Infamous (15 page)

“That sucks,” Julian said. He pulled the sticker off the bottom of his sled. Tinsley shook some snow off the top of her boots. Volunteering? Right. On the
one
day she wasn’t sunbathing at her parents’ West Palm Beach mansion.

“Yeah, right?” Sleigh continued without missing a beat. “These kids were so great. They had no idea what was going on. And my job was just to entertain them. You know, to take their mind off things. They could be totally traumatized, but when you started telling them a really great story or something, you should have seen the looks on these kids’ faces. It was totally worth it to make them smile.”

“Wow.” Julian hiked up the last bit of the hill.

“Yeah, it’s amazing,” Tinsley said, jumping in. “Families are so different in South Africa. It’s like a totally different way of living, not like we have here.” She could feel herself floundering. “I remember once, at Christmastime, I asked this girl in one of the villages where we were filming if she was ready for presents—”

“Do they have Christmas in South Africa?” Sleigh piped up.

“Not officially,” Tinsley answered earnestly. “But there’s a mix of people and they all know about Christmas.” She smiled at Julian to reassert her storytelling credibility. “Anyway, the little girl said she didn’t have any presents this year and so I got the crew together and we pooled everything we had—combs, key chains, crossword puzzle books, colored pencils—just anything we could scrounge up and we wrapped them in newspaper for this little girl and her two sisters. You can’t imagine the look on their faces.”

“Wow,” Julian said. “Very cool. I’ll bet that little girl will never forget that Christmas.” His breath floated out in front of him and he smiled at Tinsley, maybe seeing her in a new light. At least, she hoped.

“That’s just like the time I was building houses in the Dominican Republic!” Before Sleigh could plunge into another endless story about building wells, Tinsley tossed her sled down and looked down the hill, crisscrossed with ruts and bootprints of all sizes by now.

“Last one to the bottom is a rotten egg!” Tinsley dropped on her knees. The plastic sled felt cold through her jeans. The sled spun clockwise and Tinsley pushed off violently, taking a wide lead on Sleigh and Julian, who pounced on their sleds after her. The three plummeted down the slope, scattering a group of kids who were loafing at the bottom, Tinsley in first, Sleigh in second, and Julian stalled a few feet from the bottom, his sled squirting out from under him.

“That was crazy!” Sleigh shrieked wildly, and Tinsley actually started to wonder about her sanity. It wasn’t totally hard to believe that her “mental health break” from Waverly had led to more serious problems, like schizophrenia. “Feel my heart racing,” Sleigh grabbed Julian’s hand and pressed it to her chest, as if he could feel something beneath her thick, butt-ugly jacket.

“Mine too,” Julian said, removing his hand quickly and putting it on his chest. “That was excellent.”

“Best two out of three,” Sleigh said, sprinting back up the hill.

Tinsley followed, with Julian in tow. A snowball fight broke out near the top of the hill and a cold spiral whizzed by Tinsley’s head, barely missing her.

“That kid almost nailed you,” Julian said, panting from the incline.

“Good thing he’s seven.” Tinsley laughed. “Or I might have to smack him.”

The results of the second race were exactly the same as the first, even though she kept hoping Sleigh would somehow plow into a tree and leave her alone with Julian. Being around her again was suffocating, and the nice thing was getting tiresome. She needed a quick escape to gather her thoughts. Then she remembered Olesia’s, the tiny bakery with croissants that melted in your mouth, just across the park.

“I’ll be right back,” Tinsley said, dropping her sled at her feet.

“Where are you going?” Julian asked. He patted the snow off his jeans.

“You can both race for second place.” She clomped through the knee-deep snow in the direction of Olesia’s. She was actually hungry, but she wasn’t fetching the buttery pastries to sate the growling in her stomach. Two could play at hospitality. The warm air inside Olesia’s blasted her face as she surveyed the fully stocked display case. She upgraded her order from regular croissants to chocolate croissants. Why not force-feed Sleigh a few extra calories, too?

Twenty minutes later, Tinsley found Sleigh and Julian practically where she’d left them, though Julian was standing off to the side, the sleds stacked in a pile next to him, while Sleigh chased two identical twins dressed in matching pink snowsuits. The twins galloped through the snow, shrieking as Sleigh pretended to get them. Weren’t their parents worried about some crazy teenager playing with their kids?

“Whatcha got there?” Julian asked, pointing at the bag in Tinsley’s hand.

“Chocolate croissants.” Tinsley opened the bag and Julian peered into it.

“How sweet of you,” Sleigh said, winded, the twins on her heels. She turned suddenly and the twins shrieked. “Are you hungry?”

“Those are for us…” Tinsley started to say before realizing that taking pastries from two small children would probably disqualify her from being a “good person.” “But you guys can, uh, have them.” She reluctantly handed the bag to one of the twins, who snatched it greedily.

The slow burn inside Tinsley simmered dangerously close to the boiling point. Her eyes misted and she blinked away the hate she felt for Sleigh as the twins ripped into the bag.

“Do you know how to build a snowman?” Julian asked the twins, bending down to their level.

“Snowman!” The twins shouted in unison. They threw the croissants to the ground and followed Julian toward a large snowdrift that had accumulated under a stand of trees.

Tinsley bit her lip, eyeing the ruined pastries. In one swift movement, Sleigh moved next to Tinsley, both of them watching Julian and the twins.

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” Sleigh said menacingly, her voice the one Tinsley remembered from freshman year, absent of all rainbows and sunshine. “You stole a guy from me once, and I’m not going to let it happen again. Remember what I did to all your stuff? Watch your ass or I’ll do something twice as bad.”

Tinsley’s jaw dropped. She’d never doubted her ability to kick Sleigh’s ass—she’d come close freshman year—but the sudden change that had come over Sleigh freaked her out and she stood mute, wishing Julian could somehow hear.

Sleigh plastered the smile back on her face. “Did Julian tell you I’m thinking of coming back to Waverly? It was his idea. So maybe I’ll see you around campus.” She strode off in the direction of Julian and the twins, helping them with the snowman.

Tinsley stared in disbelief. Okay, change of plans. There was clearly no way to out-nice Sleigh. The only other option was to expose her as the manipulative bitch she was.

And that sounded like a hell of a lot more fun.

The Messerschmidts were suffering through a long, boring history of the Coopers of Greenwich when the doorbell chimed to the tune of “Born in the U.S.A.” Brett had noticed that her mom had changed the chime to a few innocuous strands of Beethoven, but Brett had changed it back. She could see the Coopers wince visibly.

“I’ll get it!” Brett leapt to her feet. Her cropped black C&C California ballet shirt slid off her left shoulder, the silky yellow strap of her Paul & Joe camisole bra bright against her pale skin. The shirt fell just below her navel and an inch of skin peeked out above her Dolce & Gabbana leopard-print skirt—a gift from her mother for her birthday last year. Her bare feet with their bright pink polished toes (Bourjois Pink Flamingo) padded across the cold marble floor of the foyer, and she was thankful to be released from the stuffy front room where the Coopers and her parents had gathered for afternoon tea. Afternoon tea! Unreal.

She swung open the heavy door to find Sebastian standing in the doorway, his black leather jacket open at the collar despite the gusts of wind sweeping snow across the Messerschmidts’ expansive front yard. The gold chain around his neck glinted in the sunlight, and a cloud of Drakkar Noir blew into her face. But for once, Brett didn’t mind the cheesy eighties cologne. In fact, she kind of liked it, at least for her immediate purposes.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly shy. “Come on in.”

“Wow.” Sebastian shook his head, his eyes taking in her bare feet and making their way up her body. “Is this how you dress up for every holiday?”

Brett self-consciously hoisted her shirt back up on her shoulder, rolling her eyes at Sebastian. “Only the special ones.” He tore his dark eyes off her and surveyed the Messerschmidts’ sky-high foyer, shaking his head, impressed.

“Man, your whole family is into jungle prints?” he asked, staring into the front media room. “That’s hot.” Brett had “spilled” water on the beige slipcovers Bree had used to cover up their zebra-print chairs, pulling them off with glee. The seven Teacup Chihuahuas ran yipping into the foyer, jumping excitedly at Sebastian’s legs. She’d freed the dogs a few hours ago, playing on her mother’s sympathies:
They’re so lonely and confused, locked up in that tiny room
, she’d cajoled, until her mom had relented.

“I guess it’s genetic.” Brett hung up Sebastian’s jacket in the hall closet, right next to the Coopers’ camel-hair coats. She smiled widely as he followed her into the sitting room, interrupting Mrs. Cooper’s monologue on her family’s Cavalier King Charles spaniels.

“Everyone, this is Sebastian,” Brett announced, gesturing toward Sebastian like a game show host revealing a prize. “He’s a friend from Waverly.”

Brett introduced him around, noting the coolness of the Coopers and the warmness of her own parents toward him. She felt a sudden surge of emotion—her parents were good people; they just liked big shiny things.

“And that’s my sister, Bree.” She pointed to Bree and Willy, who were camped out on the love seat. Bree cradled her mug of chamomile tea, legs crossed delicately at the ankle. Her flowered dress rose about an inch above her knee, and she quickly tugged it down. “Er, Anna.” Brett corrected herself, hitting her palm lightly against her forehead. She stage-whispered, “Sorry,” to Bree before continuing. “And that’s her boyfriend, Willy.”

“Cool, man,” Sebastian said to Willy, shaking his hand. He nodded at Bree, taking Brett’s confusion about her own sister’s name in stride.

“Would you like some tea?” Brett asked innocently, folding her hands behind her back. Mr. Cooper set his teacup on the leopard-print coaster that Brett had helpfully retrieved from the hall closet.

“Um, yeah.” Sebastian glanced around at the others. “Or, do you have any Red Bull or Gatorade or anything like that?”

Brett watched Mrs. Cooper as she stared at Sebastian’s carefully sculpted black hair. It looked like he had applied extra gel for the occasion.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Brett asked boldly, following Mrs. Cooper’s gaze. She touched Sebastian’s hair and he flinched, waving off her hand.

“Hey.” He frowned in annoyance. He actually looked kind of handsome in a pair of black jeans and a pressed white button-down. Even if it was opened two buttons too low at the neck. “I just did it.”

“I wasn’t staring at his hair.” Mrs. Cooper had turned crimson. She picked up her teacup and swirled the tea, pretending to be engrossed with a speck of something on her linen pants.

“Don’t worry. All the girls do,” Brett said confidentially to Mrs. Cooper, as if they were sharing sex secrets at the beauty parlor. It was kind of fun to shock her—and a little too easy.

Sebastian smoothed the spot where Brett had threatened to touch his hair. He gave her a funny look. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what Red Bull is.” Brett’s mom scrambled to her feet, a worried look on her face.

“It’s like this caffeine energy drink,” Sebastian said helpfully. “Any kind of soda is fine, though.”

“I’ll get it,” Brett offered. She skipped to the kitchen and was back in a flash with a glass of ice and a can of Mountain Dew for Sebastian, who was perched at the edge of a hard-backed wooden chair. She almost passed out with delight when she heard him talking about how hard it was to replace the gearshift in his Mustang with an eight ball.

“I’ve got this uncle who owns a pool hall,” Sebastian said, taking the glass from Brett and setting it on the end table. “Hey, thanks.” He sipped the soda appreciatively.

Brett grabbed Sebastian’s hand and tugged him over to the sofa, pulling him down next to her. He stared at her small hand in his, and once they collapsed into the cushy, oversize cheetah-print pillows Brett had rescued from the media room, she quickly let go. “You’re just in time,” she said. “We were about to look at the old family photo album.”

“
Brett
.” Bree’s green eyes darkened. “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t want to bore everyone.”

Brett shooed her sister’s hand off the antique trunk and opened the lid. Out of the flotsam of crushed board games, old television remotes, and
VHS
home videos, she triumphantly pulled a thick photo album with a pink furry cover. “I’m sure Willy would like to see how adorable you were as a kid,” Brett said, honeying her voice for effect.

“You bet.” Willy sat forward, affable as ever, leaning the elbows of his thick marbled wool Nautica sweater on the knees of his khakis.

Brett flipped open the photo album. “Here’s a great one,” she sighed, pulling out the well-remembered photo of a pre-teen Bree and a kindergarten-aged Brett both dressed up as Madonna for Halloween, their blond wigs teased into wild hairstyles, wearing matching black lace tops over red cropped tanks and flared denim miniskirts. “We won a contest at the mall—remember? We sang ‘Material Girl’ and you threw your white lace glove into the audience.” She glanced at her sister, who scowled angrily in reply. “They went wild,” she whispered to Willy as she handed off the picture.