Classic (4 page)

She had to read the name again, just to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating something so vile. So…
unacceptable.

Brett heard a familiar, obnoxious peal of laughter float through the air of the dining hall, and she swiveled around, knowing
who she would see before her gaze found Sebastian. He was still over by the coffee machine. But this time, he was sporting
a new appendage: Isla Dresden.

Sebastian leaned against the table, Isla leaning in toward him. She tipped her upper body close to his, no doubt giving Sebastian
the great news that she of all people was his Perfect Match. She leaned in even closer, shaking her tousled curls back
from her face, and put her hand on Seb’s muscled arm. Brett reached up and fingered the ends of her short, sleek red bob.

Rather than cutting Isla off and bringing Brett—his
girlfriend
—her much-needed coffee, Sebastian was smiling. Talking. While her coffee sat in his hand, getting cold. Isla let out another
rolling, riotous laugh.

Brett felt her whole body overheat, and she knew her cheeks probably matched the fire-engine red of her hair. She wouldn’t
be surprised if actual steam were coming out of her ears.
He was flirting.

She knew that she should trust him—that she’d promised to trust him, and that he’d given her absolutely no reason not to.

But if Sebastian didn’t want her to be jealous, then he shouldn’t flirt with über-skanks right in front of her face.

B
randon Buchanan congratulated himself on a perfectly executed morning. His distressed brown Red Wing boots crunched into the
leftover snow piled high on the sides of the shoveled and salted pathways, and the blustery February wind dropped little flakes
onto his navy blue Ralph Lauren toggle coat from the trees above. He tugged his Paul Smith wool hat tighter over his ears,
imagining that even from this distance, he could hear the screams and whoops and general carrying-on from the dining hall.

It was a bright but freezing Perfect Match day, and that meant full-scale Waverly madness, which Brandon had deliberately
avoided by grabbing an early breakfast. This year, though, he was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. He’d slaved over
his survey, carefully calibrating each response to be sure he’d be matched with Callie the way he knew in his heart he
was supposed to be. He’d put down all of her likes as his, all of her dislikes as his—and he should know them, because he’d
made a study of Callie Vernon for years now. Whatever happened with his Jan Plan project, he knew that his
real
work of art was his Perfect Match survey. He’d spent hours on it, and he was one hundred percent certain that he would be
matched with Callie.

He veered off the main pathway and took the smaller one that led out toward the science complex, a more roundabout route toward
his morning biology class. Things with Callie had been good—if a little bit distant—for the past month. It was the way he’d
always imagined it would be if they got back together, and he told himself there was nothing wrong with taking things slow,
easing into it. She’d been a little thrown by Easy’s reappearance out of nowhere the night of the dean’s party—but who wouldn’t
be? The guy was like some horror-movie cliché. Every time you thought he was finally gone, he’d pop right back up. This time,
he was all ripped and moody from military school, which might have annoyed Brandon if he thought he had any reason to be threatened
by the latest Easy Walsh resurrection.

But Easy wasn’t a factor anymore. Callie was all his. Granted, they hadn’t hooked up in weeks, but that was just because of
the whole probation thing. They’d practically been under house arrest. If he could just kiss her again the way he was dying
to do, he was sure things would be hot and amazing, like they had been before the party at the dean’s house.

Brandon’s phone beeped from his coat pocket, and he paused
outside the biology building. He pulled his iPhone out and glanced down at the screen, readying himself for his Perfect Match.

What. The. Fuck?

He didn’t recognize the name. How was that even possible?

“Um, Brandon?”

He looked up to see a girl he’d never laid eyes on before. She was an inch or two shorter than him, with dark auburn hair
twisted into uneven braids on either side of her face. She wore a Waverly blazer that hung loosely on her slim shoulders over
what looked like old Gap jeans and a bright green sweater. Black-rimmed glasses completely overpowered her face. She shifted
from foot to foot nervously.

“Do I know you?” Brandon asked. She blushed, and he realized how rude that sounded. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like a jerk.
“I just…” He made a half-assed kind of gesture with his hand.

“I’m Cora McSweeney,” she said, and gazed expectantly at him. Her eyes were huge and brown, so large for her face that they
almost reminded him of an anime character’s eyes. But she was looking at him meaningfully. Was he supposed to recognize her?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, waiting for her to ask him whatever she wanted to ask and then go away. He couldn’t wait to text
Callie and see who she’d been paired up with. Had she forgotten to turn in her survey? He couldn’t think of any other explanation
for their not being matched.

“I’m, um, your match,” Cora said softly. She gestured toward
his phone. “For Perfect Match. I’m a senior, so it’s not like we were going run into each other in class or anything, so
I just wanted to say hello when I saw you.”

“Oh,” Brandon said. Seriously? This was his match? He suddenly had a flash of sympathy for poor Stacey Fournier, with whom
he’d been paired last year. She was a senior and had been insulted about being matched with a sophomore. Now, Brandon suddenly
understood what she was feeling—because he couldn’t help feeling a little bit insulted that
this
was his supposed “perfect match.” According to whom, exactly?

“Thanks for saying hello—” he started to say.

“Well, I just wanted to—” she started at the same time.

They both broke off and laughed. Awkwardly.

“Please, um, go ahead,” Brandon said. He remembered how mean Stacey Fournier had been to him a year ago. The least he could
do was smile at this poor girl.

“It’s okay that you have no idea who I am,” she said. Her cheeks were red, but her brown eyes were direct and warm. “We don’t
exactly run in the same circles.” Her smile was shy and a little bit lopsided.

Brandon blinked. He was surprised by how straightforward she was. In a good way. “We don’t?” he asked weakly.

“Of course we don’t,” Cora said, her smile deepening. “It might surprise you, but there are some people at Waverly who don’t
hang out with Ryan Reynolds in the building his father commissioned or fly seaplanes to school like Tinsley Carmichael. Maybe
not a lot.” She wrinkled up her nose, holding back a laugh. “But some.”

“Are you sure?” Brandon asked dryly. But he smiled.

She laughed. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

Brandon looked at her for a moment, then looked away, down the path toward his class.

Cora shook her head as if dismissing whatever she’d been about to say next and squared her shoulders. Her chin tilted up.
“I’ll see you tonight at the movie, I guess.”

“Oh, um… Sure,” Brandon said. Cinephiles, the film group on campus, was screening
Love Story
that night, one of the most romantic movies of all time. He’d planned to see the movie with Callie, of course. There was
nothing Callie loved more than unbearably romantic movies. He couldn’t wait for her to cry in his arms so he could comfort
her.

“Great,” Cora said, looking him directly in the eye. “I’ll see you there. I might even e-mail you first.” She smiled again.
“Don’t freak out if I do.”

“Don’t be silly….” Brandon said, and laughed awkwardly.

Cora laughed—a real laugh—gave an awkward sort of wave, and then walked away.

It was so unfair, Brandon thought, watching her walk down the path in the crystal-bright morning sunshine. How had the computer
missed his perfect compatibility with Callie, after all the work he’d put into it? It wasn’t fair to him—and it certainly
wasn’t fair to that poor Cora girl, who had probably been hoping for a real match, someone who would get excited about going
to the movie screening together or take the time to actually stop and have a conversation.

He turned to head toward his classroom but then stopped
at the bottom step of the bio building. He hadn’t recognized Cora’s name when he’d read it—and he certainly wouldn’t have
recognized
her
if he’d been asked to pick her out of a lineup. Or a yearbook. Or, really, anywhere.

But she’d certainly recognized him.

C
allie tugged her hooded pink Juicy robe tighter across her narrow torso and sat down on her bed with a soft sigh. Across the
room, Jenny was already dressed in a pair of boot-cut black Banana Republic cords that could almost pass for Sevens and a
funky, deep blue V-neck sweater. She was standing with her back to Callie, pulling her mass of brown curls into a ponytail.
Callie ran her hand through her fresh-from-the-shower hair and then let it drop. She couldn’t seem to get moving today, even
though she had class in less than an hour and really should have been dressed already. She couldn’t quite bring herself to
get up and admit the day had begun—because she wanted to keep daydreaming.

Last night she’d stayed outside with Easy until they were both chilled through to the bone. Callie had come back upstairs
still in a trance, before she’d happily drifted off to sleep, her mind filled with
Easy, Easy, Easy.

“So?” Jenny turned to look at Callie, her brown eyes sparkling. Her high ponytail swung perkily behind her. “You were going
to tell me about your dreams last night. I bet I can guess what they were about,” she teased.

Callie smiled slowly. “You’re only half right,” she said.

She’d dreamed that she was reclining on some kind of plush red velvet chaise, dressed in a fabulous Old Hollywood–esque gown,
her strawberry blond hair in perfect pin curls. Easy had been stretched out beside her, his blue eyes glowing with love and
his military-toned body packed into a sleek suit that the real Easy would only wear to a wedding. The dream would have been
amazing enough if it had stopped there. But it hadn’t. Brandon had been right there, too, on her other side. The cool, confident
Brandon that Callie had fallen for all over again during Jan Plan, in a perfectly cut Burberry suit with a knowing look in
his golden brown eyes.

Each one of them had held a bunch of red grapes, which they took turns feeding to Callie as she lay between them like Cleopatra.
First, Easy pressed a cool, sweet grape to her lips, then Brandon teased her with the next. Callie could still practically
taste the fruit on her tongue.

You’re a goddess,
Dream Easy whispered.