Infamous (22 page)

Instant Message Inbox

CallieVernon:
I broke up w/ EZ.

BrettMesserschmidt:
What? How did you even talk to him? Isn’t he still in his barracks? Aren’t you in Atlanta?

CallieVernon:
He went
AWOL
to visit me in
NYC
. Long story…but I realized I wasn’t ready to be so serious.

BrettMesserschmidt:
Aw, sweetie. You sound sad.

CallieVernon:
I am. But it’s 4 the best. I’m flying home today. My mom wants to talk about the whole accidentally-sending-me-to-rehab thing.

BrettMesserschmidt:
She’d better take you makeup shopping!

CallieVernon:
Ha. Retail therapy is an essential part of the healing process.

Bright, almost blinding sunlight glittered across the snow-covered Waverly grounds as Brandon and Heath trudged back across campus over the unplowed paths sometime after seven on Friday morning. The cold winter wind whipped through their clothes, but Brandon couldn’t feel a thing. He grinned at Heath and Heath grinned back.

“Man, that was excellent.” Brandon fumbled through his pocket for his black Gucci aviators. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Dr. Heath always delivers.” Heath whinnied and did a quick gallop around Brandon before holding out his gloved hand for a high five. Brandon slapped it hard.

Brandon couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed up all night—if ever. He’d heard about all-night parties growing up, but he’d never been invited to any, so the idea had acquired the status of myth in his mind. Making out with Helga—he was ninety percent sure it had been Helga, not Gretchen—had been well worth the wait, though. He couldn’t believe how easily it had all come to him. Was it possible Heath was rubbing off on him?

Just thinking about it put a bounce in his step, and he slowed so that Heath could keep up.

“You gonna see Gretchen again before they leave?” Brandon asked as they slushed through a puddle. The snow-covered spire of Waverly’s chapel appeared in the distance.

Heath shrugged. “Doubtful,” he answered, rewrapping his cranberry and beige Burberry scarf around his neck.

“Why not?” Brandon asked. Helga had begged him to sneak back before she had to leave on Sunday, and while he wasn’t sure the date required Heath’s presence, he didn’t want to make the trek alone and somehow get stuck talking to Dunderdorf about goats again.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Heath puffed up. They turned up the path toward Richards, passing a couple of international students making snow angels on the smooth white Commons. “We totally clicked.”

“But?”

“But we just cuddled,” Heath admitted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Which is still cool.”

Brandon couldn’t believe his ears. The self-proclaimed lothario had spent the entire night…cuddling? Wait, did that make Brandon more pimp than Heath? “Sure,” Brandon said, rethinking how smooth Helga’s skin had felt, like in Switzerland they somehow had some miracle kind of moisturizer that turned skin into silk. “It’s cool.”
But I’m cooler
.

“I just kept…” Heath’s voice trailed off. He kicked a big clump of snow into the air. “You know. Thinking about Kara.”

Brandon stopped in his tracks. He knew Heath had been crushed when Kara dumped him the month before—he’d never seen his roommate actually cry before, and it was touching, in a freaky kind of way. But after a few days of moping around, Heath had managed nearly effortlessly to slip back into his old wisecracking, panty-chasing self. Or so Brandon had thought. He looked at Heath, whose normally carefree eyes confirmed what he was saying. He wasn’t over Kara.

“Are you going to tell her?” Brandon asked, curious. Now that he thought about it, it
had
seemed strange when Heath was unnaturally interested in seeing the Theater Club’s showing of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
last week. Brandon had assumed it had more to do with the rumor that the forest nymphs were naked than the fact that Kara Whalen was listed as the stage manager, but now he had to rethink things.

“I don’t know, dude,” Heath said, mildly annoyed, or just pretending to be. He kept walking. “It’s just a fact. Not sure there’s anything to be done about it.”

Brandon patted him on the back. Heath knocked Brandon into a snowbank in retaliation. “Not so fast, motherfucker!” The boys chased each other all the way back to their dorm, pelting each other with the hardest snowballs they could make.

Tinsley appeared in the breakfast nook of Yvonne Stidder’s apartment early Friday morning, dropping her Prada bag at her feet. “Hello, can we get moving, please?” she moaned cheerfully, plopping herself down on Callie’s lap.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Callie sat with an uneaten toasted bagel smeared with grape jelly still in front of her. She tried to twist out from under Tinsley’s lithe body, but Tinsley just wrapped an arm around Callie’s neck and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“A
very
good mood,” Jenny noted, staring miserably at the crumbs of her orange and cranberry muffin. She wasn’t quite sure she’d seen Tinsley look happy before. Ever. She’d seen her look satisfied, smarmy, gloating, devilish, cheerful, even content, but not happy. Her purply-blue Elizabeth Taylor eyes positively sparkled.

Jenny didn’t feel nearly as good, suffering from a severe hangover and a case of intense regret. She hadn’t seen Casey again after drunkenly saying she was in love with him, and every time she thought about it, she wanted to throw up. All over again. She’d made a complete fool of herself over a guy she hardly knew—again. She took another huge gulp of water and hoped the four extra-strength Advils would start to kick in soon.

Tinsley arched a dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow. Her smooth black hair was pulled back into two damp ponytails that started at the nape of her neck and hung halfway down her short-sleeved black and gray striped Juicy Couture cardigan. “I guess I’m just ready to get back to school.” She took a bite out of Callie’s bagel before hopping up and brushing the sesame seeds off her dark Rock & Republic skirt.

“I wonder why.” Callie twisted the corners of her pouty, Chanel-glossed lips into a half-smile. She picked at a glob of jelly that had landed on her pink Ralph Lauren turtleneck and tilted her head toward the living room, where Julian was collapsed on the couch, playing video games.

“Are you really going back?” Jenny stuffed her plate in the stainless steel sink overloaded with dishes and remnants of food. She’d offered, halfheartedly, to help Yvonne clean up today, but Yvonne had cheerfully promised that the cleaning crew were scheduled to arrive in a few hours and were looking forward to the bonus holiday weekend pay. “You’re welcome at my house now that the Hare Krishnas have evacuated.”

“That’s sweet.” Tinsley, in a pair of dark gray ribbed tights, spun around in a circle on her toe. “But I’m all set.”

“What about you?” Jenny asked Callie, whose hazel eyes had been looking a little dazed all morning. Callie pushed her bagel away from her and stood up.

“I changed my plane ticket.” Callie’s shirt rose to reveal a tiny strip of pale white skin above her black Sevens. “I’m going home. For down time.”

“Need a little home cooking?” Tinsley asked, rubbing her stomach teasingly. “Some grits and cornbread?”

“Something like that.” Callie stuck out her tongue. “My mom has a fuckload of making up to do.” She tossed her wavy strawberry-blond hair and shrugged. “That should be good for a new pair of Louboutins, at least.”

“You ready?” Julian asked, poking his head into the kitchen. In a faded gray plaid shirt over a Raconteurs T-shirt, and a pair of saggy jeans, his hair damp and falling in a million different directions, he looked totally adorable. Jenny glanced over at Tinsley, who had definitely noticed his cuteness too.

A smile twitched at the corners of Tinsley’s glossed lips. “Julian’s taking the train back too.”

Callie and Jenny exchanged glances, and Tinsley wrinkled her nose at them before Julian could see.

“Let me get my bag—I’ll walk down with you.” Callie disappeared in a swirl of Joy Jean Patou perfume.

Jenny wandered through the apartment, still slightly depressed, glancing around for anything she might have left behind. Casey had disappeared some time early that morning. Without saying goodbye. Jenny tried not to let it bother her, instead thinking about how nice it would be to spend a few days with her dad—and just her dad. Maybe they’d wander through the bookstores on the Upper West Side, trolling for treasures and doing a little early Christmas shopping. They’d stop and have lunch at one of Jenny’s favorite soup places, or the hole-in-the wall Thai place down the block that made the best pad Thai she’d ever tasted.

Moments later she stepped out of the elevator with Tinsley and Callie and Julian. The cold morning air felt crisp and fresh as the doorman opened the door for them. They stood under the building’s forest green canopy and fumbled for their sunglasses. The glittering snowbanks hadn’t had time to get all grimy and gray yet, and the city looked like a winter wonderland. Jenny’s heart raced. She loved being home.

“We need a cab,” Tinsley said, bumping her bag against Julian’s as she dropped it to the sidewalk.

“Three, actually.” Callie looked up at the sky, and Jenny wondered if she was looking for the Empire State Building, and wondering if Easy was still there. She’d told them all the whole story this morning, and Jenny kind of wished she could give Easy a hug. She knew what it was like to have her heart broken—or maybe she didn’t. Had she ever really been in love?

“Where are you going?” the doorman asked, overhearing.

“Grand Central,” Julian told him. He picked up Tinsley’s bag for her and brought it over to the curb.

“
JFK
.” Callie pulled on a pair of baby blue cashmere gloves.

“Upper West Side,” Jenny said.

The doorman flipped his whistle out from under his vest and stepped out onto Park Avenue, thrusting his hand in the air.

Jenny’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she grabbed it instinctively, almost dropping it in the snow. She saw an unfamiliar number, which always panicked her, but she opened it anyway.
Hey I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. U looked 2 cute asleep. UR sweet and you should totally come visit me at Union. Xo. Casey.

“It’s not the Hare Krishnas, is it?” Tinsley asked, a look of mock alarm on her face.

“What Hare Krishnas?” Julian asked, confused.

“I’ll tell you later.” Tinsley casually put her glove on his arm. “It’s a story for the train.”

“It’s Casey.” Jenny excitedly read the text aloud, the words tripping off her tongue proudly.

“Someone has a new boyfriend,” Callie said nonchalantly, staring down at the toes of her boots.

“Mmm, maybe not.” Jenny snapped her phone shut, feeling empowered. Maybe she’d text him back later…or wait until tomorrow. Or maybe she wouldn’t text him at all. “I don’t know if I’m ready for a boyfriend right now.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Jenny knew that they were true. Since she’d first met Casey, all she’d wanted was for him to want her. And now that he did, well…maybe it was more fun not to be attached to anyone. For now.

Tinsley grinned at Jenny, a silent congratulations between them. Jenny smiled back.

Forget the man of her dreams. Right now, all she wanted was to have a little more fun.

“Turn left here,” Brett instructed, squinting at the printed out Mapquest directions. “Then turn right in point two miles.” “He really lives here?” Bree asked, turning the wheel of her rental
BMW
Mini. It was Sunday afternoon, and Bree was on her way back to New York. Willy, who had spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with the Messerschmidts, had insisted on taking the train back, to give Bree and Brett a little alone time. It was totally sweet of him, and on the ride up through New Jersey, Brett had spilled the whole drama-filled tale of her past few months at Waverly, from hooking up with Mr. Dalton, the hot but slimy Latin teacher, to hooking up with Kara, to breaking up with Jeremiah—three times. Bree had laughed at the right spots and said exactly the kind of sisterly things Brett knew she’d say, and she already felt one thousand times better.

“Here!” Brett cried out. “Twelve-twelve Eastman Parkway. This is it.” Brett took in the manicured green lawn and the enormous Tudor mansion. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the black Mustang, trunk open, still in the driveway. “Thanks for the ride, B.” Brett gave her sister a long hug.

“Love ya, sis.” Bree glanced over the top of her red aviators. “Be good.” Brett grabbed her bag from the backseat and waved as the Mini shot back down the driveway. With a deep breath, Brett turned and headed up the paved driveway toward the steps. But before she could reach them, the dark oak Old English door—with a giant iron lion’s head as a knocker—opened and Sebastian came out, leather jacket on, collar up.

He stopped when he saw Brett. “What are you doing here?”

Brett’s face flushed. She hadn’t exactly thought out what she was going to say, and suddenly it seemed like a bad idea to just, like, show up. “I wanted to, uh, take you up on your offer. Of a ride back to Waverly.” She shuffled her feet.

Sebastian tilted his head and stared at Brett for a second before shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever.” A giant red and blue Tommy Hilfiger bag was slung over his shoulder, and he pulled the door shut behind him, then tugged it to make sure it was locked.