Reckless (4 page)

St. Lucius’s homecoming weekend sounded like the perfect opportunity to let loose. “I could get into that.”

“Of course you could,” Jeremiah agreed. “You’ll be the hottest one there.”

He was so sweet. She planted another kiss on him. “I guess I’d better start planning my outfit, then.” Brett was psyched to get the chance to meet some of Jeremiah’s friends. Maybe she could even set Callie up with one of them. Whoa, what was she thinking?
Callie
was barely speaking to her anymore either. Brett had clearly been branded a traitor for being friends with Jenny. Tinsley’s friendship she could do without—ever since she’d come back from South Africa that fall, she’d been intolerable. Nastier and even more aloof, if that was possible. But it felt funny not being close to Callie anymore. She missed hearing her babble in her sleep. Sometimes she’d even have whole conversations with herself. The room was just too quiet without her.

“How do you feel about having dinner with my parents?” Jeremiah looked sheepish, as if there was no way Brett could be expected to bear such a burden.

“Are you kidding?” she practically squealed, sitting up. “I love your family.” Maybe she’d wear the new dual-strand fresh-water pearl rope necklace she’d found at Pimpernel’s—though it was usually a little too chichi for Brett’s more eccentric taste, she’d had a desperate shopping craving last week and had dragged Jenny to the boutique. They’d tried on overpriced dresses they weren’t planning on buying and ignored the scowls from the blond saleswoman who clearly did not appreciate the business of Waverly Owls—except the ones like Callie, who had charge accounts there. Pearls were not normally Brett’s thing, a little too debutante for her, but these were funky and oddly shaped, and she could imagine someone like Sienna Miller tossing them around her neck to liven up any boring old black dress. They were actually just right for dinner with the Mortimers, who themselves were über-classy, with a little off-kilter friskiness to them.

“You don’t mind?” Jeremiah shifted on the mat, causing Brett to slide closer to him. She certainly didn’t mind
that.
“We can get a good dinner out of them, at least.”

Brett placed her small, gold-ringed hand on Jeremiah’s and leaned over him. “And then we can go out … and, uh, have a good time.”

Jeremiah kissed her cheek and let his mouth linger there, so that she could feel the words as he spoke them. “I like the sound of that.”

He was so adorable. She wanted to jump his bones.
Oh God. Not now,
Brett reminded herself. Her whole body tensed with anticipation. St. Lucius would certainly win their homecoming game, and Brett would stand on the sidelines cheering Jeremiah on, wearing some outfit that would make the St. Lucius girls weep with jealousy. After Jeremiah threw the winning touchdown and the fans rushed the field, she would run across the grass (note: don’t wear spiky heels) and throw her arms around Jeremiah’s padded shoulders, and he would spin her around and give her one of those dramatic, movie-ending kisses. They’d go out to dinner with his family, to St. Lucius’s equivalent of Le Petit Coq, and Brett would dazzle the Mortimers with her knowledge of world affairs (note: browse through some
Newsweeks
at the library), all the while trying not to get too caught up in the sexy, devastating stares Jeremiah would shoot at her from across the table. After cheek-kissing Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer au revoir, she and Jeremiah would go somewhere very private, romantic, and perfect for them to lose their virginity together.

She snuggled her head into Jeremiah’s shoulder, and as he squeezed her back, she thanked fate and her good sense for not letting her sleep with Mr. Dalton. Jeremiah was the one she had been saving herself for. And she only had to wait a few more days.

Email Inbox

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Date:
Wednesday, October 2, 6:49 p.m.

Subject:
Delivery of da goods

Bro,

Thanks for the hook-up—six half-kegs should get the party started right. Remember where you dropped off last time? Go a little farther—the sixth building on the access road is Dumbarton, the lovely ladies’ dorm. I’ll meet you at the back.

Midnight. Whoohoo!!

H

Instant Message Inbox

HeathFerro:
Hey, frosh, remember that favor you owe me? I’m collecting.

JulianMcCafferty:
Uh, what favor?

HeathFerro:
Not kicking your ass for being a punk-ass freshman!

JulianMcCafferty:
Freakin’ hilarious. What do you want?

HeathFerro:
It involves picking up a couple of kegs from behind Dumbarton. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be having a moonlight panty party.

JulianMcCafferty:
When you put it that way …

HeathFerro:
Knew you couldn’t resist. Meet me downstairs at 12, unless it’s past your bedtime?

JulianMcCafferty:
I’ll bring my blankie.

Tinsley Carmichael slid open the first-floor window to her room, cringing when it creaked noisily before realizing she didn’t give a fuck if it was almost midnight and Brett woke up. She glanced over at her roommate’s inert body, buried beneath her funky hot-pink-and-fuchsia Indian print comforter, and almost smiled at how she always slept like she was in a coma. They’d learned to sleep through Callie’s snoring and talking fits.

Tinsley sighed and eased herself up onto the windowsill, letting one silk-pajamaed leg hang out. She leaned back against the frame and shook a cigarette from her brand-new box of Marlboro Ultra Lights. After another long, tension-filled evening, smoking felt glorious. She was probably one of the only Dumbarton girls awake right now. On her way back from brushing her teeth, she ran into the meek little girl next door—wearing an ugly dark brown terry-cloth bathrobe and carrying a thick black towel over her shoulder. Um, okay. It was like the twelfth time Tinsley had seen her heading into the shower at an insanely late hour—apparently she could only shower when everyone else in the dorm was asleep. Sure,
that
was normal. And since Pardee never said anything about this girl clearly breaking lights-out curfew, she must either have something over on Pardee (maybe Tinsley wasn’t the only one who’d caught her messing around with a married dean?) or Pardee let her break the rule because it was the only thing that kept her out of the loony bin.

Brett and Tinsley’s roommate relationship rivaled only Callie and Jenny’s in its fucked-up-ness. Brett was on Tinsley’s shit list this year after two major friendship-ending offenses. First, she got all lovey-dovey with Jenny Humphrey, as if
Jenny
had been the one to save Brett’s ass last year by taking the blame for the caught-in-the-playing-fields-with-Ecstasy incident. And then the whole Mr. Dalton thing—Brett was practically
sleeping
with the guy and couldn’t be bothered to tell her. Tinsley couldn’t help trying to steal Mr. Dalton. Lack of loyalty in best friends drove her insane.

Which is maybe why she was feeling a teeny bit bad—not
guilty
, just bad—about the way the Mr. Dalton saga played out. All she’d wanted was for Brett to welcome her back to Waverly with open arms—was that too much to ask for from one of her supposed best friends? She’d been hurt by Brett’s coldness, and so she’d lashed out—a little harshly, yes. But Brett didn’t have to take everything so
seriously.
It’s not like she was going to
marry
Dalton or anything. Besides, as a direct result of Tinsley stealing Dalton away, Brett was back with Jeremiah. So really, things had all worked out. Brett should be down on her knees thanking her!

Tinsley sort of enjoyed the fight, especially now that Brett was fighting her back head-on. At first, Brett had avoided the room for a few days, but then it was like she realized she was missing out or something, so she started hanging around more, playing her music loudly, gabbing with Jeremiah or her sister on her cell phone, daring Tinsley to say something. Brett had even brought her geeky chemistry study group over one night to do flash cards of chemical equations and symbols—and Tinsley had simply sat silently at her desk, ignoring them as they called out things like Faraday’s law of electrolysis and glucose reaction. Geeks! Just tonight, she and Brett had sat at their desks, five feet away from each other, writing papers on their laptops and listening to their iPods. Brett ended up going to bed first—in silence, of course.

Tinsley inhaled deeply. It was all a game. And Brett was bound to be the one to cave first.

Outside her window, something moved. Tinsley flicked her ash into the bushes beneath her and squinted—she was practically blind without her contacts. It looked like there were two figures out by the access road that ran behind Dumbarton and the other girls’ dorms, next to what looked like a squadron of shiny UFOs. Was that … Heath??

Tinsley’s heart started to beat a little faster. Something was up. She glanced behind her at the nearly comatose Brett, then lifted the Tiffany’s key ring where her platinum Zippo and the emergency whistle (that her father made her promise to have with her at all times—even though she was at Waverly now, not South Africa) hung. She pressed it to her lips and gave a quick tweet.

The figures jumped, but before they could flee, Tinsley waved a pale, thin arm at them and flashed a peace sign. “That you, H.F.?” Tinsley whispered loudly into the cool dark night as Heath galloped toward her. She squinted harder at the figure next to him. It looked like that hot, super-tall freshman that was always hanging around the older boys. Julian? Excellent. Her night was definitely shaping up.

“Oh, baby!” Heath cried out in something slightly louder than a whisper. “Glad to see you!”

“What are you guys doing out here?” Tinsley demanded, dropping her eyes coyly. She felt very sexy, sitting in her window in her white silk Hanro pajamas, smoking a cigarette, like something out of a Tennessee Williams play. “It’s, um, a little after curfew.”

“We like to live dangerously,” Julian replied, yawning. Tinsley turned her head to look at him. He was just as cute as she remembered, even with her blurred vision.

“Oh, yeah? Looking for ’shrooms again?” Tinsley kicked her hanging leg against the brick wall of Dumbarton and flicked her cigarette into the grass below.

Heath stepped on it with his sneaker and smashed it into the ground. “Look, we have a situation here.” There was a worried look on Heath’s normally laid-back face. He pointed at the UFOs. “We have six half-kegs that need a home.”

Tinsley stared at the glistening silver lumps. Six half-kegs? “Why did you bring them
here?”

Julian grinned and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “As a present to you? An offering?”

“Can you hold the bullshit for a second, sweetheart?” Heath looked like he was wired on caffeine pills or something. “How about we work on problem-solving and save the flirting for later?”

“Why don’t you just put them up on the roof?” Tinsley suggested innocently, shrugging and indicating the fire escape at the corner of the building that led all the way to the roof. This would be quite entertaining to watch. “No one will find them there.”

“Brilliant!” Heath slapped his forehead. “I knew you’d think of something.” He pushed Julian toward the kegs. “Grab one. We’ll take it up the fire escape.”

Boys are so dumb. Incredulously, and with a little too much pleasure, Tinsley watched as the two of them awkwardly lugged one of the half-keg barrels up the rickety wrought-iron fire escape, trying desperately not to make noise. She snickered. Were they high or just morons?

By the time they got back to the ground, Tinsley had had a change of heart. “Listen, I just heard the freaky girl next door head into the shower.” Maybe the quiet girl who only showered when no one else around had a use after all. She’d be honored. “Why don’t I just let you in the back door—you can sneak them into her room. She’s got a single. I bet they’ll fit under her bed.”

She took her time sliding into her cushy Ugg slippers (she hated the boots, but the slippers were okay) and padding down the hall and down the cold marble steps to the back door of Dumbarton. Heath and Julian were waiting for her, gasping from having lugged the half kegs into position.

“You guys are in bad shape,” Tinsley whispered, pressing herself against the door so that the boys could pass by, each carrying one of the heavy containers in his arms.

“Why don’t you help us, then?” Heath whispered back crankily, his sneakers, wet with dew, squeaking against the floorboards.

“I think I’ve done
more
than enough already.” She led them down the hall, noting, as they passed the bathroom, that the shower was still running.

“Who takes a shower at midnight?” Heath glanced around at all the closed dorm room doors they passed as if imagining the sleeping, naked girls inside. He’d forgotten all about being cranky and looked perfectly blissful.

“No one you want to know.” Light peeked out from beneath Shower Girl’s closed door and Tinsley threw it open. It was a small room that must have once been a storage closet, as neat and tidy as a monk’s cell. The bed was propped up on giant cinder blocks, raising it a good foot off the hardwood floor.

“Hot,” Heath whispered, running his hands across the smooth bedspread, which sported an enormous Superman logo. Or maybe it was Batman. Tinsley hated all that superhero shit, but Heath looked like he was about to throw himself down on it and start humping.