The It Girl (10 page)

“Oh.” Jenny felt somewhat relieved. So this was her first strike. That wasn’t so bad.

“It would
really
suck if I got expelled.” Callie tore open the condom with her fingernail. “My parents would make me to go public school in Atlanta. Kids sneak guns and cans of Miller Lite past the metal detectors there. And everyone’s into
NASCAR
. Even the girls!” She stared down at Jenny. “Could you imagine me at NASCAR?”

Callie was way too beautiful to go to public school. Then Jenny stopped herself, remembering she wasn’t supposed to be all suck-uppy with an older girl the way Old Jenny had been with Serena van der Woodsen back at Constance. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop.
New Jenny, New Jenny, New Jenny
.

Callie pulled out the yellowish condom and inserted her pointer finger into its open end. “I have to make it through this year without getting busted.”

Jenny sighed resignedly. She loved everything about Waverly—the woodsiness, the New England-style brick buildings, that the teachers wore blazers to class and often had the title of doctor, even the succulent wasabi salmon that everybody shunned. She wanted to row on the river and go to the Spring Fling and meet boys from other prep schools and return to Manhattan triumphant, because she was now a boarding school girl. She didn’t want it fucked up like this right off the bat, and yet here she was again, the most talked about girl on campus and already in trouble before classes had even started.

Callie twirled the condom around on her finger. “Everything will be fine,” she assured Jenny. “Seriously. They’ll give you restricted study. Or no visitation. But Brett’s on DC.” She smiled sweetly as if to say,
I’ll be your best friend forever and ever if you help me out
.

“I just don’t know.” Jenny wrung her hands in her lap. As much as she wanted to be friends with Callie, she didn’t want to be in trouble. Not at all. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“I totally understand! Take your time! Think about it! But you aren’t going to get in trouble. It’s really, really, r
eally
not a big deal.”

“Yeah, but …” Jenny bit her lip. “I don’t know… .”

Callie sprang off her bed, darted to her closet, and opened up the door. “And here—for your meeting with your adviser tomorrow, you’ll want to look as professional as possible. You want to borrow something of mine? Seriously. Anything.” She ran her hand down the rack of gorgeous, perfectly pressed designer clothes.

“Really?” Jenny stood up and peeked into Callie’s closet with her. The weight of the situation slowly began to sink in. Would Callie have offered up anything in her closet before Mr. Pardee had caught Easy in the room? No way. Jenny felt a strange, heady rush of power, a rush so intense it kind of freaked her out.

“Seriously. Anything I can do. I’ll totally make this the best year of your life,” Callie offered enthusiastically.

Jenny pulled a sleek black
DKNY
dress from off its white satin hanger and held it up to herself. The best year of her life? She could really use a year like that… .

Instant Message Inbox

HeathFerro:
So were they really having sex?? Could u hear them thru the walls?

EmilyJenkins:
It was so
LOUD
I had to put my sound machine on city traffic to block out the noise!

HeathFerro:
Were they knocking against the wall?

EmilyJenkins:
Totally. I got negative sleep.

HeathFerro:
Nice.

Instant Message Inbox

SageFrancis:
Did u know some freshman girls are drawing ponies on their marker boards? They don’t even know H. They just think it’s the cool thing 2 do!

AlisonQuentin:
H is running out of options… . He’ll probably move on 2 freshmen next… .

The next morning, Jenny stood near the closets, surveying the quiet, sun-dappled dorm room. Today was only Thursday, the first day of classes, but already the room looked lived-in: books and papers everywhere, clothes heaped on the floor, makeup, shampoo and nail polish bottles strewn on top of desks next to flat-screen computer monitors, piles of notebooks and textbooks, unopened packages of highlighters, and a large aloe plant teetering on the narrow windowsill. Jenny had arrived almost two days ago, but it still didn’t feel like
her
dorm room, since she’d hardly had a moment in it alone. Brett’s bed was empty—she’d snuck in after all the commotion last night and must have gotten up early. There was an imprint in the mattress where her body had been. Callie was still sound asleep, curled up in the fetal position.

Jenny ran her hand over a pile of Callie’s downy cashmere cardigans. All of Callie’s clothes were beautiful, but this morning Jenny felt awkward about borrowing any of them. Instead, she slipped on her own Banana-Republic-but-looks-like-Theory shiny khaki circle skirt, her only Thomas Pink button-down shirt, and a pair of baby-pink Cynthia Rowley ballet flats. She put on her Waverly blazer and assessed the look. Definitely Not Guilty.

Jenny tiptoed into the hall and closed her dorm room door behind her. Next to Brett’s note about studying in Benny’s room, someone had written
SAVE
TINSLEY! in big magenta letters on the marker board hanging from the door. There was also a drawing of what looked like a little pony in the bottom corner. Walking down the hallway she noticed that some of the other girls’ marker boards had little ponies drawn on them, too. Boarding school was turning out to be like a painting by Chagall—full of pranks, mind games, and mysteries.

Jenny wound her way along the ancient cobblestone paths that snaked through the Waverly campus toward Stansfield Hall, a massive brick structure that housed the administrative offices and a few classrooms. Few students were awake yet, but the maintenance crew was tending to the soccer field and the landscaping. The air smelled like freshly cut grass.

Inside Stansfield Hall there were intricate plaster moldings of creeping vines and flowers on the walls, stained glass windows in the stairwells, and engravings in the wooden railings. Jenny climbed the stairs to the third floor and walked to the very end of a stately, mahogany-floored hall. A brass plate on the closed office door read
ERIC
DALTON
. Inside, Jenny heard giggling and took a step back.

“I’ve heard that one before,” she heard a girl’s voice say. “Every English teacher since the sixth grade has told me that I share my name with the woman in
The Sun Also Rises
.”

“Lady Brett Ashley,” a man’s voice said. “She was a trouble-maker.”

“Well, it must go with the name, then,” Jenny heard Brett answer in an extremely flirtatious voice.

“So, um, listen, we have to talk to this student, so we won’t be able to get to some of the admin stuff I wanted to discuss. Are you free for lunch today? We could deal with it then.”

“I think so,” Brett replied. “I’ll meet you here?”

Jenny knocked on the door. She heard papers shuffling and the clink of glasses.

“Come in,” Mr. Dalton called out. Jenny strode into the office, which was cramped and messy. Brett sat on the edge of a brown leather couch, her hands folded in her lap, looking way too prim and innocent.

Mr. Dalton sat down at his desk chair and shuffled some papers. “Jenny, right? Please, sit down.” He motioned to the couch. Jenny sat as far from Brett as she could. “This is Brett,” he continued. “She’s on Disciplinary Committee and helping me with some administrative things.”

“Yeah, she’s my—”

Brett turned to Mr. Dalton. “Jenny and I already know each other. We live in Dumbarton together.”

Yeah, in the same room
. Jenny wondered why Brett didn’t say they were roommates.

Dalton smiled. “Oh, well, okay. Well, Brett is helping me out here with some DC issues, and as a member of DC, she’s helping preside over this case.” He cleared his throat. “So, Jenny, I’m your adviser, and I’m also gathering general facts about the DC case, so we’re killing two birds with one stone here.” He flipped through some more papers as if he could somehow absorb what was written on them just by touching them.

Jenny noticed Brett wasn’t wearing her Waverly jacket but a gorgeous, eggplant charmeuse silk top and a sleek, black knee-length wool skirt. On her feet were strappy Marc Jacobs sandals. Her long, thin legs were crossed sexily and angled toward Mr. Dalton.

Mr. Dalton perched on the corner of his desk with a legal pad in his hand. “Okay, so what happened last night? We have you in your dorm room with a boy named Easy Walsh. Mr. Pardee says you were lying in your bed together?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Jenny responded meekly. She’d stayed up all night weighing which was the better option: confirming the Waverly student body’s suspicion that she was a giant slut or making enemies with her roommate. “I don’t … I don’t think I’m ready to tell you what happened.”

Mr. Dalton raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I mean, do I have to make a statement right now? Or can it wait until, you know, the real hearing? Because I’m not really ready to talk about it.”

“Well, technically, you don’t have to tell me anything,” Mr. Dalton admitted, pen poised above the legal pad. “Although, as your adviser, I’d like you to
feel
that you can tell me.”

“I’m not ready. I—”

“What do you mean you’re not ready?” Brett interrupted, uncrossing her legs and glaring at Jenny. Her hair looked even redder when she was angry.

Jenny shut her mouth tight and shrugged her shoulders. She was afraid to speak.

Brett examined Jenny critically. Her pink and white striped button-down was too tight across her chest, and she was all pink-cheeked, as if she’d been running across a field.

Brett had come in late last night after the run-in with Mr. Pardee, but Eric had filled her in when she arrived at his office this morning—not that Brett actually believed Pardee’s version. It was totally stupid of Jenny not to say something to get her and Easy out of trouble. Poor Jenny. She was the perfect foil for Callie. God, Callie was a bitch.

Jenny noticed Brett inspecting her as if she were a biological specimen on a glass slide. She felt her cheeks grow hot.
I’m New Jenny, I’m New Jenny, I’m New Jenny
, she repeated silently, steeling herself.

“Well.” Mr. Dalton rubbed his hands together. “I guess if you don’t want to say anything now, you certainly don’t have to. But maybe there’s someone else on the faculty you might feel more comfortable talking to?”

Jenny shrugged her shoulders again helplessly. Today was the first day of classes. She hadn’t even met her teachers yet.

“Well then,” Mr. Dalton continued, “thanks for coming in, Jenny. I guess we’ll have a full trial next week. How’s Monday?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she replied hollowly. “Um, thanks.” She glanced at Brett as she left Mr. Dalton’s office, hoping for an encouraging smile, but Brett was examining her fire-engine-red split ends, looking totally bored.

Jenny closed the heavy oak door behind her, wondering if it had been really stupid to tell them that she wasn’t ready to make a statement. What was this,
Law & Order: Boarding School
?

All of a sudden, she was face-to-face with Easy Walsh, standing outside the door to Mr. Dalton’s office, waiting to come in. As soon as they locked eyes, her heart began to race.

She’d been so consumed with possibly getting in trouble and possibly being considered Waverly biggest slut ever that she’d let their intimate little back-rub session slide to the back of her mind. Now she remembered the nice warm feeling of Easy’s body next to hers.

“Hey.” She swallowed quickly.

“Huh?” Easy stared at her blankly, his blue eyes droopy and tired-looking. He wore a tattered marigold-yellow T-shirt that read
LEXINGTON
ALL-STARS
. “Oh!” He widened his eyes.

“Um, how do you feel?” Jenny persisted shyly.

“I …” He lurched off to the left, his eyes still wide. A strong smell of stale vodka was oozing out his pores. “I … you were just in there?”

“Yes.” Jenny felt tipsy just breathing the same air as Easy.

He started to say something else, but then the door opened, and Mr. Dalton stuck his blond head out. “Mr. Walsh, it’s your turn.”

Without saying goodbye, Easy staggered into the office. Jenny turned and padded down the stairs into the bright sunshine. On a low tree branch directly above the pathway sat one of those fat great horned owls. She froze. Was this the same one that had tried to kill her just two days ago? She narrowed her eyes.

The owl finally blinked slowly at her, as if it were stoned, then looked away.

Jenny hurried past it on her way to her first class. It was the first and possibly only triumphant moment of the day. She’d won a staring contest with an owl.

“Glad to see you could make it,” Dalton greeted Easy. Last night’s Ketel One binge had left Easy feeling like the gunk he picked out of Credo’s feet before a ride. He slumped into a black leather Eames office chair and stared blankly at Callie’s roommate, Brett, who was seated across from him in a totally see-through purple blouse. His new adviser looked about eighteen, a welcome change from his old adviser, Mr. Kelley, who was so ancient he could barely remember his own name and had finally retired last year at the age of about a hundred.

“Hello, Easy,” Brett greeted him in an exaggerated authori-tative tone, making a few notes in a yellow steno pad. “Have a good summer?”

“Uh-huh,” Easy grunted, staring up at the ceiling. Brett might have thought she was Miss I-have-power-over-you-because-I’m-a-prefect, but Easy wasn’t buying it. He and Brett used to be close. They’d had French class together freshman year, and for the final discussion presentation, instead of getting up in front of the class and having an inane conversation, Brett had had the idea to make a morbid, Godardian French-phrase short film with an antique Super-8 camera. Easy was her partner for the class and therefore the existential star of the film. He got to say weird stuff in French like, “
Mon omelette du jambon est mort
,” and, “
Les yeux
—the eyes—are in pain.” Monsieur Grimm had loved it and had given them both A’s.