Reckless (11 page)

Date:
Saturday, October 5, 12:07 p.m.

Subject:
Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Okay, I have officially been listening to too much bad music. But what I really wish for is hot
CLOTHES
for me! I need a cute outfit for the party, start. Can I come over? I’m already on my way.

A responsible Owl does not spill beer on her generous dormmate’s

At twelve-thirty on Saturday, Waverly’s dining hall looked, at first glance, like it always looked—crowded. Anyone who didn’t know Waverly well would think that all was normal and right in the world. But those familiar with the school would have noticed a distinct difference—or rather, lack. Namely, all of the Dumbarton girls were missing. Meaning, all of the hot girls were missing. And the aesthetics of the school were certainly suffering because of it.

Not to mention the boys. When Brandon walked in the main doors of the dining hall, he unconsciously scanned the room for Callie’s pretty blond head and for Jenny’s mess of curls before realizing they weren’t going to be there. He sighed heavily and headed for the food lines, grabbing a tray and walking around the massive lineup in front of the buffalo chicken strips. (One of Callie’s few indulgences—she was going to be pissed about that.)

“More,” Heath Ferro told the poor girl shoveling the strips out onto his plate. “Don’t be stingy. I’m a growing boy.”

Brandon tried not to gag as he passed his roommate in line and grabbed a bowl of steaming tomato soup. His stomach was still queasy from dinner last night. Or maybe he was queasy from all the flirting Tinsley had done with his dad. Talk about weird. She’d appeared out of nowhere and bewitched all of them, except maybe Julian.

“What’s your problem, princess?” Heath asked after his plate had been piled sufficiently high with chicken strips. “Didn’t you have fun on your date with Julian last night? He said you looked hot.” He snickered.

Brandon rolled his eyes and examined the apples for one without any bruises. Heath was never going to outgrow the homosexuality jokes either. Brandon could already picture him at their fifty-year reunion, still making
Brokeback Mountain
cracks. “Tinsley was there too, jackass, in case you didn’t hear.” He strolled over to the coolers and grabbed a bottle of orange-raspberry juice. Just saying her name electrified him.

“Jesus. No girls for the whole weekend.” Heath followed him back toward the table near the fireplace where some of the other guys were sitting. “How fucked up is that?”

“Very,” answered Alan St. Girard between giant slurps of his chocolate milk. “I feel like I’m in
School Ties
or something.”

“There are other girls around, you know.” Ryan Reynolds sighed, not really believing it.

“Yeah, but no good ones.”

“Since when did you differentiate?” Heath peeled open his banana and flicked the peel at Alan, then ducked before Alan’s apple core could smack him in the face.

Excellent, thought
Brandon.
They’re like a bunch of gorillas. Take the girls away and soon they’ll start eating each other.

“I don’t know if I can make it through the weekend without getting a glimpse of one of Tinsley’s short skirts. She’s better than Skinemax.” Ryan stuffed his chocolate chip cookie into his mouth whole.

“Think about it. All the hotties trapped inside with our beer?” Heath slapped himself on the forehead. “It’s going to be legendary. We
have
to get in there.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Julian asked. The guys had seemed to forget already that he was a freshman and had accepted him into the fold. Normally, if a freshman wanted to hang out with upperclassmen, he’d have to do their laundry or give them weed or something. But Julian was cool, and all the guys wanted him on their intramural basketball teams for winter, so they’d sort of silently forgiven him for being so young. “We can’t exactly knock on the front door.”

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait WAIT!” Heath jumped up from his seat, sending his glass of water sploshing over onto Brandon’s half-eaten sandwich. “What about the tunnels? Are they real? Does anyone know?”

“What are the tunnels?” Julian leaned forward eagerly. This was a story he hadn’t heard.

Alan ran his fingers over his unshaven chin. It looked like a blond Brillo pad. “I thought those were just rumors.”

“No, they’re real.” Brandon picked up his sopped sandwich and tossed it onto Heath’s tray. “They were built to go between the dorms and the classrooms back during the cold war or something… .”

“It wasn’t a war thing—they dug them so the students could avoid this fucking numb-nuts Yankee weather.” Easy Walsh spoke up for the first time, having been too busy shoveling chicken strips into his mouth to join the conversation.

Oh, yeah, Mr. Tunnels Expert?
Brandon thought. “Well, either way … they’ve been closed up for years.”

“Yeah, but my brothers used to talk about breaking into them and hanging out there to drink.” Easy shrugged. The collar of his stained white polo shirt was coming apart at the seam. “So there’s got to be a way in somehow.”

“So you can see J-E-N-N-Y?” Ryan poured half a glass of Sprite into his orange juice and swirled it with a spoon. “If I knew I was getting some of
that
ass, I’d be pretty determined too.”

“I think the only ass you’ll be getting is your grandma’s, so why don’t you shut the hell up and go give her a call?”

“Ladies, ladies, please.” Heath stood up. “Don’t you see? We all need to work together on this. Join forces, combine powers for the greater good.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. Heath was always going off on these comic book/superpower tangents; like his life wasn’t easy enough already, he had to think of himself as some sort of superhero. Although the only power he’d want would be X-ray vision so he could see through girls’ clothes.

“Whatever,” Ryan grumbled. “I mean, I’m in.”

Easy tossed his crumpled-up napkin on Ryan’s tray as a peace offering. “So let’s figure it out… . How do we even find the tunnels?”

“Teamwork, ladies, teamwork.” Heath pounded the table with his fist. “We all go our separate ways. Someone take the library, Maxwell Hall, the art studios, Lasell, everything. Leave no stone unturned. No door or trapdoor unopened!” It was like he thought he was Professor Xavier making a speech to inspire all the X-Men before going into battle.

“What if it’s locked?” Brandon asked.

“What?”

“What if the unopened door is locked? Then what?”

Heath looked at his roommate as if he were a five-year-old who had just asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Then we make like
Oceans 11
and pick it.”

And since all the girls were gone, they’d have to shoplift some hairpins.

Email Inbox

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Date:
Saturday, October 5, 1:12 p.m.

Subject:
Picnics

Denny,

I miss you. Have no fear, the mighty Heath Ferro has a plan. We’re going to try and sneak in—we can have our dinner date in your room instead of the woods.

Luv,

E

Instant Message Inbox

CallieVernon:
Hey, Walsh. Please thank the big guy for a lovely dinner last night.

EasyWalsh:
He’d probably dig it if you sent him an email yourself—you know he’s in love with you.

CallieVernon:
Ha ha ha … Yeah, it was surprisingly fun. J.L. Walsh is like a fine wine—he gets better with age.

EasyWalsh:
Depends on your definition of better. At least no food was thrown.

CallieVernon:
You sneaking in tonight with the rest of the guys? I hear there’s a secret plan.

EasyWalsh:
Ferro is acting as our fearless leader, so you know we’re in good hands.

CallieVernon:
As long as you make it… we girls are all dressing up, hoping some sexy knights in shining armor will break down the doors… .

EasyWalsh:
Um, yeah. We’ll try.

After delivering gourmet sandwiches for lunch (turkey and Havarti on croissants, portobello and goat cheese on flat bread), dining services must have needed an easy one since they announced that for dinner, they would be ordering a giant stack of pizza boxes. No one seemed to mind. In fact, pizza was Tinsley’s favorite meal before a big night of drinking. Nothing like carbs and cheese to prep the stomach for alcohol.

All afternoon, the girls had left the doors to their rooms—and closets—open, and everyone roamed around the floors, pawing through racks of clothes that weren’t even their size, just in case they saw something spectacular. Tinsley had been through Benny and Sage and Celine’s closets, and she knew Callie’s like the back of her hand, but everything seemed boring. Dry. Conventional. Unsurprising. Her wardrobe had been picked clean by dozens of hands. She didn’t mind sharing, as long as she got outfits as good as she gave.

Brett came storming into the room, an emerald green chiffon garment hanging over her arm. She didn’t even glance at Tinsley as she tossed the dress onto her bed. She clicked on her Harmon Kardon stereo, flooding the room with the sound of Fleetwood Mac. Could Brett be any lamer? Who liked seventies music besides the people who were actually alive in the seventies?

With a glare at Brett that was meant to be withering, Tinsley left the room, slamming the door behind her.

She sighed. Five-thirty—the boys, if they managed to find a way in, would be here in a couple of hours. She might as well check on the beer—the kegs probably needed new ice. Never before had the ice machine in Dumbarton’s basement seemed so essential.

Kara’s door was the only closed one on the whole floor. Tinsley knocked briefly before twisting the knob. Kara was sitting at her desk, books open in front of her. “Hello?” Tinsley called out.

Kara spun around in her chair. “Oh … hey.” She didn’t look happy that Tinsley was there.
Please
. Tinsley was doing this nobody girl a fucking favor, allowing her to store the party refreshments in her room. No one even knew who she was before today. She could at least show a little gratitude.

“Just wanted to check on the kegs—you don’t mind if we leave them here, do you?” Tinsley glanced around the spotless, tidy room. “It’s just so clean in here. And no one would suspect you.”

Kara dropped her arm over the back of her chair. She was still wearing the Bob Dylan T-shirt she’d had on earlier. Hopeless. “Yeah, whatever.” Her greenish brown eyes met Tinsley’s violety blue ones.

Tinsley crouched near the bed and lifted the bedspread out of the way. She pressed one of her hands to the metal of the keg. Cool enough. She stood back up. All right, she could be a little nicer to this girl—after all, she hadn’t exactly asked her before she’d stored the kegs in her room. “How come you’re not dressed?” Tinsley inquired. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Well…”

“Oh, come on!” Tinsley straightened up and for the first time glanced at Kara’s open closet door. With the eye of a shopping aficionado, she took in the bright colors and expensive fabrics. Wait a second, whose stuff was this? The girl who wore only black had a closetful of clothes like
these?
In two quick strides, Tinsley was in front of the closet, pulling at a gorgeous dusty rose dress with a pleated waist and full, swingy silhouette. It looked like something out of the twenties. She held it up against her body. “Where did you get this stuff?” she exclaimed, already eagerly pawing at the other things.

Kara’s chair squeaked as she pushed it back across the hard-wood floor. She walked timidly toward Tinsley. Tinsley considered herself an expert on body language, and she could tell Kara didn’t trust her. Tinsley looked at her more closely. She was one of those girls you don’t realize is pretty until you’ve been looking at her for a few moments, and suddenly, like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces fall into place. Her shoulder-length hair was stick-straight, a mild, honey-tinted brown, and she was small and curvy. She still had some baby fat on her face, nothing that a little skilled makeup application couldn’t turn to her advantage, and gorgeous, wide-set greenish brown eyes that were completely wasted on someone who didn’t know how to use a touch of eyeliner.

“My mom.” Kara watched as Tinsley pulled out a pair of white satin sailor pants and squinted at the tag. Frannie Oz. “She’s …um … a designer.”

Tinsley’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? She made all these? You lucky bitch.”

Kara shrugged, completely oblivious to what a freaking gold mine she was hiding in her closet. “She went a little overboard this year—she sent me all these samples from her spring line.”

Tinsley spun around and rubbed her forehead. “So why on earth are you not wearing them?” She was careful to avoid criticizing the Bob Dylan T-shirt and black jeans—some girls were so sensitive. But
this
girl had such a soft face that the all-black look was totally overwhelming.