Adored by Cecily von Ziegesar
Tinsley giggled, her elegant shoulders rising and falling with her laughter. A tallish sophomore in a rumpled black suit and loosened candy cane tie bumped into Callie, pushing her forward.
“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” Callie grabbed Tinsley’s bare arm to steady herself, but she really wanted to grab Tinsley by her shoulders and shake her. Tinsley had been the one torturing her all this time? “Why would you do that?”
“So that you could see how ridiculous you’re being.” Tinsley rolled her eyes. “You’re sixteen, in case you forgot.”
Callie bit her lip. Okay, just because she was still kind of young didn’t mean anything. “Whatever. Lots of people have met their future spouses by the time they’re sixteen.”
Tinsley sighed heavily and stubbed out her cigarette in a cheap aluminum ashtray. “Yeah? Give me an example. Besides your parents and like, people in Nebraska.” She grabbed Callie’s arm and spun her around so she could see the whole crowded party. “Why would you want to meet your husband when you’re sixteen? You’re one of the hottest chicks at this party… and this school. And, like, the world,” Tinsley lectured loudly in her ear.
Callie sniffed. But… Tinsley had a point. “Okaaay.”
“So get over yourself, will you?” Tinsley smiled, her perfect white teeth gleaming. “Or you really will turn into an old maid.”
Callie rubbed a hand against her forehead. She spotted Ryan Reynolds leering at her from the dance floor. When he caught her eye, he made a gesture for her to come over, which she ignored. Then she saw a couple of freshman guys in the corner, who awkwardly turned away when she caught them looking at her. A sly, knowing grin crept over her face.
Maybe the idea of dying an old maid was ridiculous. Tinsley was right. Sebastian didn’t know what he was missing. And why would Callie want to be saddled with a guy who drove a Mustang anyway? She tossed her head, letting her wavy strawberry blond hair tumble across her shoulders. “Let’s have fun being single together. Girl power and all that, right?” She nudged Tinsley in the waist. No matter how hot Tinsley was, it did make her feel better that she was single too.
Tinsley blanched at the word single. She’d been so thrilled to see Callie laugh again after her neediness these past few weeks… but did she have to rub Tinsley’s nose in the fact that she was single too? As if she could forget.
“Speak of the devil,” Callie said in a low voice, staring at someone over Tinsley’s shoulder. Tinsley felt her whole body tense up. She’d only seen Julian once, in the crowded dining hall, since she’d broken things off with him, although he’d texted her several times. But she didn’t want to give him a chance to explain. She just needed to get over him first, before he had a chance to work his way back in.
Julian appeared next to her, wearing a faded gray American Apparel V-neck and a pair of black jeans. “Hey,” he said, pushing a lock of his light brown hair behind his ear. He glanced around nervously, sidestepping Emily Jenkins. She wore a short red velvet skirt trimmed with white fur, like a dirty Mrs. Claus. “Can we talk?”
Callie shot Tinsley a “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” look before flipping her hair over her shoulder one more time and sashaying away. “I’ll be on the dance floor.”
Tinsley watched her friend shoulder her way through the crowded room, taking in all the cute boys checking her out as she passed. Callie was going to be fine. She finally let her eyes fall on Julian’s face, and she forced herself to picture him losing his virginity to Jenny Humphrey in order to not melt at the sight of his familiar brown eyes. She shrugged with a coolness she didn’t feel. “Talk.”
“Not here.” Julian touched Tinsley’s back. She jumped away from him as if she’d been burned. “Sorry, just… come this way.”
He led her through the kitchen to a tiny laundry room and pulled closed a vinyl accordion door. The room smelled like fabric softener, an improvement from the other room’s alcohol and sweat smell.
Julian exhaled loudly as Tinsley leaned against the washing machine, arms crossed bitchily in front of her, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Listen,” he said, looking nervous. “You need to know something.”
Tinsley felt her stomach drop. If she actually heard him say the words I slept with Jenny Humphrey, she’d probably throw up, right there. “If it’s about you and your lover, I don’t care.” She turned to leave.
Julian reached out and grabbed Tinsley’s bare arm. “How about you listen to me for once?” The force in Julian’s normally calm voice made Tinsley stop in her tracks. She wasn’t used to people talking to her like that. His dark eyes glittered in the dimly lit room. “I don’t know what you think is going on with me… but I lost my virginity to a girl I dated all through junior high. Before I even came to Waverly. It was only once, before we both left for school. It was just one of those things—”
Tinsley shook off Julian’s hand. Hearing about Julian’s past made her feel vaguely sick. But it wasn’t Jenny he’d slept with? Why was she so obsessed with Jenny, anyway? She took a deep breath. “Spare me the details, okay?”
A hurt look crossed Julian’s face. He shuffled his feet and leaned against the wall. “When I told you I wasn’t a virgin, I kind of just wanted to sound cool, you know? You’re older… and sometimes I get intimidated by you, despite how incredibly mature I am.” He shot her a shy smile, and Tinsley bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back.
“That’s true.” Tinsley tilted her head and fingered her silver and lime green dangling art deco earring. So… he’d had sex with a junior high girlfriend? That was barely a step above masturbation. “I am very intimidating.”
“You have no fucking idea.” Julian shook his head, his eyes running up and down Tinsley’s body. She shivered. “But then I talked to Heath. And he told me you hadn’t, well, done it… and I figured that was why you got so upset.”
Tinsley felt her face flushing—had she really made such a big deal out of this? It didn’t matter who Julian had been with before. That was in the past. Right now, he was looking at her in a way that made her forget everything else. She hopped up on the dryer and crossed her legs at the knee, letting the heels of her emerald green Christian Louboutin pumps clink against the metal side of the machine. “Yeah?” she asked coolly. So maybe she could get over this. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t still tease him.
“Really.” Julian stepped toward her, placing a hand on her knee. It tickled, and totally turned her on. “But I just don’t really get why any of that’s important. I want to be with you, and I think you want to be with me… despite that fake-pouty look on your face right now.”
Tinsley swatted his hand off her knee.
Julian grinned and planted his hands on top of the dryer, on either side of her. “And we can wait. Until both of us are ready.”
Tinsley resisted the urge to grab his face and plant a wet kiss on his fine lips. The words I want to be with you rang in her ears. Suddenly, here in the Cambridge House laundry room, surrounded by boxes of Tide and shelves of cleaning supplies, Tinsley felt that all was right with the world.
Her almost black hair slid in front of her face like a curtain, and she cracked a devious smile. He’d done it just once? Everyone knew the first time was always terrible—a lot of fumbling around and trying to find stuff. It totally didn’t count. Besides, junior high sex? Like anyone in junior high knew anything. Relief bubbled up in Tinsley’s chest, and she nudged Julian’s leg with the toe of her pump. “I bet I could still teach you a few things.”
The expression on Julian’s face relaxed and he threw his head back and laughed. “I have no doubt about that.”
And neither did she.
27
IN TIMES OF DISTRESS, A WAVERLY OWL CAN COUNT ON HIS ROOMMATE.
Brandon watched in disgust as Sage Francis, looking sleazy in a red dress about as big as a tissue, licked Lon Baruzza’s neck and sprinkled salt on it. Incredibly unsanitary, Brandon thought, since Benny Cunningham had done a tequila
Brandon tilted his head back, draining the last of his Hell Fire. The sweet syrup landed in his empty stomach with a thud and he felt for a moment like he might puke. He pushed his way into the kitchen and grabbed a water-stained glass from a kitchen cupboard. He filled it with water from the tap and took a long swig. Feeling suddenly alone, he longed for Hellie more than ever. Everyone was acting crazy. Jenny was like some kind of stranger, always walking around with a camera crew following her—although Brandon felt bad that those ungrateful frosh had made an embarrassing video of her. Callie was busy chasing after her new boyfriend. All his guy friends had been even bigger meatheads than usual recently, and after he’d orchestrated the whole Secret Satan mess, Heath was even more full of himself than usual.
Brandon sighed as Heath himself appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was still wearing his lame green suspenders and the Santa hat, although now his white T-shirt was covered with smudges of varying shades of red and pink, clearly left by eager female lips. A pair of girls’ sunglasses was perched on his nose. “What up?”
Brandon shrugged and stared at the dirty-cup-covered linoleum table. “You give up asking everyone to sit on your lap and tell you what they want for Christmas?”
“Had to take a break. My lap hurts.” Heath set one of his full cups on the yellow kitchen counter, already sticky with spilled punch. “Great party, huh?” He beamed proudly. “Another success.” He held a cup in the air, toasting himself.
“Yeah, you can add it to your fucking résumé,” Brandon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned against the cold edge of the sink. Outside the fogged-up window, the night looked dark and windy.
Heath didn’t notice. He let out a loud whinny and a girl across the room echoed it. Heath glanced in Kara’s direction, probably hoping it was her. Brandon had caught Heath staring at her when she was on the dance floor with Alison Quentin, her tight-fitting floral-print silk dress swishing around her knees.
“Duuuddde,” Heath said, drawing out the word as he slung an arm across Brandon’s shoulders. His sweaty stench rose up to Brandon’s nose. “I’m sorry about that male stripper.”
Brandon nearly stopped breathing. He shoved Heath’s arm off, fighting the urge to twist it behind Heath’s back and break it in two. Or maybe he should grab one of the black pots hanging over the food-crusted stove and smash it into Heath’s smug, grinning face? “I knew it was you.”
Heath raised his eyes to heaven and drunkenly made the sign of the cross. “And I feel very, very bad about it.”
“What about… all that other shit?” Brandon asked, too furious to actually say the words male pole-dancer alarm clock and sperm piggy bank out loud.
Heath held up both hands, spilling a little Hell Fire on his fuzzy red pants. They made him look more like Elmo than Santa Claus. “Guilty as charged.” He took a long swallow, finishing his first cup, which he dropped to the floor. “I kept all the stuff from your real Secret Satan,” he added.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Brandon clenched his hands into fists.
“Lame stuff. Some kind of plaid scarf—right up your alley.” Heath picked up his second cup. “But I’m keeping the Fletch DVD,” he continued. “It’s a classic.”
“You’re a dick,” Brandon said flatly. He’d always half-hated Heath, but he’d never expected Heath to go so far out of his way to make someone miserable.
“Dude, I just had to be sure.” Heath shrugged and snapped his suspenders. “It was kind of a test. To know once and for all that you weren’t, you know…”
Brandon grabbed a black frying pan from the rack and held it like a baseball bat.
“Kidding, kidding!” Heath held up his hands in self-defense. “God, relax. It’s a party. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
Brandon knew he was lucky to get that much contrition from Heath, but something made him blurt out exactly what he was thinking. “You sure you didn’t do all this because I hooked up with Helga and you struck out with Gretchen?” The morning after Thanksgiving, when he and Heath had walked home from Dunderdorf’s house, Heath had admitted that despite Gretchen’s hotness, he hadn’t sealed the deal. It felt good to stick this verbal knife in Heath’s gut and turn it. He was prepared for Heath to deny it and move on, taking his stupid silly grin with him, but to his surprise a frown spread across Heath’s face.
“Fuck you! I could have totally had her if I wanted.” He drank half his second cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still scanning the party, probably looking for Kara. “Fuck you,” he said again, a little weakly.
Brandon barely had time to gloat before Heath slapped him on the shoulder.
“Dude, before I change my mind, here’s your real present— straight from Santa Claus.” Heath reached into the back pocket of his ridiculous pants. Brandon was expecting another packet of synthetic sperm, like the one he’d found in his mailbox this morning. But instead Heath handed him a long envelope. He turned it over in his hand.
“What? Coupons to the gay bar in Poughkeepsie? You shouldn’t have,” Brandon said sarcastically. He opened the envelope, surprised to find a voucher for an airline ticket to Switzerland in his name.
He looked at Heath, unsure of what to say. Heath Ferro? Going out of his way to buy his roommate an expensive airline ticket? So that he could visit his Swiss girlfriend? That was actually… really nice.
“Have a good time, buddy,” Heath said, slapping him on the shoulder again. A devious grin spread across his face. “Thought you could use some holiday cheer, after all my hazing. Bring me back some chocolate or something.”
Brandon struggled to find the words. “Thanks, dude.” He coughed into his fist.
“You can thank me by getting laid and shutting up about it.” Just then, a couple of squealing senior girls grabbed Heath by the suspenders and dragged him away.
“Come on, Santa,” Evelyn Dahlie cooed, grabbing Heath’s hat and sliding it onto her bleached blond head. Brandon watched as Heath swung his arms around the girls. So Heath wasn’t such a bad roommate/friend/person after all. He’d have to think about that more later.
For now, all he could think about was showing Hellie how much he missed her.
28
A WISE OWL KNOWS WHEN TO KISS AND MAKE UP.
“You look really sexy tonight, by the way,” Sebastian whispered into Brett’s ear as they stood on the dark porch of Cambridge House. “With your hair up like that.” He touched his fingers gently to the back of Brett’s neck, and she shivered, though not from the cold outside. That, she barely noticed.
“Thanks,” she murmured, enjoying the touch of his other hand against the small of her back. She could practically feel the heat coming through her black-and-white checkered Betsey Johnson coat.
Part of her was tempted to pull Sebastian into the backseat of his Mustang and spend a few hours steaming up the windows. Sebastian had spent the walk over from the Prescott Club holding Brett’s hand and casually convincing her that the failed Holiday Ball wasn’t her fault. Already she felt a teensy bit better about the whole thing.
But she knew there was something she had to do first, even though the last place she wanted to go was inside the party. “I’ve got to find Callie.”
Sebastian sighed heavily and ran his hand over his hair. “I should talk to her too.”
As soon as she opened the door, Brett was hit with a warm whoosh of beer-and-cigarette-scented air. So this was where everyone was. The living room was a pulsing dance floor, bodies pressed against one another in the tinted red light. Kind of tacky, Brett thought with a wave of bitterness, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered with red cellophane— her Holiday Ball decorations had been way better than this. Especially these gross lip-shaped mistletoes.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward her and Sebastian. Her classmates all had sheepish grins on their faces, as if embarrassed for her. But Brett took a deep breath, stuck her chin in the air, and handed Sebastian her coat to hang on the overflowing coatrack. She wasn’t about to let anyone feel bad for her because of the lame party. What the fuck did she care, anyway? She smiled smugly at the faces that turned to see her.
“Busted!” Heath yelled from where he was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair, a Santa hat tilted rakishly on his tousled blond head. “How was your party, captain?”
Brett smiled sweetly at him and flipped a plum-manicured middle finger in his direction.
“Glad you could make it!” He winked as some senior girl with her hair in pigtails sat down on his lap. “Tell me what Santa can bring you for Christmas, baby,” he cooed at the girl.
Brett spied a familiar pink satin dress with puffy tulle skirt over by the stereo. “Hey,” she said, touching Sebastian’s arm. “Could you get me a drink?”
Sebastian looked up and saw Callie, then turned his eyes back to Brett. “I should go apologize to her, too, I guess.”
“No,” Brett replied, squeezing his hand. “Let me.” She cut through the crowd and approached her friend, who was staring at the rows of bookshelves as if memorizing the titles. From the rigid way she was holding her neck, she had clearly already seen Brett and Sebastian enter together.
Brett took a deep breath. “Please don’t be mad.” She raised her voice to be heard over the sound of a Dandy Warhols song.
Callie planted a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at Brett. Her lips were pressed together tightly. “Don’t be mad? You stole my boyfriend.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness.