Classic (6 page)

B
rett strode into the Cinephiles screening room in the basement of Hopkins Hall and inhaled one of her favorite smells in the
whole wide world: hot, buttered popcorn. She couldn’t wait to curl up next to Sebastian in the comfortable movie theater seats
and steal hot, buttered kisses from him when the lights were dimmed. Already, half the campus seemed to be packed into the
screening room. Ryan Reynolds and some guys from the soccer team jostled for position in the coveted center of the theater’s
rows of reclining leather seats while a pack of sophomore girls giggled at their antics. Clearly, everyone was thrilled to
be off probation. Brett pictured Sebastian’s hand on hers, his mouth moving close in the darkened theater…

“How great is this movie going to be?” Rifat Jones came to a stop beside Brett in the entryway. Her curly black hair was
tied up in a ribbon, and her long, dark legs looked even more impressive than usual in gray suede peep-toe Dolce Vita ankle
boots and a sleeveless violet-colored Hanii Y dress. Brett suddenly felt underdressed in her black skinny J Brand cords and
peacock blue cowlneck sweater. They were watching a movie, for God’s sake, not going to dinner at Le Petit Coq, the fanciest
restaurant in Rhinecliff.

“Have you seen it before?” Brett asked. “It’s really old. My parents used to talk about it when I was little.”

Love means never having to say you’re sorry,
her mom would sometimes quote at their ornate marble dinner table in Rumson, New Jersey.
Unless you’re the man,
her father would say, like they were a comedy routine.
Then it means
always
having to say you’re sorry.
Brett and her sister, Brianna, would roll their eyes at each other while their parents laughed like it was the wittiest thing
they’d ever heard.

Somehow, hearing her parents riff on the movie had not inspired Brett to Netflix it herself.

“I’ve never seen it,” Rifat said with a wave of her hand. She smiled conspiratorially. “I’m much more interested in
who
I’m seeing the movie with than
what
I’m seeing!” She jutted her chin out, indicating Teague Williams, the good-looking senior swim-team captain, who was waiting
for her near the refreshments table with a big smile and a bag of Twizzlers. Rifat gave Brett a conspiratorial wink, then
turned her attention to her date.

Brett scanned the room as she searched for a seat. Rifat wasn’t alone—there were certainly some new couples on display
tonight, sitting next to each other or chatting shyly—like Alison Quentin and the famously aloof Parker DuBois or Kirin Choate
and some baby-faced freshman Brett couldn’t even name. Ugh. Who decided Perfect Match was a good idea?

“Did I miss something?” Tinsley asked in a low voice, walking over to Brett and handing her a Diet Coke. Her curtain of nearly
black hair blended with the rich black sweater dress she wore over chunky motorcycle boots. The dress looked like it had been
designed for Tinsley specifically, which Brett knew meant it probably had. “When did a movie in the screening room become
date night?”

“Perfect Match events start tonight,” Brett said, frowning. She made a face and clenched the icy-cold Diet Coke can between
her hands. “Does it really have to ruin the
entire
week?”

Tinsley scanned the rows of leather seats, noting with distaste that a lot of people seemed to be having fun with their matches.
Her gaze traveled over far too many laughing, joking, delighted Owls, searching for one messy golden brown head. She finally
picked out Heath from the crowd—but he wasn’t alone. Sitting right beside him, her glossy curls still loose and wild around
her shoulders as she leaned in to giggle at whatever Heath was saying, was Little Miss Two Faces herself.

“At least your date isn’t—” Tinsley began, but then cut herself off.

Because Sebastian was sitting on Isla’s other side. Tinsley heard Brett’s sharp intake of breath.

For a moment, both girls stood there, taking in the view. Sebastian and Heath were taking turns tossing popcorn into
the air for Isla’s benefit. She leaned forward to try to catch every piece, displaying her cleavage each and every time she
moved.

Heath and Sebastian’s interest in Isla had nothing to do with the skintight fire-engine red Rag & Bone sleeveless sheath she
wore, Tinsley thought sarcastically. Clearly, she was stimulating them intellectually. When Isla laughed, Heath and Sebastian
both exploded in a chorus of laughter. When she spoke, they both leaned closer and hung on her every word—so close that they
could probably identify which shampoo she used and how much Frédéric Malle Outrageous! perfume she’d dabbed on the cleavage
she kept flashing.

Tinsley was so infuriated that her nails dug into her palms, leaving little crescent-moon marks. How could Heath be fawning
all over that girl instead of checking out Tinsley in her biker boots? Ordinarily, he could be depended upon to notice her
from half the quad away. Tonight he didn’t even glance up. She might as well still be out in the cold, picking up trash, for
all the attention she was getting.

The movie still hadn’t started, and as more and more people crowded into the screening room, some were forced to take seats
along the edges of the theater. Tinsley fumed. She was in danger of being forced into standing room only while Isla had popcorn
fed to her by Heath? She studied her nails for a moment, as if entranced by the matte charcoal shimmer of her Zoya Dovima
polish, until she was slightly calmer.

But when she looked up again, she saw Brett still staring straight at Sebastian and Isla. Her green eyes narrowed and a bright
flush highlighted her cheeks. She looked like she was
about to climb over the seats and start throwing punches. Which might have been entertaining, but a fight would no doubt
backfire and leave Isla once again smelling like roses.

“You look about as thrilled with this little display as I am,” Tinsley managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Why doesn’t she just make out with him already?” Brett asked, fuming. “It would be quicker! She’s already practically sitting
in his lap!”

Tinsley blinked. It had never occurred to her that other people might hate Isla as much as she did.

Which gave her an idea.

“I think you and I need to put our heads together,” Tinsley said, linking her elbow with Brett’s and leaning in close, so
no one could overhear.

“About what?” Brett asked distractedly, her gaze still fixed on Isla and her hopelessly devoted admirers.

Tinsley nodded her head at the trio. Heath now had his arm stretched out along the back of Isla’s seat, while Sebastian leaned
over the armrest he shared with her—both of them grinning while Isla told a story. Tinsley narrowed her eyes. Isla had to
pay. Isla
would
pay, if it was the last thing Tinsley ever did. “I think it’s time we taught her how things work here at Waverly, don’t you?”

Brett turned then and met Tinsley’s gaze. The determined expression in her green eyes was fierce.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

J
enny tossed her phone into her messenger bag and flopped back against her seat, completely disappointed by Isaac’s text. She’d
come early to the screening just to stake out the best, most private seats in the entire Cinephiles screening room. She’d
had to fight off several seniors, Celene Colista, and Benny Cunningham to keep her spot. And now Isaac wasn’t even coming?

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to calm herself down.

Toward the front of the screening room, all of her friends were together, obviously having a blast, while Jenny felt lonelier
by the second. Tinsley and Brett were whispering in each other’s ears. Alison Quentin looked half-nervous and half-thrilled
to be sitting so close to that mysterious hottie Parker DuBois. Even Kara Whalen was laughing with Ryan Reynolds—when
she wasn’t giving him skeptical looks. Meanwhile, Jenny was essentially in movie theater Siberia. At least she had a giant
bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and two cupcakes that she’d liberated from the dining hall. Unfortunately, she also had the sudden,
self-pitying urge to eat all of it by herself. So much for a romantic night. Her date for the evening was officially vanilla
buttercream frosting.

Jenny sighed and stretched out her diminutive legs. She wore a red wool miniskirt over black tights and her flat black Steve
Madden fold-over boots. She’d paired it with a black-and-tan plaid Nanette Lepore jacket she’d found marked down to almost
nothing in a bargain bin at Bloomingdale’s and an embellished white tank from Anthropologie. To top it all off, she’d let
her curls spill in wild abandon down her back and had carefully applied just a hint of Callie’s Chanel Black Jade eyeliner
around her brown eyes. What a waste of a cute outfit. She might as well have worn her pajamas. Which, she decided, she was
going to do, stat. She’d go home and have herself a little pity party with her snacks and her sudden bad mood. She sat up,
ready to make her escape.

“Is this seat taken?”

Julian McCafferty appeared before her, tall and shaggy-haired and wearing that cute smile she’d fallen for all those months
ago. For a moment, Jenny had a sudden, perfect memory of Julian’s soft lips pressed against hers out at Miller Farm back in
the fall. She could feel the cool night air teasing her skin and that giddy, catapulting sensation in the pit of her stomach,
that sense that everything was about to change. But
just as quickly she remembered everything that had happened since then: how Julian had lied to her—well, failed to mention
the fact that he’d been with Tinsley. She’d been so hurt when she’d found out, she couldn’t look at him the same way.

But Jenny was with Isaac now, so maybe things had worked out the way they were supposed to. She didn’t harbor any bad feelings
toward Julian anymore. Which was just as well, since he was, supposedly, her Perfect Match.

“It’s all yours,” she said, waving at the seat next to her. She was glad to have the company. “Please.”

Julian sank down into the seat and stretched out his long legs. He wore dark wash True Religion jeans with shredded holes
at the knees. Knowing Julian, the holes were probably not for fashion but from wear. He unzipped his Everlast hoodie to reveal
a faded Thelonious Monk T-shirt. He smiled at her, his easy, teasing smile that revealed the dimple in his cheek. Jenny relaxed
against the back of her seat.

“How’s it going, Match?” he asked. Jenny couldn’t help sitting up a little bit straighter.

“I had no idea you were so into Britney Spears, my top musical influence,” she teased. “That must be how they matched us up.”

“She’s a personal passion of mine,” Julian replied at once, completely deadpan. “I loved the insouciance of her ‘Oops!… I
Did It Again’ period but have been very much impressed with her recent resurrection with the ‘If You Seek Amy’ phase.”

“Plus she still looks pretty hot in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit,” Jenny said, giggling.

“Yeah, that too.” Julian settled back in his seat and put his
battered black Converse sneakers up on the seat in front of him. Down in front, faculty members waved lingering Owls toward
the seats that remained, and the overhead lights flickered in warning. “So I hear the Three-Legged Race is the favorite Valentine’s
week Perfect Match activity.”

“It is?” Jenny had been more interested in the romantic kissing possibilities at the movie and the ball. But then again, she’d
entertained those fantasies when she’d been convinced that she and Isaac would be each other’s match.

“Some of the guys in my dorm were plotting out strategies for winning.” Julian shrugged.

“A three-legged race requires strategic planning?” Jenny asked, laughing. Only at Waverly. She tried to imagine her classmates
at Constance Billard even
discussing
a three-legged race and couldn’t. No way.