Tempted (15 page)

I’ve been lucky enough to obtain—through various back-channel wheeling and dealing—an advance copy of the new Ryan Gosling/Jennifer Connelly movie. Don’t ask how, just come and check it out. Tomorrow afternoon at 2 P.M. in the Cinephiles screening room. Ail are welcome—bring friends! Free popcorn and treats for all.

See you then!

xo,

Tinsley

Instant Message Inbox

HeathFerro:
Bro, what up? Come to our first
MEN
OF
WAVERLY
meeting — just a bunch of dudes getting together with some beer.

JeremiahMortimer:
Sounds fun, at least the beer part. But I don’t go to Waverly. =)

HeathFerro:
We’re willing to overlook it. Tonite, field house, 6 p.m.

JeremiahMortimer:
Man, stuck on bus home from VT—won’t get in till late. But next time.

HeathFerro:
All right. But you’ll miss the tickle-fights!

“Men,” Heath Ferro intoned from his position atop a mountain of blue floor mats in the back corner of the field house. He stood right beneath a giant faded maroon banner that read
DIVISION
II
CHAMPS
, 1978 and featured a silhouette of a lacrosse stick. “Start your engines!” He lifted his forty-ounce glass bottle of King Cobra malt liquor into the air and twisted off the cap in triumph. Scattered around him were Brandon, Lon, Ryan, Alan, and Teague Williams, all in various forms of athletic wear.

Easy rolled his eyes as he crossed the green rubber floor in his Levi’s and black fleece. The field house smelled vaguely of sweat and jock straps. He felt like he was back in Lexington, where summers were spent in the woods with contraband whiskey snitched from unguarded liquor cabinets, throwing empties at the freight trains as they whizzed by. Was sitting around with a bunch of prep school guys in polo shirts and expensive sneakers in an underheated field house any better?

“Walsh.” Heath nodded at Easy’s approach, hopping down from the mats like a gymnast. He shoved Easy in the direction of an open Waverly duffel bag on the floor. “Grab a cold one.”

Easy leaned over and lifted a relatively clean maroon Waverly sweatshirt to reveal a row of Cobras resting against an unopened bag of cubed ice. He reached in and pulled out a sweating beer.

The first gulp tasted like raw sewage, but the second gulp went down a little easier. He hadn’t been able to clear the mess in his head since the night of the Halloween party, and Callie was still
MIA
. He’d texted and e-mailed her with no response, wanting to apologize for his unnecessarily harsh words. He was still pissed at her, but it was the wrong way to end things, and he owed her an apology for that. He’d glanced around the nooks in Maxwell Hall, where she liked to lay out her homework and then read
Vogue
instead, but there was no sign of her. She’d probably escaped to the city to stay at a fancy hotel and rack up some serious credit card bills.

He took another swig of beer, trying to drown out all thoughts of Callie.

“Are we all here?” Brandon asked impatiently. He unscrewed the cap on his forty, gingerly took a sip, and then screwed it back on.

“Jeremiah, our honorary St. Lucius member, couldn’t make it,” Heath said, looking around the circle and nodding to all the guys, who all held their beers with expectant looks on their faces. “But otherwise I think we’re all here. Welcome to the first meeting of the Men of Waverly club.” Heath raised his bottle, which was half full, and the others raised theirs, too.

A silence fell across the field house as everyone sipped from their bottles, each waiting for the other to say something.
Now what?
Easy wondered what Mrs. Horniman would think of his new extracurricular.

“Anyone catch that skirt Jenny Humphrey was wearing at lunch?” Lon Baruzza asked. “It was like this.” He held a hand high on his thigh to demonstrate.

“She’s hot,” Alan agreed, rubbing his stubbled chin with his fist. Easy’s roommate had left the dorm half an hour before the meeting for a little tokeage in the woods. He’d been home in Vermont last weekend and had come back with some of his hippie parents’ freshly grown buds.

“She looked good at the Halloween party, too,” Brandon added, taking a sip of beer. Easy felt like he’d completely lost touch with Jenny. He still felt oddly protective of her, and was uncomfortable hearing the guys talk about her like that. But since she’d gotten reinstated at Waverly, she was always surrounded by a flock of people. Brett and Alison, naturally, but also a ton of other girls and guys whom Easy didn’t really recognize. Not Julian, though, he noted, thinking about it for the first time. What had happened with that?

“Dude.” Lon pointed the mouth of his beer at Brandon and leaned back against a weight rack. “What would Sage think about that?”

“Nothing.” Brandon shrugged. He switched his bottle from one hand to another. “We’re not married.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Heath said, taking another giant swig. “Girlfriends are great—but it doesn’t mean we can’t still look at other girls.”

“It also doesn’t mean they still can’t look at other guys—or girls, if they prefer,” Ryan said casually, leaning his head back against the stack of mats. He wore a cable-knit gray cardigan that looked way too soft for a guy to be wearing.

“Nice try, Reynolds.” A dreamy look crossed over Heath’s face, which seemed to happen lately every time Kara was brought up. “Kara’s welcome to look at all the girls she wants.” He leaned against the weight bench and crossed his ankles over each other. “I’m the fucking luckiest guy in the world.”

Easy felt a warmth settle on his cheeks as he continued to work on his beer. He’d never been a huge drinker—at least not until recently—but he hoped that Heath had brought enough for everyone to have a second round. The conversation around him began to seem fuzzy, and he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the buzz crawl into his brain.

“No sleeping, Walsh,” Heath called out. “You have to drink if you close your eyes.”

Easy’s eyes popped open. “What?”

“Take a drink,” Heath commanded. “Right now. Those are the rules.”

“So, are we, like, planning on doing anything? Or is this club just going to be an excuse to get together and get drunk?” Brandon spoke up, yawning. He glanced at the silver Dolce & Gabbana watch on his wrist, looking like there was someplace he’d rather be. Easy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, waiting for Heath’s answer.

“Don’t be such a douche.” Alan got up to stretch his legs, then sat back down on one of those blue rubber ab balls that girls did crunches on. Callie used to have one in her room, but she’d punctured it with a stiletto once when she was angry at Easy for showing up late. Alan wobbled a little on the bouncy ball, then steadied himself and held his beer up in triumph.

“Maybe Brandon can tell us about his first period,” Ryan said, and everyone laughed.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Heath stood, grasping the stack of blue mats to steady himself. “A little decorum. This is Waverly, after all. Let’s leave that sort of talk for public school kids.” He moved over to the grease board. “Brandon’s right. This club should be about something more than good company and forties.”

Brandon smirked at Heath. “Gee, thanks.”

Heath picked up a black marker. “Let’s brainstorm some causes and then we’ll vote on the ones we want this club to stand for. But first”—Heath sauntered over to the gym bag and replaced his empty forty with a fresh one—”a libation.” He unscrewed the cap and tossed it toward the garbage can, the cap falling wide of the trash by about a foot.

“I vote we stand for recycling,” Ryan called out. “Everyone’s going green these days. And chicks are always talking about recycling.”

Heath scrawled the word
recycling
on the board. His chicken-scratch handwriting was even wobblier than usual. “That’s good.”

“What about planting trees?” Alan scratched his beard-scruffed chin. “Chicks are always talking about planting trees or something like that.”

Heath added
planting trees
to the list.

“Might as well add
AIDS
awareness,” Brandon quipped. He set his mostly full forty beside him on the mat.

“There’s a sophomore club that does that,” Lon countered.

Easy reached for another beer, content to watch the lame game show play out. If nothing else, it took his mind off Callie

Heath markered
save the whales
and
animal cruelty
on the board, his writing becoming sloppier and sloppier until he dropped the marker, which then rolled halfway across the floor.

“Walsh, let’s get the recycling started now, okay?” Heath pointed at the two empty bottles under Easy’s chair. Easy reached down, his head beginning to spin, and retrieved the bottles, passing them to Brandon, who looked at them as if they were diseased rodents. He took them and dropped them into the gym bag.

The door to the field house creaked open, revealing a silhouette of dark rain outside. Easy squinted in the direction of the door, expecting to see Jeremiah in his St. Lucius letterman jacket. He was startled to see Dean Marymount striding toward them. He wore a tan raincoat over a navy blue turtleneck, his sandy comb-over wet from the rain.

Easy’s heart thumped against his chest in panic. The first night of his extracurricular activity, and he was about to get busted. Heath quickly slid his beer bottle into the gym bag before Dean Marymount got close enough to notice it. The others followed suit and Heath casually zipped up his bag.

“I heard there was a proactive group of young men gathered in the field house,” Marymount chuckled, his voice carrying through the vast, empty building.

“That’s us, sir.” Heath stuck his hands into the pockets of his sagging tan cords.

Marymount was on them in no time, searching the faces of everyone in the circle. “Alan, Ryan, Lon, Brandon, Easy.” Everyone muttered a hi or hello, some cupping their hands over their mouths or scratching at phantom itches to prevent Marymount from smelling the beer on their breath. “What’s this?” He sidled up next to the grease board, looking over the list of fake causes the Men of Waverly had joked about supporting. Marymount read the list to himself. “Very impressive, gentlemen,” he said, nodding sagely, hands cupped behind his back.

Heath Ferro shot Brandon a “Holy fuck!” look behind Mary-mount’s back, then smiled broadly. “Thank you, sir!”

“I’m impressed with this initiative.” Marymount nodded, smoothing his hand over his balding head. “I’m glad you could find something so constructive to do in all this rain.” He glanced at the list again and nodded, pleased. “I’m especially glad to see
you
here, Mr. Walsh.”

Easy had been watching the scene unfold as if it were an episode of his favorite television show, but hearing his name shook him out of his stupor. “Thanks,” he said, coughing into his fist in an effort to hide his beer breath.

Marymount strode over to Easy, planting his hand on his shoulder. It felt like a block of cold ice. Easy was relieved when he took it away, still smiling fondly at all the boys. “Well, carry on, gentlemen. Don’t let me impede your quest to do good deeds.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I wish we’d had a club like this when
I
was at Waverly.”

And with that Marymount was gone, back out into the rain.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Heath slapped his knee and let out a loud guffaw. “Holy shit,” he said, cupping his* hand over his mouth. “Was that brilliant or what?”

“Or what,” Brandon said sourly. “Christ, we could’ve all been suspended.”

Heath ignored Brandon and scooped the marker off the floor. It had made its way back toward the gym bag full of empty beer bottles. He ran up to the board and scribbled
saving puppies
at the bottom of the list. “This is the best cover ever! We can totally operate above the radar now … with Marymount’s blessing.”

“To the Men of Waverly!” Ryan called out.

“No, wait!” Heath held up his hand. “How about the Boys of Waverly. BoW. Ger it? That’ll be our signal to each other. Bow-wow. ‘Cause we’re dogs.”

“Brilliant.” Brandon rolled his eyes. For once, Easy was in agreement.

“Bow-wow,” Alan said, trying it out.

Soon the room was filled with woofing and howling, and it was all Easy could do to keep from following Marymount out the door.

But, like it or not, Easy realized, BoW was his ticket to staying on Marymount’s good side—and at Waverly Academy—at least long enough to resolve things once and for all with Callie.

Brandon steadied himself against the wrought iron railing of Dumbarton’s front steps. Despite his protests, Heath had made him drink one of the last two forties left after the Men—er,
Boys
of Waverly meeting broke up. Heath had discovered the beer hiding at the bottom of his gym bag after everyone else left and cried alcohol abuse, a childish challenge that Brandon was nonetheless too weak to overcome. As much as Heath pissed him off, he wasn’t about to back down when faced with a challenge like that. Spite and shame were the two greatest motivators, he knew, though he never knew which was fueling his decisions when Heath was involved.

“They’re not going to be here,” he said to Heath. His roommate had his hand cupped against a window that looked into the common room on the first floor to peer inside. Neither of them wanted to stumble into Dumbarton drunk if there was no reason to. Thankfully, it had stopped raining an hour ago.