumpy package and tossed it over to Tinsley. It was wrapped in white tissue paper and covered in hearts.

“Thanks,” Tinsley answered, feeling the package. It was kind of weird that she and Brett were being nice to each other recently, but it was also a relief. When they’d first been forced to live together in their small first-floor room, it had been positively torture, and each had gone out of her way to annoy the other. But so much time had passed that now the feuding-roommate act was hard to keep up. Tinsley had thought she’d been angry at Brett for letting her get expelled from Waverly after the E incident the June before, and Brett had been mad at her for… what again? Eric Dalton, the super-hot teacher who’d tried to sleep with them both? That seemed like
lifetimes
ago.

“What is it?” Callie asked eagerly as Tinsley tore into the package. She tossed the cheesy wrapping paper to the floor and unfolded a white T-shirt. The cheaply ironed-on design read
Virginia Is for Lovers
, with a heart inside a jagged outline of the state of Virginia. Tinsley blinked her eyes.
What?

Suddenly, it was the last clue in the puzzle. Extra
-virgin
olive oil, the gift card to
Virgin
Megastore.
Virgin
-ia? Her seemingly random gifts were about her being a virgin?! Someone was definitely fucking with her. She crumbled the T-shirt up in a ball and chucked it at Callie, who ducked out of the way. “My Secret Satan is making fun of me for being a virgin? What a jerk.”

“I don’t get it,” Brett cried, clenching her hair in her fists. “This disgustingness has to stop. I’m going to kill this Secret Satan asshole.”

“Virgin jokes seem kind of mean, even for a Secret Satan.” Callie frowned at Tinsley as she wrapped her cashmere blanket tighter around her. Still, knowing that someone was making fun of Tinsley made Callie feel better about her own lame presents—all of which were making fun of her for being single. (At least she wasn’t going to be an old
virgin
maid. So that was one thing going for her.)

“What happened to presents like gift certificates to the snack bar? Candy?” Brett exclaimed, running her hands through her fire engine red hair with exasperation. Her normally perfect porcelain skin was dark under her eyes, and she had a tiny outbreak of pimples along her hairline, something that only happened to her during finals or other super-stressful times. Callie and Jenny had had to practically twist her arm to get her to chill out and watch a movie. “The non-dirty kind, I mean.”

“Alan St. Girard got a box of chocolate-covered gummy penises,” Tinsley spoke up, examining her dark hair for nonexistent split ends. “And Verena gave her person a little box of X-rated candy hearts that say things like ‘Eat Me’ and ‘Bite My—’”

“That’s enough!” Brett pressed her hands, with their chewed-down blue nails, to her ears. “Marymount’s going to blame
me
when he finds out how filthy everyone’s being. I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t find out.” Jenny soothed, patting her friend on the knee.

“Whatever.” Callie pulled up her blanket and stuck out her ankle. “Who needs a good Secret Santa when you have a cute
guy
to give you presents?” Around her bare foot hung a gold chain anklet with a dangling heart charm, something Sebastian had given her that afternoon when they’d gone for a walk in the snow. It was… sweet. She normally didn’t wear gold—or gold-plated—jewelry, and the anklet was a little tacky, sure. But it had been a while since a guy had given her something. The promise ring from Easy that she’d lost in New York didn’t count—it was the beginning of the end.

This, on the other hand, felt like the start of something.

“Where did that come from?” Brett asked, her voice sounding strained.

“Sebastian,” Callie purred. The more she looked at the little charm anklet—she hadn’t worn an anklet in ten years—the more it grew on her. Kind of like Sebastian. “He’s just such a sweetheart. I can tell he’s going to be the best boyfriend ever.” Her hazel eyes glazed over as she pictured the two of them, exquisitely dressed, walking into the Holiday Ball together, heads turning enviously in their direction.

Now Tinsley and Jenny’s glances met across the room, Tinsley stifling a snicker. “Have you even
kissed
him yet?” she asked incredulously, pulling her glossy brown-black hair back and twisting it up in a bun.

Callie narrowed her eyes. “No,” she admitted, biting her lip. For some reason, Brett felt a surge of relief wash over her. “But only because he’s such a
gentleman
.”

“Are we talking about the same Sebastian?” Brett couldn’t help blurting out. “The one who keeps a framed photograph of Madonna on his dashboard?”

Callie stuck her lip out petulantly. “
Like a Prayer
‘s his favorite album. Well, besides everything by Bon Jovi and Spring-steen.” As Tinsley and Jenny giggled, Brett suddenly felt worse. Callie had known Sebastian for about a week—and she was already bonding with him over Madonna? She didn’t even
like
Madonna. And what the hell was Callie thinking, anyway? Like the governor of Georgia would ever approve of her dating a guy whose idea of high art was a sixty-inch plasma screen television?

Why did Brett even care who the hell Sebastian hung out with, anyway? Probably because he thought he knew everything. His arrogant words—”throw a polo shirt on me and all the girls in this place will be clawing each other to get at me”— kept coming back to her, like a track stuck on repeat.

Stop it
, she told herself. Brett knew she was losing it. She was just completely overloaded with responsibilities right now: she was trying to finish her final paper on
Anna Karenina
for her world lit class, finals were next week, and she’d barely cracked a book, instead having to field calls from the holiday ball DJ—who wanted to know if his friends could come to the party—and the florists, who kept running out of any flowers that weren’t poinsettias. And then there was this whole Secret Santa mess that was threatening to spiral out of control.

“Whooooo!” a voice hooted as the front door flew open. A gust of cold blew into the room along with Benny Cunningham, in a calf-length camel-hair coat, and Sage Francis, a baby blue knit cap pulled down over her ears. Benny waved around a clear bottle filled with an electric green liquid. “Absinthe!” she squealed. “Sweet, right? Who wants a swig?”

Brett rolled her eyes. Benny was the editor of the Waverly literary magazine,
Absinthe
. At least she had a creative Secret Santa—although liquor also fell into the “inappropriate” column.

“And I just got this!” Sage held out a black leather riding crop. She held the vile bondage toy up and set off down the hallway, chasing a giggling Benny and tracking snow all over the newly cleaned hardwood floors.

It was enough to send Brett over the edge. “What the
fuck
is wrong with everyone?” She jumped up from the couch, nearly tripping over her fur-lined slippers. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“But we’re just getting to the part where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm in the diner!” Jenny cried out, giggling. “Stay for that.”

Brett was too annoyed with life to respond. As she stormed back to her room, she realized one good thing had come out of her assigning everyone their Secret Santas—she’d forgotten to include herself.

Email Inbox

B,

I know you’re busy with your party planning and finals and all, but I get worried when I don’t hear from you.

Willy says hi… and hopes your friend Sebastian will spend some time at the house over Christmas break—he says to tell him he’s been practicing his Grand Theft Auto and plans to kick his ass.