Devious (11 page)

“Come on.” Isla threw her jacket onto her bed and opened the top drawer of her antique-looking bureau. Isla pulled out a bottle of Ketel One from under a pair of black silk pajamas. “We’ve been working all day. You need to chill out a little first.”

Tinsley considered. She could use a pick-me-up—and there was something really illicit and exciting about drinking in the dean’s house. Especially when he and his wife were playing backgammon in the living room. “How can I refuse? And nice room, by the way,” Tinsley added, giggling.

The room was neat and clean, the only decoration on the pink walls one of the Waverly calendars sent out to parents and alumni. It was filled with scenic campus pictures and “candids” of students looking well fed and healthy in the library and on the quad.

“I think Marymount had a kindergartener with a princess complex.” Isla laughed as she grabbed two shot glasses from the drawer. She set the glasses and the bottle on the floor next to a rocking chair. “I kind of dig it. It makes me feel like I’m living in a dollhouse. Besides, it was the only bedroom on the first floor, so I had to take advantage.” Isla poured a generous shot of vodka into each of the shot glasses and handed one to Tinsley.

Tinsley sat down on the shaggy white rug and tucked her black tiered Charlotte Ronson skirt around her knees. “Funny, I never saw a dollhouse with a shot glass like this,” she laughed, examining her glass. Imprinted on the side was a picture of a hula girl holding up a wreath of flowers over the words
I got lei’d in Maui
.

“I collect them,” Isla said proudly, holding up her own glass, which was imprinted with Cyrillic-looking writing. “It says ‘Russian girls do it better.’” She shrugged. “I’m half Russian, so I guess I do it half better.”

“What are we drinking to?” Tinsley asked, clinking her shot glass against Isla’s.

“To new friends.” Isla smiled deviously.

Tinsley tossed the liquid down her throat, enjoying the burn. “And to making people stare.”

Isla laughed and walked to her closet, pulling off her sweater in a rush of static. She hung it neatly on a hook before throwing on a plain white men’s dress shirt, only buttoning half the buttons. Tinsley had always wished she had a brother: not only did it guarantee cute boys around the house, but she also loved wearing men’s shirts, and just buying a new white men’s button-down from Bloomie’s didn’t do it for her. You had to have one so worn-in it was tissue-soft with the undeniable scent of a former owner still clinging to it.

Isla flicked on her stereo, and the sounds of The Raconteurs filled the room. She refilled the shot glasses. “Only trouble is, now we have to outdo ourselves.”

That afternoon, they’d found a couple of gorgeous vintage prom dresses in the theater department’s costume room and had pranced around the crowded dining hall wearing them. Tinsley had worn a delicate, seafoam green satin bodice with a full ballerina-style tulle skirt, while Isla donned a lavender strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline, her hair in a loose upsweep. They took turns photographing each other as they walked through the lunch line, the plastic dining hall trays contrasting with their frilly dresses. All the girls had stared at them jealously, while the guys looked on with dreamy expressions. Tinsley loved the feel of everyone’s eyes locked to her, and the sounds of whispers as she strolled by. It felt like the good old days.

Tinsley stretched out her long legs in front of her as she downed another shot. Before she knew it, two hours had passed. Isla was interested in hearing all about Tinsley, and Tinsley loved talking to someone from outside the Waverly bubble.

“Shit,” Tinsley exclaimed finally, staring at her phone. The shots of vodka had blurred together and she’d been with Isla for hours longer than she’d planned. It was almost midnight. “I’ve got to get to Julian’s.” She jumped to her feet, wavering slightly. She had to put a steadying hand on Isla’s dresser as she slid into her black ankle boots.

“Whoa, girl.” Isla laughed, swinging her bare feet to the floor. “You sure you can make it out the window?” She hoisted up her window with a noisy squeak.

“Don’t worry about me.” Tinsley blew her a kiss as she slung her legs through the window and let her body fall gently to the ground. Her head buzzed pleasantly, and the snow glittered in the moonlight. The campus was nearly silent, and all Tinsley could think about was Julian. She was late—really late—and she hoped he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

She knocked at his window. Thank God for first-floor bedrooms. The curtains were drawn, but a faint light shone through. She thought she could hear the murmur of music. She knocked harder, her bare knuckles rapping against the cold glass.

Finally, Julian’s face appeared at the window. He seemed surprised to see her, but he quickly opened the window and held out a hand. She grabbed it and tried to pull herself up, but the bottoms of her shoes kept sliding down the brick wall. Eventually, she was able to climb over the ledge, her feet landing softly on Julian’s floor.

“I must be out of practice.” She giggled. She dusted herself off and threw her coat on Julian’s roommate’s empty bed. “Hey, baby.” Tinsley turned to Julian and threw her arms around his neck.

Julian stiffened and gave her a funny smile. “Hey.”

“Sorry I’m late.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. He felt so warm and delicious. “Isla and I were just having so much fun working on our project. It’s just… the coolest project ever.”

“Uh-huh.” Julian disentangled himself from Tinsley’s arms and sat down on his bed, yawning. He wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of striped gray flannel Abercrombie & Fitch pajama bottoms.

“Were you sleeping?” Tinsley teased, crawling into bed with him. “That’s so cute.”

“I didn’t think you were coming.” Julian let her kiss him, briefly, before leaning back on his elbows. “And, dude, take your boots off. You’re getting snow in my bed.”

Tinsley kicked her boots to the floor and then crawled back next to Julian. “Isla has an amazing eye. We’re doing this whole series of photographs of ourselves in these high-contrast poses. Everything looks so gorgeous so far,” Tinsley gushed drunkenly.

Julian pushed a piece of pale brown hair out of his face. He smelled like soap, and Tinsley wanted to kiss him all over. “Yeah. I heard what you’re doing.” He shrugged. “Everyone has.”

“What does that mean?” Tinsley sat up straight. She definitely didn’t care for his tone. Tiny alarm bells started to go off in her head.

“I don’t know. It just seems like… an easy project. Two beautiful girls? Taking pictures of each other modeling in skimpy clothes?” Julian shrugged. “Are you sure that’s what you really want to be spending your time on? What about directing and film?”

“But it’s not like it’s just modeling,” Tinsley explained, running her finger over Julian’s knee. She was starting to get annoyed with him. “It’s
art
. Isla has this amazing art book of all these classic photographs of women in these, like, normal settings, but wearing clothes that are completely out of context. It’s all about contrast, and the unexpected, and…” Tinsley trailed off. The vodka had left her brain sluggish, and she was irritated that her jumbled words didn’t do their project justice.

Julian swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “Sorry, but when everyone shares their Jan Plan projects at the end of the month, I don’t think the guys at Waverly will be thinking about
contrast
or the
unexpected
when they look at those pictures of you practically naked.”

“Julian!” Tinsley got to her feet. “Why are you being such a prude?” Her eyes narrowed. Was that even what this was about? Or was Julian just…
jealous
? “Or is this about me choosing to work with Isla instead of you? That’s really immature.”

“No, it’s not that.” Julian rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. You can’t blame me for not loving the idea of the entire male population of Waverly ogling my girlfriend in a bikini.”

All the blood rushed to Tinsley’s face. She’d never felt so insulted before. How could he be so ignorant? Didn’t he have any sense of what art was? For the second time in twenty minutes, Tinsley steadied herself on a dresser and slid her feet into her ankle boots. “Then maybe I shouldn’t
be
your girlfriend.”

She got all the way to the window before realizing that Julian hadn’t answered. She glanced back at him. He was still sitting where she’d left him on his bed, his handsome face lit from the side by the moonlight streaming through the window. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. It was a mix of disappointment and confusion.

Well, if he wanted to sit there in silence, fine. He could be boring and sit around in his room for the rest of fucking Jan Plan if he wanted, watching movies in his sweatpants all day.

He’d just have to do it without her.

Instant Message Inbox

B
randon tossed the black rubber squash ball in the air. It was early Thursday afternoon, and he had just finished pulverizing Julian in a very one-sided match. Julian’s game had been terrible—normally the tall, gangly freshman was Brandon’s biggest challenge on the team. But today he’d been sluggish and distracted, barely making Brandon break a sweat.

“You suck today,” Brandon said as they stepped off the clean plastic box of a court. He picked up his Prince sports bag and tucked away his racquet. “My seventy-year-old grandma could have kicked your ass.”

“I know.” Julian lifted up his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His straw-colored hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and Brandon was dying to take a pair of scissors and snip it right off. Just because the kid was from Seattle didn’t mean he had to look like Kurt Cobain. “Tinsley broke up with me last night.”

Brandon dropped his bag. “No shit.” He eyed Julian, who had slumped down on the bench. Everyone had been impressed with the way this freshman kid had managed to handle Tinsley Carmichael, one of the hottest—and craziest—girls on campus. But when she was dating Julian, Tinsley actually managed to seem kind of, well, nice. “You all right?”

Julian nodded slowly, but his face had an unhealthy-looking paleness to it. “It just sucks. I don’t really know where it came from. Everything was awesome over break, and suddenly we come back here, and it’s like she doesn’t want to spend any time with me. She practically told me I was too boring.”

“Ouch.” Brandon sat down on the bench. “That’s even worse than being
too nice
, which is what I usually get.”

“What’s with that?” Julian asked, tossing his racquet back and forth between his hands. “Do they want us to be assholes?”

“I guess.” Brandon took a long sip from his water bottle, letting the cold liquid spill over his chin. “Maybe what girls really want is to be ignored. It gives them a challenge. Maybe Tinsley felt like it wasn’t as exciting once, you know, the race was over.”

“That’s fucked up.” Julian stared mournfully at the empty squash court.

“Well, girls
are
fucked up, dude.” Brandon gave him a manly pat on the back.

Julian forced a smile and snapped his towel at Brandon. “How about another game? I promise I’ll kick your ass this time.”

Brandon pulled his platinum Cartier watch from his bag and glanced at it. He didn’t even have time to shower. “Nah, I’ve got to run.” He was almost due for his daily iChat appointment with Hellie. It was the end of her day in Switzerland, and they liked to talk just before she fell asleep. She said it made for sweet dreams about him. “Some other time. Cheer up, man.”

Brandon left his peacoat open as he exited the squash complex, enjoying the feel of the cold, clean air against his sweaty chest. The sun was shining, the sky was a perfect blue, and the snow positively glittered in the light. A pack of Waverly students in cross-country skis raced past him. As he stomped up the steps of Richards to his dorm room, he whistled.

He threw down his squash bag, tossed his coat onto his bed, and immediately opened up his iBook, clicking through the windows to set up for his talk with Hellie. He grinned at the thought of her.

There was a gentle knock at his door. “Come in,” Brandon called out, opening his e-mail. He deleted a forward of photos of kittens in Halloween costumes from his grandmother.

Callie took a deep breath when she heard Brandon’s voice. Huddled in the hallway, she suddenly had second thoughts. Should she even be here? It felt like ages since she’d been in Brandon’s room. In the pocket of her baby blue Searle puffer coat, her gloved hand felt for the pair of earphones Brandon had left at the atrium yesterday. Although she knew it wasn’t necessary for her to bring them to his room, she wanted an excuse to see him. Alone. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.