The It Girl (5 page)

Brett had promised that, as soon as she got to school, she’d call him up and they’d have phone sex. Jeremiah had wanted to have sex over the summer, but she just wasn’t ready. She wasn’t entirely sure why, except that she’d never had sex with any-body before, and she really wasn’t sure if Jeremiah was the right person to do it with first.

Of course, indecision about losing her virginity wasn’t the kind of thing a girl like Brett ever admitted out loud. She’d told Callie she’d lost it ages ago to a Swiss boy named Gunther she’d met on a family skiing trip to Gstaad, even though really she’d hardly even let him feel her up. Brett had cultivated an image at Waverly: tough, experienced, sophisticated, and a little bitchy. Her mom was the opposite—helpless, naive, childish—and Brett didn’t want to be like that.

Callie extended her long, perfectly smooth legs. “I really need a shower.” She yawned, stood up, and slipped on a pair of rubbery clogs. “You want to go to dinner when I get back?”

Brett shrugged. “I don’t know. I have to look over some prefect stuff for tomorrow. There’s some new adviser, so I need to be prepared and stuff.” Brett had been elected junior prefect last year, which meant she would lead roll call and act as junior leader of DC, or Disciplinary Committee. It was a huge popularity nod—everyone in your class had to vote you into the position. “But I guess I could skip it. And we have the party tonight, too… . ”

“Whatever.” Callie waved her towel and turned for the door.

Brett flopped onto her bed and stared out the window. The view of the river, which usually calmed her down like a shot of aged whiskey, now seemed suffocating. She’d imagined her first meeting with Callie after the long summer would be different. She hadn’t expected them to talk about Tinsley right away, and she’d assumed Callie would behave like she used to—throwing herself on Brett’s bed, opening a bag of Pirate’s Booty for them to share, and gossiping about all the wild, romantic, risqué stuff they’d done all summer. They’d laugh, have some gin and tonics, and go to dinner, just like last year.

She flipped open her cell phone and quickly hit the shortcut key to call her sister, Brianna, who lived in New York and worked as a fashion editor at
Elle
magazine. Bree had been through the Waverly mill six years before and could usually talk Brett out of any funk. Unfortunately, Bree’s phone went straight to voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me,” Brett rambled when she heard the beep. “I feel … I don’t know. A mess. Call me or something.”

She hung up and flopped back on the bed. As soon as she did, her cell phone bleated in her bag. Thinking it was Bree, she opened it up, but she was wrong.

“Hello, Jeremiah,” she sighed, pressing the phone to her ear. “How are you?”

“Wicked awesome, now,” he breathed on the other end.

Brett rolled her eyes. Then she pictured him spread-eagled on his St. Lucius bed, ten miles away, in a tattered varsity foot-ball jersey and boxer shorts, with his long tan arms and sexy eyes, and she felt a warm whoosh of pleasure.

“So are we going to do this … thing?” she asked, not even bothering to shut the dorm room door. Let the nosy sophomore girls next door get an earful. Maybe they’d learn something.

Instant Message Inbox

HeathFerro:
I got news. Talked to my older brother’s friend who works in I-banking, and he says that this place Fish Stick is the bomb in the city. Girls take it off for 99 cents!

CallieVernon:
Um, Heath? I think you got the wrong text addy. This is Callie. I don’t want to hear about strippers. Especially not as I’m about to take a shower.

HeathFerro:
You’re in the shower? Can I see? Now that you and Easy are broken up, you’re a free bird, right?

CallieVernon:
What? Who told you that?

CallieVernon:
Heath? Where are you? It’s not true!

CallieVernon:
Hello??

Instant Message Inbox

BennyCunningham:
So the big question going around is, you take a ride on the pony yet?

CallieVernon:
Pony?

BennyCunningham:
It’s the new name for Heath Ferro. He gets more ass than a pony at a country fair.

CallieVernon:
Ew. No way have I hooked up with him. He’s nasty. Have YOU?

BennyCunningham:
Guilty as charged.

CallieVernon:
OMG
. When?

BennyCunningham:
Freshman year. We made out in the Stansfield Hall coatroom. Never again. Totally gross.

CallieVernon:
Not to change the subject, but has anyone told you Easy and I broke up?

BennyCunningham:
Umm … maybe.

CallieVernon:
Who?

BennyCunningham:
Can’t remember. Gotta go to predinner prep!

CallieVernon:
Because it’s not true.

CallieVernon:
Seriously.

CallieVernon:
U still there?

“I’m looking for Jennifer Humphrey.” A thin, birdlike girl with a British accent and stringy blond hair stood twitching in front of Brandon and Jenny, just inside the door to Richards’ lounge. She wore a plain white sleeveless cotton turtleneck with a little triangular crest over the pocket and very suburban-mom-looking khakis, the kind that cinch around your waist and make your ass look huge. “I guess that would be you.”

“Yes,” Jenny half-squeaked, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“I’m Yvonne Stidder.” The girl stuck her hand out. She had a flimsy handshake and acne on her chin. “I’m a mentor to new students. We found you a room.”

Brandon raised his eyebrows at Jenny and started to get up. “It was nice meeting you, Jenny.”

“You too.” Jenny hefted her pink L.L. Bean duffels onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered when Yvonne had turned her back.

“I’m so sorry we kept you waiting for so long,” Yvonne continued, leading Jenny down the Richards stairwell, past an entryway full of already-moved-in Trek mountain bikes, skate-boards, empty PlayStation boxes, and about a dozen well-used soccer balls.

“No big deal.” Jenny was thrilled to have hung out with those two cool boys, but she was kind of relieved to be away from them, so she could breathe a little.

“Normally we aren’t allowed in the boys’ dorms except during visitation hours.” Yvonne gave Jenny a sidelong glance, holding the door open for her. She sneezed as soon as they stepped outside. “Actually, um, that was the first time I’ve ever been in a boys’ dorm. Although of course I know everything about the boys’ dorms. I know all sorts of facts about Waverly if you want to ask me any questions. Anything at all.”

“Okay. Thanks.” If Yvonne hadn’t seemed like such a dork, Jenny might’ve suspected she was coked up, she talked so fast. “So what dorm am I in?” she asked as they crossed the green. She felt a nervous flutter in her chest. They were going to her new dorm, where she’d live for the whole school year! Where all sorts of amazing things would happen to her! Hopefully.

“Dumbarton. Over there, see?” Yvonne pointed to a two-story brick building with cutout windows sticking out of the roof at the back of the campus. Beyond it shimmered the Hudson, which looked a lot prettier up here than it did in the city. Jenny could just picture the boys’ crew team gliding effort-lessly across its surface in their sleek sculls, their strong arms bulging as they rowed. “This girl Tinsley Carmichael—she was going to live with Callie Vernon and Brett Messerschmidt, but then she got kicked out, so there’s a free spot. My friend from jazz ensemble, Storm Bathurst, lives next door—”

“Wait. Did you say Tinsley?” Jenny asked. She recognized that name, but she’d absorbed so much in so little time that she couldn’t remember when or where. “Why’d she get kicked out?”

Yvonne shoved her round, wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose. She smelled like Vicks VapoRub. “I’m not sure,” she replied flatly. “I don’t like to gossip.”

“Well, can you tell me
anything
about my new roommates?”

Yvonne paused. “I don’t know them well. But they’re the girls everyone flocks around.”

“Flocks around?” Jenny’s heart sped up.

“You know, the ones always giving parties, always with the cutest boys …” Yvonne giggled and turned to Jenny. “Not to say there aren’t cute boys in the jazz ensemble. Do you play any instruments? The jazz ensemble is looking for some people.”

“Um, no, sorry. But about Callie and Brett—they’re, like, really popular?”

“Yeah.” Yvonne nodded, sidestepping a maroon pinnie that someone had left on the field. “There’s this little crowd of kids that everyone on campus watches.”

Oh, really?
Jenny thought excitedly. She touched the preppy little alligator on her shirt, pleased that she’d dressed so nicely to meet her supercool new roomies. Then she noticed a tall, brunette boy with matted hair, as if he’d just taken off a hat, walking across the green. He carried a big wooden easel over his shoulder, and his jeans were spattered with paint. Jenny’s breath caught in her throat.

“Who is that?” She pointed.

“Him?” Yvonne muttered. “That’s Easy Walsh.”

“Easy. What a great name,” Jenny mused. “Is he an artist or something?”

“I don’t know him very well, except that he’s always getting into trouble.” Yvonne crinkled her nose. “Smoking,” she whispered. For a girl who didn’t like to gossip, she certainly knew a lot.

The boy entered the double doors of the library. Jenny suddenly wished she could ditch her bags—and Yvonne—and follow him.

Instead, she followed Yvonne into the Dumbarton dorm. It was a quaint, two-story brick building that had its name inscribed in brownstone above a large, white, wooden farm-house door. They ducked through a narrow passage and up a set of granite stairs. One of the steps was inscribed 1832,
RHINECLIFF
, NY. The dorm was even older than Jenny’s family’s crumbling rent-stabilized apartment building on the Upper West Side.

All around her, girls were moving their things in. Rooney blared out of one room, No Doubt out of another. She saw a short Asian girl with pigtails unrolling a giant poster of Jennifer Garner as Elektra, kicking someone’s ass.

They approached door 303, which was slightly ajar.

“... and I’m licking you all over, and—wait. No. Jesus, Jeremiah, you don’t have your pants off yet. Stay with me here!”

“Uh, hello?” Yvonne said, pushing the door open a little.

A striking-looking older girl with blazing red hair sprang up from one of the room’s twin beds. “I have to go,” she blurted into her phone and flipped it shut. She glanced for a second at Yvonne and then fixed her piercing eyes on Jenny.

“Ermm, this is Jenny Humphrey,” Yvonne explained. “She’s your new roommate. She’s from … where was it?”

“Constance Billard,” Jenny answered, sticking out her hand. “In New York City.”

“Oh. Cool. Brett Messerschmidt.” The girl wore a starched, short-sleeved tailored white blouse that Jenny had seen in the windows of the Soho Scoop store all summer and those knee-length pegged shorts only the hippest kids in Williamsburg were wearing.

Jenny walked into the room, which was bigger and somehow plainer than she’d imagined. The windows were huge and beautiful, overlooking the river, while the beds and furniture were just … old. She studied her new roommate out of the corner of her eye. Her blazing red hair was cut in a severe bob that ended right at her chin. One ear had about seven tiny gold hoop earrings, and she wore a gold diamond Cartier tank watch on her left wrist. She was sexy and sophisticated, and very … familiar. Then Jenny remembered: there was a picture of Brett on Waverly’s Web site. She was the Girl Hovering Over Her Books Looking Studious. Or at least that’s what Jenny had called her.

“What about Callie?” Yvonne looked around the room. “Is she here yet?”

“Shower,” Brett muttered.

Yvonne blinked furiously, then mumbled something about a flute lesson and fled the room.

Jenny walked over to what looked like the spare bed and sat down, bouncing a couple of times. “This is a great room. I love the view.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Brett folded her arms across her chest.

“Who are
you
?” came a loud voice behind them. Jenny turned and saw a tall, strikingly beautiful girl with enormous hazel eyes and dark blond hair that looked like it had just been blow-dried. Jenny thought she looked just like the Disney movie version of Cinderella. Once she had transformed into a princess, of course.

“Hey. I’m Jenny. I’m—they assigned me to this room.”

“They? Who’s ‘they’?” Cinderella demanded.

“Well … Waverly,” Jenny stammered. “Are you Callie?”

“Yes. Are you a junior or a sophomore?”

“Sophomore. What are you guys?”

“Juniors.” Callie pursed her pink-lipsticked lips and deposited an enormous Gucci makeup bag on top of her desk. “You’re taking that bed?” She pointed to the bed Jenny was sitting on.

“I guess so. I mean, unless it’s not okay with you two.”

“I suppose it’s fine.” Callie glanced at Brett. “I guess Tinsley’s really gone then.”

Brett made a snorting noise through her nose. Jenny just stood there, not sure what to say.

“What happened to … er … Tinsley?” she finally asked.

“It’s complicated,” Brett responded quickly, unzipping a suitcase entirely full of shoes. Jenny checked the labels on a few. Jimmy Choo. Sigerson Morrison. Manolo Blahnik.

“It was nothing,” Callie added. She stared out the window, away from both of them.

Jenny wasn’t much of a smoker, but she wished she could have a cigarette right then, just to have something to do with her hands.

Callie finally broke the silence. “Where’d you go to school before this?”