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  “Hey, what are you guys doing for your Jan Plan projects?” Callie changed the subject. Jan Plan was everyone’s favorite time of year. It was four weeks of heaven: you got to be on campus with your friends and not have any real responsibilities. Some of the students were away—like Brett Messerschmidt, another one of Callie’s best friends, who was in New York working on a Vogue internship her sister had arranged. The nerdier students tended to have more academic plans, like performing a mock trial or spending the whole month reading a horribly long, boring classic novel from the seventeenth century and writing a paper about how it was still relevant today. Callie didn’t get why anyone would work so hard for a pass/fail grade. “I still don’t have one yet.”

  Sage twirled a piece of her pale blond hair around her finger. “Benny and I are going to be studying gender roles in contemporary film.”

  Tinsley, who acted scandalized anytime someone suggested watching a movie that wasn’t either black-and-white or filmed in another language, took a small sip of grapefruit juice and rolled her eyes. “So you’re using it as an excuse to watch Made of Honor for the billionth time?”

  “Among other things,” Benny trilled. She waved over Emily Jenkins, who was stuffing pieces of fruit into her pockets. “Emily’s going to be studying the effects of exercise on stress.”

  “Groundbreaking,” Tinsley whispered to Callie, who almost choked on her orange juice.

  “I’m leading a Pilates class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the dance studio, in case anyone’s interested,” Emily offered, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. “I can’t believe this counts as school.”

  “Neither can I,” Callie replied dryly, slicing up a banana into her bowl of Cheerios. Of course Emily Jenkins would use Jan Plan as a way to drop a jeans size.

  “You ready to go back?” Benny stood up, throwing her crumpled napkin onto her tray. “I thought maybe we’d watch 27 Dresses to warm us up.”

  Tinsley made a gagging sound in her throat as the three girls disappeared. “At least Brett’s doing something cool. I can’t believe she’s got an internship at Vogue.”

  “Yeah, but it’s weird she’ll be away.” Jenny wiped a smudge of raspberry jam off her cheek. “I bumped into Sebastian in Maxwell last night and he looked miserable.”

  Now Callie wanted to throw up. “I can’t believe how off track I was with that whole Sebastian thing.” It was hard to believe that just a month ago, she was—kind of—dating Sebastian Valenti herself. That “relationship” was a perfect example of Callie convincing herself of something that didn’t really exist. She’d believed in unicorns until she was eleven, despite all evidence to the contrary, simply because she’d wanted to. Bored and lonely after breaking up with Easy Walsh, she’d suddenly felt like she was destined to be alone. She’d needed a boyfriend.

  And then Sebastian had strolled into the room, representing a world of opportunity. A blank slate. Of course, Callie didn’t realize he was Brett’s tutee the first time she saw him—or that Brett had already set her sights on him. Callie had thrown herself at Sebastian, ignoring his less-appealing qualities, only to end up getting dumped for Brett, with whom he’d been in love the whole time. “The funny thing is—I didn’t even really like him. I mean, his idea of romantic was Bon Jovi and pizza. Ew.” Callie shook her head as if to shake off the memory.

  “You certainly did a good job convincing yourself of it,” Tinsley pointed out. Tinsley latched and unlatched the antique platinum chain bracelet she wore around her wrist—probably a romantic Christmas present from her boyfriend, Julian McCafferty. Callie consoled herself with the fact that Julian was a freshman. He didn’t even have a learner’s permit yet.

  “That’s what’s so weird about it.” Callie shifted in her seat as she flicked an imaginary piece of lint off her blazer. “I didn’t feel like I was convincing myself. He was hot, and everybody was drooling over him. Plus, I was starting to feel frantic about being alone. And then everything just kind of came together….”

  “You can’t really think you’ll be alone forever.” Jenny’s brown doe eyes widened. She looked tiny in her pink striped button-down and her Waverly blazer, the sleeves of which were a little too long for her.

  “I don’t know. It’s just that I thought Easy was my true love, and then… it ended,” Callie replied. She stared at the Cheerios floating in her skim milk. She’d always thought she and Easy would be together forever. But after he was expelled from Waverly, he practically disappeared from her life. His father had condemned him to a military school in the middle of the boonies, where he didn’t have access to e-mail or a phone. It was too difficult to keep a relationship going when she couldn’t ever see him—or even talk to him. By the time he sneaked away from school to meet her on Thanksgiving atop the Empire State Building, it was too late. Callie didn’t totally understand why, but she knew it was over. “Does that mean it wasn’t really true love? Or did I convince myself about Easy the same way I tricked myself into liking Sebastian?”

  “Sounds like a brilliant psychology project to me.” Tinsley spread some Foul Play NARS gloss across her lips.

  “I could totally do a Jan Plan project about the nature of love.” Callie straightened in her chair. “Is it something we cling to, just because it offers comfort? Do we have the power to convince ourselves we’re in love? Or is it a stronger feeling, one we can’t control?” Suddenly a wave of excitement washed over her. She flashed forward twenty years, to herself as a brilliant, Ivy League–educated love expert and best-selling author, signing books to adoring fans, many of whom happened to be male and gorgeous.

  “I was being sarcastic,” Tinsley pointed out, taking a sip of her tea.

  “I wasn’t.” Callie shrugged. “I want to talk to other people. Find out what makes them think they’re in love with someone.” Her eyes narrowed and focused on Tinsley, as she gathered up her bag and tossed her crumpled napkin on her tray. “You can be my first victim.”

  Tinsley smiled sweetly and stood up. “Sorry, babe.” She tossed her head, her silky dark hair shimmering under the dining-hall lights. “You know I don’t like to kiss and tell.”

  Callie snorted. “You love to kiss and tell.”

  Tinsley’s blue-violet eyes twinkled. “Yeah, I guess I do. Speaking of kissing, I’ve got to go make out with Julian right now.” She blew Callie a kiss as she headed for the dining hall’s front doors.

  Callie sniffed. True love was definitely something people made up just to annoy her.

  3

  A WAVERLY OWL ACTIVELY PURSUES CHARACTER-BUILDING EXPERIENCES.

  Brett Messerschmidt stared out the vast plate glass windows of the Vogue waiting room on the twelfth floor of the Condé Nast Building in Times Square. Having a sister who worked in the fashion magazine industry definitely had it perks: everything from free samples to seats at runway shows. Now, sitting on an uncomfortable ultramodern leather chair and gazing out at the endless traffic of a Monday morning in January, it was really sinking in. Brett’s older sister, Brianna, was an editorial assistant at Elle, and last week, over cocktails, her Vassar friend Leslie Nichols, an editorial assistant at Vogue, had been complaining about her workload. Her latest intern had disappeared while out getting coffee, taking the petty cash with her. Brianna had immediately suggested Brett for the job. It was perfect for Brett—fashion fascinated her, and she’d always dreamed of becoming a globe-trotting journalist. What better start than an internship at Vogue? Besides, Waverly loved when its students used Jan Plan to score high-profile, résumé-boosting internships. After a quick phone interview with a frazzled Leslie, Brett was hired for the month of January.

  It had all happened so quickly, Brett barely had time to think about it. Which was fortunate, since she probably would have started feeling sorry for herself. Of course the chance to spend a glamorous month in New York would come up only after she began an incredible new relationship with Sebastian Valenti, who’d be at Waverly this month, without her.

/>   Christmas break had been amazing. For once, her parents’ New Jersey accents and need to have at least two televisions on in the house at all times didn’t even faze her. She spent most of her time with Sebastian, the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed senior whom she’d spent the past two months tutoring—and falling for. Her parents’ house in Rumson was about twenty minutes away from his, and they’d gone back and forth between each other’s houses daily. She’d played a string of backgammon games with his father, who talked like he was on The Sopranos but was as gentle as a kitten. Sebastian had watched corny movies on the Messerschmidts’ beloved fifty-eight-inch plasma TV. They’d even taken a trip to the Jersey shore and walked along the cold, quiet beaches, holding hands and peering into the shops, arcades, and tattoo parlors that were shuttered for the season.

  “Brett?”

  She immediately jumped to her feet, smoothing down the poppy-colored Nanette Lepore bubble skirt she’d borrowed from Bree. She’d paired it with her favorite cream-colored ruffle-front blouse, then added a cropped navy Diesel jacket with oversize gold buttons and a pair of her sister’s brown leather ankle boots. Bree had insisted on rewatching The Devil Wears Prada the night before for good luck. Brett couldn’t help feeling a little like Anne Hathaway—after her transformation into a fashion maven, of course.

  “I’m Leslie.” In front of her was a tall blonde with a sharp, birdlike face. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  Brett smiled as she shook Leslie’s manicured hand, a giant emerald green bangle clattering on Leslie’s wrist. “It’s really great to be here. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

  A strange look crossed Leslie’s pretty face before she smiled brightly again. “Can I get you some coffee or anything? Tea? Water?” Leslie spoke in a clipped, rapid-fire way, as if she was already thinking about the millions of things she had to do that morning.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Brett demurred, suspecting that Leslie was just being polite. She grabbed her cream-colored Chanel quilted purse and slid it over her shoulder, eager to get started. Her phone vibrated in her bag, and she fought the urge to open it and read the text. It was probably something sweet from Sebastian. If she read it, she’d only miss him more.

  “I think there’s a conference room open. Let’s go there so we can have a little privacy,” Leslie whispered, as if the offices were swarming with editors dying to eavesdrop on them.

  She followed Leslie down a long hallway lined with framed Vogue covers and spreads, trying not to think of the amazing Christmas present Sebastian had gotten for her. It was a photograph of a tiny seaside town, in an antique silver frame. Sun-bleached white stone houses clung to the rocky landscape, their cheerful red roofs contrasting with the heartbreaking blue of the Mediterranean. “This is where my family’s from in Italy,” Sebastian had explained in a soft voice. “I’m going to take you there.” It made Brett’s knees weak just thinking about it.

  “Soo…” Leslie trailed off. She’d been talking about her subway ride that morning, and Brett had only been half listening. Leslie pushed open the door of a glass-walled conference room with enormous leather chairs and a sleek long table. Brett imagined Anna Wintour herself sitting at the head of the table and watching critically as her minions presented their layouts for her approval. “There’s been a little, well, change in plans.”

  Brett’s eyes widened as she sank into the leather chair that Leslie indicated. “What kind of change in plans?” she managed to squeak out. Hopefully they weren’t going to send her down to the janitorial staff or anything.

  Leslie leaned her elbows on the table and took a deep breath. “Well, as you know, I was happy to take you on as an intern, because my last intern completely fucked me over and left me with a shitload of work to get done before Fashion Week.”

  “Yes, of course.” Brett leaned forward as well. She didn’t mind running for coffee or making photocopies or even licking envelopes—she just wanted to be at Vogue, to feel it all around her. Ever since she’d had her letter to the editor published in Seventeen magazine when she was twelve, she’d fantasized about seeing her name in print again. “And I’m happy to do anything.”

  “Yes, well.” Leslie coughed. It almost looked like she was trying to keep herself from smiling. “I’m afraid I’ve just been offered a promotion this morning—one that involves my transfer to Italian Vogue. I’ll be moving to Milan next week.”

  “Oh.” Brett felt her face flush. She certainly couldn’t hold that against Leslie—who wouldn’t want to jump at the chance to live in Italy? “That’s great, isn’t it?”

  The smile Leslie had been trying to hide took over her face. “Yes! I’ve been dying to work over there for years—Italian women are so glamorous. And the men!” Brett almost spoke up in agreement, but stopped herself. Sebastian was the sexiest guy she’d ever met. Then the pained expression returned to Leslie’s pretty face. “But, as you see, that means… I don’t need you anymore. And it was too late for me to call you and tell you not to come in today.”

  “Can’t I help out someone else?” Brett sputtered, caught off guard. “Really, I’m happy to do anything.” Even being a member of the janitorial staff didn’t sound so bad anymore.

  Leslie shook her head sadly, pressing her thin lips together so firmly, they almost disappeared. “I asked around, and unfortunately no one really wants a high school intern. No offense!” she added immediately. Brett was still too stunned to really take offense.

  She tucked her flaming red hair behind her ears. Suddenly the whole month stretched out before her. She thought she’d be in New York, sleeping on the couch in her sister’s SoHo loft, working at Vogue, spending her evenings at poetry readings or sneaking into clubs with her fake ID. Now she had nothing to do.

  Except head back to Waverly. And to Sebastian, which was a consolation. But although cuddling with her hot boyfriend might keep her busy, somehow Brett didn’t think she was going to get school credit for it.

  4

  A WAVERLY OWL SHOULD ALWAYS BE WELL VERSED IN BASIC SURVIVAL SKILLS.

  “Are we there yet?” Brandon Buchanan asked, adjusting the red frame backpack he’d borrowed from the Waverly Outing Club higher on his shoulders. He’d been following his roommate, Heath Ferro, through the thick woods that surrounded the Waverly Academy campus for what seemed like hours. “We’ve got to be miles away by now.”

  Even beneath his black microfleece hat and Ray-Ban visors, Brandon could read Heath’s look of disgust. “Dude, don’t start with me.”

  Brandon sighed inwardly as he followed Heath through the deep snow, pushing bare tree branches out of his face. He’d just gotten back to campus that morning, after his flight from Switzerland was delayed because of a blizzard in the Alps. The ten days after Christmas had been the best of his life, and strangely enough, he had Heath to thank for it. After all, it was Heath who’d bought Brandon the plane ticket to Switzerland to see Hellie Dunderdorf, Professor Dunderdorf’s gorgeous daughter. Brandon had met her over Thanksgiving break, and since then she was the only girl he could even think about. For once, Brandon hadn’t even minded being at home for Christmas, with his bottle-blond stepmother and his annoying three-year-old half brothers. Because twenty-four hours later, he got to hold Hellie in his arms again, kissing her soft, slightly chapped lips. The rest of the trip flew by. The two of them walked hand in hand, exploring the gorgeous campus of Le Rosey, the exclusive boarding school she attended. Or they holed up in her tiny yellow-walled bedroom, keeping each other warm.

  By the time Brandon got back to Waverly on Monday morning, jet-lagged but happy, he hadn’t even thought about his Jan Plan proposal. So when Heath offered to let Brandon jump in on his Jan Plan camping trip, Brandon immediately agreed. He figured they’d spend one night in the woods, take some notes about how to start a fire, maybe make a video of themselves rubbing a couple of sticks together. They could flesh it out later with some research about the history of the Rhinecliff Woods or some drawings of oak tr
ees. Brandon had even seen Heath stuff a few packs of freeze-dried astronaut ice cream into his pack. Brandon had always loved that stuff.

  And he did have an ulterior motive for joining the trip. He was looking forward to the opportunity to let Heath know—casually, of course—that he was no longer his virginal roommate. The years of Heath teasing Brandon over his sexual inexperience were over.

  But as they hiked farther and farther from Waverly’s campus, the gray January sky began to turn purple. “Maybe we should set up camp now, you know?” Brandon said nervously. “It looks like it’s going to snow.”

  Heath paused and shot Brandon an appraising look. “Not bad, Buchanan. Good eye. I scoped this spot out this morning.” He pointed to a clump of white birch trees. They stood close together, as if huddling against the cold. “I already set up our camp.”

  “You did?” Brandon asked gratefully. He was exhausted and still jet-lagged. He just wanted to light a fire, take some notes for their paper, then curl up in his down-filled sleeping bag and pass out. “Where? I don’t see our tent.”

  “Tent?” Heath smacked Brandon across the stomach with a branch he’d just cut with his machete-size Swiss Army knife. “Did you think we were going to spend three weeks in the wild sleeping in a fucking tent?”

  Brandon dropped his pack to the ground. “Three weeks? What the hell are you talking about?” The sun dipped down behind the horizon, and Brandon felt his feet starting to numb. “I thought we were going to spend a night or two out here and record what we ate and shit. I brought my camera to take some pictures to supplement the paper.”