Reckless (6 page)

xxx,

Tinsley

“Crazy Daizy or Maliblu?” Brett asked, holding up two brightly colored bottles of Pinkie Swear nail polish for Jenny to examine. The two of them were sprawled out on the floor of Dumbarton 303, leaning against the spare bed, the one formerly occupied by Tinsley Carmichael. Jenny’s old cot had been returned to storage in the basement, and she had taken over Brett’s bed—the thought of sleeping in the bed that Tinsley had been kicked out of creeped her out. All necessary equipment for at-home manicures was spread out between them: bowls of warm, soapy water to soften their nail beds, orangewood cuticle stick, nail file/buffer, creamy Bliss hand lotion, stacks of cotton pads, bottles of clear base-coat polish, Q-Tips, nail polish remover. It was like Rescue Salon or, at least, as close as you could get to it at Waverly.

Brett had suggested a mani-pedi night earlier that day, and Jenny was thrilled. Apparently it was something Callie and Tinsley and Brett had done all the time, and Jenny was pleased that Brett felt comfortable enough with her now to sort of let her fill their intimidating shoes. Jenny imagined that their mani-pedi nights had never been as mellow as this, though. From what Jenny had seen of their interactions, they were always fraught with underlying intensity and competitiveness. It seemed like each of them was desperate to come off as much cooler, more sophisticated than the others. Even Brett could get completely wrapped up in one-upping Tinsley and Callie.

“Um, Maliblu’s a little too funky for me.” Jenny wrinkled her nose at the sparkly blue bottle. “I don’t think I can get away with blue nails.” Her toes, stuffed uncomfortably into one of those foamy toe-separator cushions, were painted a bright cherry red. Vanessa Abrams, her brother Dan’s high school girlfriend who was now living in Jenny’s old room in her dad’s West End Ave apartment, was the kind of girl who could pull off dark blue nail polish. With her shaved head and black-centric wardrobe, it would look almost natural. Not that she’d ever bother with a pedicure.

“I thought artists were supposed to be daring,” Brett teased, and pressed the little bottle into Jenny’s palm, careful not to smudge her still-wet base coat.

Jenny picked up the polish and examined it. She could be pretty boring sometimes. Why not give something new a try? “Do you think it glows in the dark?”

“I guess you’ll have to get Easy alone to test it out.” Brett had put the blue color on her toes already, and she wiggled them happily.

“We’re supposed to go out to dinner tomorrow night,” Jenny confessed, pressing the tiny brush against her thumbnail and watching the polish spread. It was less Manic Panic, more blackberry glaze, and not bad at all. “It’ll be nice—I feel like I haven’t gotten to see much of him lately.”

“And how much of Easy do you want to see?” Brett asked suggestively, and shook a lock of her wild red hair out of her face, trying not to use her hands.

At the exact same moment, the door opened and Callie entered, wearing a stunning light blue Michael Kors dress and camel Jimmy Choo leather slingbacks that probably hadn’t even appeared in the pages of
Vogue
yet. Jenny and Brett exchanged glances, but Callie was clearly set on pretending like she hadn’t just heard her ex-boyfriend’s name mentioned. In fact, to Jenny’s absolute shock, Callie even sort of looked at her. It wasn’t a smile, exactly, but it wasn’t the same you-don’t-even-exist-to-me look that Callie had been shooting her for the last few weeks, ever since she’d found out about her and Easy. Maybe she was thawing?

“Hey, Cal,” Brett offered, watching as Callie stepped around the two girls on the floor and headed over to her closet. “I like your dress—and shoes. Are they new?”

Callie threw open her closet door and stood there, deep in thought, as if she hadn’t heard Brett. “What?” she said a moment later as, in one motion, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it carelessly over the rack in Tinsley’s old closet, which she had taken over the second Tinsley’s things moved downstairs. “Oh, uh, yeah. New.”

Brett and Jenny exchanged a look. Jenny’s brown eyes widened and she mouthed the words
“Everything’s
new” to Brett. Brett nodded, looking concerned. Apparently Callie was notorious for overspending whenever she was feeling depressed. Last year, when she’d failed a chemistry final, she’d maxed out her Visa Platinum card at Saks.com, even though it had an unfathomable limit. Jenny could see Brett’s eyes running over the stacks of shoe boxes. Enough to build a village out of cardboard. If Jenny’s anarchist-communist father had seen them, he would have shaken his head and muttered something cutting about conspicuous consumption. Secretly, Jenny thought it was kind of exotic to treat depression in such an extravagant way.

Jenny leaned against the bed and watched as Callie stood in front of her closet, her bony shoulder blades sticking out even more than usual. Obviously she didn’t have to worry about bingeing when she was down. She pulled a flimsy mauve dress, whose Jill Stuart tags still hung off the zipper, from the closet. “Can you zip me, B.?” she said absently, glancing over her bare shoulder, her strawberry blond hair swishing against her neck. She tossed a faint smile in Jenny’s direction as Brett zipped her up.

“Hold on—you’ve still got your tags.” Brett bent over and grabbed the nail clippers from where they were lying near Jenny’s toes. “Pretty dress. Where’re you going?” Tiny strands of silver thread glittered in the light as Callie spun in a circle.

“Oh.” She examined herself in the full-length mirror next to her overcrowded closet. She wrinkled her nose guiltily, but clearly she didn’t
feel
guilty. “Sorry. Secret Society only.”

Right,
Brett thought, her feelings of tenderness for Callie immediately evaporating. If she was going to keep on being Tinsley’s stooge, she could go ahead and zip up her own fucking designer dresses.

Brett sat back down on the floor across from Jenny, trying not to show her irritation. She yawned. “Have fun.” She made her voice sound as uninterested as possible, as if they were talking about a Latin class and not a party.

Wait a second … Was that the sound of people walking around on the
roof?

“I would ask you to come,” Callie said, pulling a pair of dangling white gold earrings from her satin jewelry box, her voice dripping with fake sweetness that even the most tone-deaf social outcast could see through. “But …” She trailed off.

“That’s totally sweet of you.” Brett opened the bottle of Crazy Daizy and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to let Callie piss her off
and
mess up her nails. Jenny was busy pretending to be completely engrossed in applying a clear top coat to her toes, but Brett could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “We’re actually a little busy here.”

Callie didn’t look up as she carefully applied her Dior eye-liner in Precious Violet. “Right. Manicures. Go crazy.” She blinked slowly in the mirror, then loudly slapped the cap back on her eyeliner wand.

Brett’s green eyes narrowed, but she kept a playful lilt in her voice as a blob of peach polish dropped off the brush and landed on her bare knee. “Granted, it’s not giving Heath Ferro a lap dance or anything über-classy like that,” she observed tersely, getting a jab in about the last society party. “But at least I’ll have nice nails in the morning!”

“Yeah, well. Have an awesome time.” When Callie opened the door to the room, dance music flooded in. “Later!” Her voice trilled insincerely as she slammed the door behind her.

“That went well.” Jenny giggled. “I mean, at least she
looked
at me.”

Brett felt a little nervous. “I don’t know. I just hope she’s not trying to be someone she’s not, you know?” Callie seemed more Tinsley-like just now than Tinsley herself, and the idea of two Tinsleys walking around campus was truly terrifying.

Instant Message Inbox

YvonneStidder:
What’s on the roof? I got a big concert. Can’t hear my sax.

KaraWhalen:
It’s Tinsley, etc. A kegger or something.

YvonneStidder:
A keg on the roof? Cool! I’m there!

KaraWhalen:
Good luck with that. Bitches only.

YvonneStidder:
Hey, we live here too.

KaraWhalen:
Do we?

Instant Message Inbox

SageFrancis:
Get to the roof, stat, you lucky bitch.

EmilyJenkins:
About fucking time! What should I wear?? My Marc Jacobs?

SageFrancis:
Whatever. Just remember to kiss Tinsley’s ass.

EmilyJenkins:
Boys too?

SageFrancis:
Um, no. And no Parker DuBois, either. Anyway, he’s just not that into you.

EmilyJenkins:
Whatev. I’m In!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday night was warm, and as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, the party on the roof started to heat up. Tinsley had kept an eye on the keg on the roof all day, checking to make sure it was securely hidden in the shade and replacing the ice in the cooler when it melted down. Standing on the roof now in her gold metallic leather Giuseppe Zanotti boots and Gold Hawk cream-colored silk skirt with hand-crocheted trim, paired with a simple white tee, the light wind billowing the skirt against her thighs, she felt—peaceful. Which, when translated, meant—bored. The taboo roof of Dumbarton was surprisingly dull: the brick walls shielded the girls from a view of anything other than the tops of some trees. The brightly colored leaves looked quite majestic as they faded into the dusk. Majestic and boring.

Tinsley leaned back in her plastic lawn chair, one of the half dozen that Sage and Celine had snatched from the storage room in the basement, and sipped her cold beer. All the Café Society girls were there, and she had almost forgotten that little Jenny Humphrey and bitchy Brett had once been part of this group.
Almost.
It irritated Tinsley that Brett Messerschmidt seemed so unaffected by her social dismissal. She’d expected her former friend to be ostracized by everyone at Waverly once it became known she was on the permanent outs with Tinsley Carmichael. But things hadn’t happened like that. Brett seemed to be doing fine, still hanging out with the other girls when Tinsley wasn’t around as if she hadn’t been blacklisted. Tinsley was still waiting for Brett to throw herself down to the floor, kiss the toes of her boots, and beg her to let them start all over. But Brett seemed so … over it.

Maybe it was because Brett was back in love with Jeremiah. Of course the star quarterback’s girlfriend would always be popular—as long as they were together, that is.

The metal door to the roof banged open, interrupting Tinsley’s thoughts. It was Callie, wearing one of her gorgeous new dresses. “The natives are getting restless down there,” she said pointedly to Tinsley as she stepped gingerly over a cinder block. “They all want to crash our party. Well, not Jenny and Brett,” Callie corrected herself bitterly, her lips screwed up into a pretty pink pout. “They’re in my room giving each other gay manicures or something.”

Tinsley adjusted her tiered cream-colored skirt around and inhaled deeply. She surveyed the scene—Alison Quentin and Verena Arneval were dancing to the music coming from Tinsley’s iPod. Benny Cunningham and Celine Colista were huddled around the keg, trying to design a new drinking game—one that hadn’t been played ten thousand times before. Sage Francis was chatting with Emily Jenkins, their newest member, something Tinsley began to regret the second Emily appeared on the roof wearing what looked like a Macy’s prom dress from 1991.

Tinsley sighed heavily. She didn’t want to admit it out loud, but this party was … lame. She was bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. “Well, hell.” She stood up. “Let’s invite ’em in.”

Callie’s pink mouth opened in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Why the hell not?” Tinsley strode carelessly toward the door, downing her beer on the way.

“Because it’s like … Yvonne the British band geek, and that stringy-haired girl who has, like, a picture of Jewel on her door, and these …”

Tinsley paused and patted her hand against Callie’s cheek. “Don’t be such a snob, honey.” Her violet eyes sparkled with amusement. This could be interesting. “There’s plenty of beer for everyone.”

“Whatever.” Callie rolled her eyes.

Feeling unpredictable and magnanimous, an
SAT
word she never thought she’d use to describe herself, Tinsley pulled open the creaky metal door. Several girls scurried out of the way, but a few others hung back, eternally optimistic. Well, why not give them a thrill?

“Hey, girls.” Tinsley’s eyes expertly scanned the vaguely familiar faces—girls she had seen in classes or the cafeteria or maybe even in the bathroom, brushing their teeth at the next sink. Girls she didn’t really know and girls she wasn’t terribly interested in knowing. She recognized Yvonne, the nerdy band girl in her Italian class, who, with her tiny bird-like body and long blond hair, might be pretty if she didn’t wear such dweeby clothes.

Magnanimous. Tinsley forced a smile to her red glossy lips. “Why don’t you come up to the party? It’s such a nice night.”

“Really?” Yvonne piped up. “You don’t mind?”

Christ,
Tinsley thought. Did she have to beg? “Sure,” Tinsley said through gritted teeth. “Come on up. Invite all the others—it’ll be an all-dorm bonding thing.” Immediately she remembered that Callie said Brett and Jenny were having a mani-pedi party, one of the things the three of
them
used to do in better days. Days when they actually spoke to each other. She’d be dammed if those traitors were going to come to this party, all-dorm or not. “I’ll go tell the third floor.”