Notorious Page 2

  Tinsley glared at a knot of blond-bobbed sophomores straining their ears to hear from the stone walkway. She took Callie by the arm and walked around to the east side of the chapel.

  “Please tell me. What the fuck happened?” Callie couldn’t help asking again.

  Tinsley leaned her weight against the stone building. “You tell me.”

  “I don’t know.” Callie’s hands flapped stupidly.

  “You didn’t set me up?” Tinsley demanded.

  Callie shook her head emphatically.

  “Did Brett?”

  For a split second, Callie considered blaming Brett for everything. That’d serve her right for keeping her teacher lover a secret. But things were getting better between them. Sort of. “It wasn’t us.”

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.” She stupidly raised her right hand with its chipped South of the Highway pink polished nails. She’d made a mess of them while playing a totally-out-of-character midnight game of Frisbee with some of the dorkier Dumbarton girls last night, hoping to get her mind off Jenny and Easy.

  Tinsley looked at her doubtfully, and Callie’s lip started to quiver. She wanted everything to be like it was before, when she and Brett and Tinsley were the kind of threesome who finished each other’s thoughts and laughed before anyone ever said anything. The kind who trusted each other no matter what. That seemed so long ago now.

  “When Marymount asked me about the E, I assumed we were going to share the blame equally,” Tinsley finally offered, squinting at her friend. Callie looked like she’d aged five years since the spring. “So I confessed.”

  Callie gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. “But I denied everything. … I thought we all would.”

  Tinsley noticed her roommate’s chewed fingernails and chipped light-pink polish and felt sorry for her even though the situation should have been reversed. “Marymount kicked me out on the spot. Finito.”

  “Then why did they let you back in?” Callie asked as the last stragglers headed into Chapel for morning meeting, their I-just-rolled-out-of-bed ponytails bobbing as they hurried up the steps.

  “They found out I spent break making a documentary with my dad in South Africa and changed my expulsion to a suspension.” Tinsley ran her fingers through her glossy dark mane. She wanted to spill all the details about her mind-blowing summer, but not just yet. Callie needed to feel how angry she’d been about being the only one expelled. How unfair it was that they hadn’t confessed too and how much it hurt that neither of them had even tried to get in touch with her over the summer. Then, once Callie felt totally incapacitated by guilt, she’d say she was sorry, really sorry, and she’d offer to do anything to make it up to her. Anything.

  A strange, high-pitched whinnying sound broke the silence. “Nei-ei-ei-ei-gh.”

  They both turned their heads to see Heath Ferro whinnying like a horse, BlackBerry in hand. He dragged his foot through the dirt like a disgruntled mule as his thumbs worked the tiny buttons. Callie dug her fingertips into her palms, wincing at the idea that Heath’s idiotic party had brought Easy and Jenny closer.

  “What’s up, good-looking?” Tinsley beckoned teasingly. “Miss me?”

  Heath looked up from under his shaggy blondish brown hair and froze. “Wow. You back?” He grinned devilishly, his gold-flecked green eyes sparkling, and pocketed his BlackBerry.

  Callie rolled her eyes. Heath, like every other boy at Waverly and the rest of the Northern Hemisphere, had always had a massive crush on Tinsley, and Callie knew it.

  “Yeah, I’m back,” Tinsley continued. “For now.”

  Heath clutched his pocket as his BlackBerry started to vibrate.

  “Who’s that?” Callie asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Heath replied, pulling out his BlackBerry as a devious smile spread across his face. He shuffled toward the chapel steps, again punching at the tiny keypad. Organ music drifted through the chapel windows and floated out over the soccer field. The quiet muffle of forced singing soon filled the tension-heavy air.

  “I just wish …” Callie’s voice trailed off as she spotted Easy Walsh loping up the walkway, his eyes fixed on a pair of fat owls flying overhead. Callie noticed the splotch of yellow paint on the cuff of his faded Levi’s and knew he’d probably been up since dawn, painting in his secret spot in the woods. He’d never told Callie exactly where it was, but she liked to think it was a sunny field of wildflowers in the middle of the forest, where he imagined her lying naked in the grass with dandelions braided into her long, strawberry blond hair, innocent yet totally ravishable. Now she was afraid that Jenny’s face was superimposed where hers had been.

  “Hey,” Tinsley called out, startling Easy. He pretended to do a double take when he saw her—a goofy, exaggerated act Callie had seen him perform time and again, though she never tired of it.

  “T-dog,” Easy drawled in his irresistible Kentucky accent. He gave them both quick we’re-all-good-friends kisses on their cheeks. What the hell? She was not Easy’s friend. “Where have you been?”

  The sunlight darted through the trees overhead, casting shadows on the grass. Callie noticed a new flirtatious lilt in Tinsley’s voice as she spoke. Maybe Easy and Tinsley had hooked up at last spring, when Ben, the snoopy groundskeeper, spotted the two of them alone out on the halfway line of the soccer field after nightly check-in. Tinsley had nonchalantly denied it when Callie questioned her but in her typical, evasive, could-mean-anything way. And Callie was sure something had happened between the two of them two years ago during freshman year, when Tinsley threw a spring break party at her parents’ house in Alaska. But since that predated Callie’s relationship with Easy, she couldn’t really hold it against either of them. Though it wasn’t like she could forget, either.

  “Well, it’s good to have you back.” Easy smiled, his eyelids drooping sexily. Callie felt her insides twist at the sight of his long, dark eyelashes and gorgeous, callused hands. She remembered their roughness caressing her face. “This place has been dying for a dose of you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Ease.” Tinsley drew her tanned foot in a wide, slow-motion arc across the wet grass. Callie narrowed her green-flecked eyes and started up the chapel’s stone steps. “Really good,” she heard Tinsley say behind her.

  “Mr. Walsh.” A deep baritone voice sounded from the chapel doorway. In front of Callie stood Mr. Dalton, freshly shaven, his sandy-colored hair still damp and messy from the shower. Callie noticed Easy’s body stiffen. Mr. Dalton was the Disciplinary Committee’s faculty adviser, and he’d nailed Easy with probation for being in their room that night.

  “Mr. Dalton,” he replied mechanically, marching up the steps past her and then the history teacher.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Mr. Dalton nodded at them once as Easy shuffled inside. He smoothed out his maroon-and-navy-striped tie, and Callie noticed a silver link bracelet on his wrist. Ew, wasn’t that a little girlie? Then he tilted his head toward Tinsley and offered her his hand. “I’m Eric Dalton. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Tinsley Carmichael.” She stepped onto the bottom stair and gave him her hand in response. “A pleasure.”

  “Yes.” Mr. Dalton nodded enthusiastically. “It is.”

  Callie still couldn’t believe Brett was doing it with a teacher. Ew! She waited for him to disappear back inside Chapel before turning back to Tinsley.

  “Who was that?” Tinsley asked excitedly, her violet eyes looking even bigger and darker than usual. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and started absentmindedly braiding it.

  “Ask Brett,” Callie scoffed.

  “Where is Brett? I need to talk to her too.”

  Callie shrugged. Let them work their own shit out. This was her turn. She grabbed her friend’s bronzed hand, readying herself to apologize before they went inside. It wasn’t something Callie was particularly good at, but she wanted to make everything right.

  “I just wish we could’ve planned our stories out
before, you know?” she began awkwardly, hugging Tinsley again. “I feel horrible that you got all the blame.” She felt a hot tear forming in the corner of her eye and was thankful for the waterproof mascara she’d decided on earlier, anticipating what would happen if she spotted Easy and Jenny together. She buried her face in Tinsley’s neck.

  “Apology accepted,” Tinsley replied evenly, pulling back. “That just leaves one thing.”

  “What?” Callie blinked away the tear.

  “Who’s that bitch in my bed?”

  “Oh, that’s Jenny,” Callie replied.

  “You’re going to help me move her stuff, right?”

  Callie smiled. “Totally.”

  RyanReynolds: You at Chapel yet? I’m trying to get close to that Jenny girl. She just snuck in the back door and damn, her skirt is SHORT!

  HeathFerro: Guess who I just saw?

  RyanReynolds: Jenny? Save me a seat, bro.

  HeathFerro: Nope even better. Tinsley fucking SMOKING HOT Carmichael. And I have to tell you, it’s a sweeeeeeeeeeeet sight.

  RyanReynolds: Are you fucking with me? I thought that was just a rumor she was coming back.

  HeathFerro: Looks like the real thing to me …

  RyanReynolds: Send me a pic with your camera phone STAT.

  HeathFerro: Sorry chump. Don’t have one. And I wouldn’t share if I did. She and Callie look like they’re busy kissing and making up. …

  RyanReynolds: You definitely need to get a camera.

  3

  A WAVERLY OWL NEVER LOSES HER COOL EVEN WHEN SHE’S REALLY PISSED.

  Brett Messerschmidt stood outside the door to room 303, her pointy ivory-colored ankle boots squeezing her toes. She could hear Tinsley’s hoarse, sexy voice on the other side of the door, bitching to Callie about how Brett was taking up too much closet space. Brett reread the note her new roommate, Jenny, had written on the door’s whiteboard, her whole body trembling with anticipation at the thought of seeing Tinsley again.

  Happy Tuesday! Dinner tonight after practice?—J

  Jenny was just so … sincere, like she cared way more about being happy than cool and like she wasn’t interested in who your parents were or if they, say, lived in New Jersey or East Hampton. She was basically as different from Tinsley as anyone could possibly be. Brett couldn’t stop worrying that it was probably only a matter of time before Tinsley informed everyone on campus about Brett’s family. Brett had told everyone her mom and dad had an organic farm in the Hamptons, but the truth was her dad did boob jobs and tummy tucks for a living while her mom reupholstered their Rumson, New Jersey, living room furniture in clashing animal prints.

  Even though it hadn’t been Callie or Brett’s fault that Tinsley had been kicked out—neither of them had ratted her out, even though they’d both spent the summer assuming the other had—Brett knew she’d blame them. She rolled her head around on her neck like a boxer getting ready for a fight and pushed open the heavy oak door.

  Tinsley stood in the middle of the room, tall and model thin, wearing a turquoise-and-green Ginger and Java strapless silk blouson minidress beneath her maroon Waverly jacket. Brett didn’t believe in superstitious insanity like auras, but it sure felt like Tinsley was radiating something.

  “Well, well,” Tinsley said coolly. “Nice to see you, B.”

  Brett smoothed her Seven jeans skirt, unsure if she should go over and give Tinsley a hug. She had never dealt well with people being mad at her—especially people who might very well spill your deepest, darkest secret just for shits and giggles. “You look fabulous as usual, T.”

  Callie cleared her throat and slid a thick textbook into her black nylon Prada schoolbag. Her hair was in its usual messy after-practice bun and her hockey clothes were balled up next to the closet. Brett had skipped practice, claiming to have cramps—Coach Smail was super-squeamish when it came to anything period-related—and sat outside Stansfield Hall, hoping to “casually” bump into Eric Dalton leaving his office. No luck.

  He might be a teacher and the Disciplinary Committee adviser, but he was also the most incredible … man … Brett had ever met. Last week, after the big Black Saturday game, she’d been absolutely sure that she was ready to lose her virginity to Eric. But then she’d chickened out and run off Eric’s yacht and directly into her ex-boyfriend, Jeremiah, who went to nearby St. Lucius Academy. Oops.

  “I’ll let you two get reacquainted,” Callie muttered before heading toward the door. Brettreally wished Callie wouldn’t leave. Even if things had been strained between the two of them, Brett was a little scared to be left alone with Tinsley. What if she’d already told Callie she was really just a tacky Jersey girl? What if they’d re-bonded over how idiotically fire-engine red Brett had dyed her hair? What if Tinsley burned a hole in her soul with her freaky violet eyes?

  “Thanks for helping me with my stuff, Cal.” Tinsley puckered her bee-stung lips and made an exaggerated air smooch before she gently closed the door behind her. Brett wondered if Callie would stick around to eavesdrop on their conversation like Brett had. Probably.

  Tinsley’s Louis Vuitton luggage was piled onto her old bed, and a tiny metal-framed cot, sagging slightly in the middle, was pushed into the corner where the girls normally stashed their trash can. Jenny’s comforter and sheets were tangled in a ball on top of it. One of her pillows was on the floor.

  Tinsley looked at Brett, standing ramrod straight across the room. Her pointy little nose was as red as her insanely dyed hair, which Tinsley recognized as a sign she was nervous. What was her fucking deal? She couldn’t even muster up a little excitement about seeing her old best friend back where she belonged, especially after she had saved her ass? Where was the gratitude? The respect? The fawning? She had just gotten back from another hemisphere, for Christ’s sake, not the dining hall. “You’re looking pale,” Tinsley finally initiated.

  Brett walked over to her desk and draped her size-two Waverly blazer over her chair. “I’m not feeling well,” she replied primly.

  Tinsley tugged at the zipper on her signature leather garment bag and pulled out an armful of chiffon and silk. She narrowed her carefully made-up eyes at Brett as she walked to the closet and slid Brett’s things out of the way. It made Tinsley think of all the times the three of them had faked day passes from their parents and taken the train into the city to shop at Barneys and the boutiques in Soho. Tinsley even spotted the silver Missoni slip dress she’d dared her to shoplift from Saks. Fuck you, Tinsley wanted to yell. Just apologize and kiss my ass a little so we can all be friends again! But Brett was just standing there stubbornly, running her finger along the collection of small gold hoops in her left ear. What did she have to be pissed about? “Still going out with Jeremiah?” Tinsley finally asked.

  “That’s over.” Brett cleared her throat and willed herself not to think about Eric Dalton. Tinsley had some sort of extrasensory perception when it came to secrets, and as soon as she sensed anything surreptitious, she’d latch on until she’d uncovered every juicy detail.

  “Oh, yeah? So, who’s the next victim?” Tinsley asked pointedly, thinking of Mr. Dalton and his sexy gray eyes and monogrammed platinum cuff links and the way Callie suggested she ask Brett about him. She knew her friends, and she knew what that meant. He had to be quite a score for a closeted Jersey girl like Brett.

  “That remains to be seen.” Brett turned to start gathering her books. “Look, I’m on my way to Benny’s to study. I was just stopping by to get some things,” she lied.

  Tinsley bristled. Since when did Brett care more about hitting the books with horse-faced Benny Cunningham than welcoming back her long-lost friend?

  “I was going to check out what Brandon and Heath were doing anyway,” Tinsley responded casually. Now, there would be some faces happy to see her. She grabbed her oversized tangerine-colored Prada tote and headed for the door. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She shut it loudly, scattering the girls who had been eaves-dropping, and waited in
the hall until she heard Brett murmur, “Bitch.”

  Bitch? she mused, clicking down the hall. Well, we’ll see what Mr. Too-hot-to-be-a-teacher Dalton thinks of bitches.

  TinsleyCarmichael: Wts the deal with the insanely hot new guy?

  BennyCunningham: The super-tall one from Seattle? Looks delicious but he’s a freshman! Unfair right?

  TinsleyCarmichael: The dude is definitely not a freshman. Dalton or something?

  BennyCunningham: U mean MISTER Dalton? He’s a history teacher and does DC.

  TinsleyCarmichael: I think he’s my adviser.

  BennyCunningham: Lucky bitch. I heard he and Brett were playing footsie at the last DC meeting.

  TinsleyCarmichael: Très interesting …

  To: JennyHumphrey@Waverly.edu

  From: RufusHumphrey@poetsonline.com

  Date: Tuesday, September 9, 3:14 p.m.

  Subject: New phone

  Hello, my jalapeño pumpkin fritter,

  I got your letter from last week. I’m still amazed by the email. Incredible!

  Dan is settling into Evergreen. He hasn’t ended up in the infirmary with a case of alcohol poisoning or spinal meningitis or homesickness yet, so I think we’re off to a good start.

  So you asked for a Tripod or a Treon or something? I didn’t know what this was, so I asked Vanessa—she’s living in your room … did I remember to tell you that?—and she brought me to the cell phone store. I waxed philosophic and showed off my I Break for Salamanders pin and rainbow suspenders, so the salesgirl cut me a deal. And you think I have no fashion sense. Keep an eye out for a duct-taped shoe box coming via snail mail!

  Love you to the moon,