Devious (7 page)

Hey, Ladies!

Wanna help me out by participating in my Jan Plan project on LOVE? I know everyone has an opinion on the topic. So, please join me to answer some thoughtful questions tomorrow afternoon from 2-4 pm at Reynolds Atrium. Snacks will be provided!

Thanks,

Callie

T
insley pushed open the steamed-up door to the Waverly Athletic Club on Tuesday afternoon, her red canvas yoga bag slung over her shoulder. Mabel Moody, a senior Tinsley had taken Italian with, was teaching an Ashtanga yoga class as her Jan Plan project.
So
much better than calculus. Tinsley had a few hours before she had to e-mail her Jan Plan proposal to her adviser, and she planned to think it all through while in Downward-Facing Dog.

Tinsley flashed her ID card at the check-in desk. A senior jock named Bradley waved her through, barely glancing up from his iPhone screen. She strode across the lobby, heading for the girls’ locker room just as the door to the boys’ locker room swung open. Out sauntered Isla Dresden. She wore a super-short black turtleneck dress and a pair of patterned tights. Her expression was nonchalant, as if exiting the boys’ locker room was a normal Tuesday afternoon activity.

“Hey, what were you doing in there?” Bradley appeared next to Tinsley, a silver whistle around his neck. His burgundy polo shirt with the Waverly crest was two sizes too small. “That’s the boys’ locker room.”

“I’m so sorry.” Isla smiled sweetly, tousling her wet hair. Tinsley raised an eyebrow. Had she showered in there? “I’m new here.”

“Oh, right.” Unconsciously, Bradley kneaded his oversize bicep with his other hand. “Well, if you ever want a private tour…”

Isla pursed her curvy pink lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A crowd of students streamed through the front door, and Bradley reluctantly returned to his post at the front desk.

Tinsley, who’d been silent through the whole exchange, was about to scoot into the girls’ locker room when Isla caught sight of her. Her eyes lit up. “Just the girl I’ve been looking for.”

“Not in the boys’ locker room, I hope.” Tinsley was pleased Isla had sought her out. Normally, she was a little wary whenever a pretty new girl showed up on campus, but Isla seemed like she wanted to play nice. “I haven’t been in there in ages.”

“Nah.” Isla lowered her voice. “I was just doing a little recon for my Jan Plan project.
That’s
why I was looking for you, actually. I thought you might want to work with me.”

Tinsley glanced at her watch. She was going to be late for the yoga class, but suddenly she didn’t mind. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”

“Look at this.” Isla dropped her leather saddle bag on the glass-topped coffee table in the lobby and pulled out an oversize photography book. Tinsley followed her, stepping over an abandoned copy of
Men’s Health
. “This is one of my favorite photographers. Look at the incredible things he does.”

Tinsley watched as Isla flipped the pages. It was an amazing book of portraits,
Vogue
-style spreads that showed people in crazy, improbable scenes: a model wearing a bikini on a snow-covered mountain top, or a pair of outrageously high heels while running around a track. It was a study in contrast, mixing fashion with cool backgrounds and scenes from life. “This is gorgeous.”

“Right?” Isla grabbed the book and held it open in front of her. “Imagine how
even more
gorgeous these pictures would be if the models were you and me. We should totally photograph each other, using this as inspiration.”

Tinsley bit her lip. The full-page spreads were classy, museum-quality photographs. She could easily imagine herself in a white-walled art gallery, surrounded by giant reproductions of these photos—except, of course, with her as one of the models. “I don’t know,” Tinsley replied, at last. “I’m not sure it’s exactly my thing.”

In truth, Tinsley had always fantasized about being a model. Once, when she was eight, a modeling scout spotted her throwing bread to the ducks in the Central Park duck pond and pressed her card into Tinsley’s mom’s hand, begging her to call. But Tinsley’s mother refused, insisting that it was more important for Tinsley to rely on her wits than her looks. So far,
both
had proven useful.

“Come on,” Isla pleaded, snapping the photography book shut. “Think how many cool shoots we could do around campus. Maybe we could find some old wedding dresses and rappel down the side of the chapel in them.” Isla’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You have to work with me. I can’t do it alone.”

For a moment, Tinsley thought of Julian. He’d asked her to work on his film with him, and she’d told him she’d think about it. It was a cool project and everything, but the last thing Tinsley wanted was to become one of those couples who never had any separate interests, who were content to lounge around together wearing nasty sweatpants all day.
Sweatpants couples.
It gave her nightmares. “Let’s do it,” she said, after a beat.

Isla’s green eyes lit up. “Excellent. I’ve got my camera with me.” She shook the Nikon bag hanging at her side. “Can you start now?”

A pack of senior guys in sweaty workout clothes came clattering out of the weight room. Tinsley felt their eyes fall on her and Isla. It was a good feeling. “Sure,” she replied, tossing her hair. “Let’s do it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Isla fumbled through her bag for a second, her wavy dark hair falling in front of her face. She grabbed something bright red and tossed it to Tinsley. “Put this on.”

“Are you crazy?” Tinsley giggled as she held the tiny string bikini up against her coat. She could already see Bradley staring at them from behind the counter. “Do you always carry a spare bikini with you?”

“I was a Girl Scout for three years before they kicked me out.” Isla shrugged. She hefted the book into her arms and sauntered over to the wooden door of the girls’ locker room. She pushed it open with her butt and held it for Tinsley to scoot through. The locker room was filled with steam from the showers and smelled like peach lotion and hair gel. “Be prepared, and all that.”

“I thought that was the Boy Scout motto,” Tinsley teased, throwing her coat into one of the metal lockers.

“Whatever. I spent a lot time with them, too.” Isla quickly tugged her dress up over her shoulders and dropped it onto the wooden bench in the middle of the alcove.

“Thank God I shaved my legs this morning,” Tinsley said, unzipping her gray Rich & Skinny jeans.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Isla asked, waving her own bright yellow bikini from her finger. She scanned Tinsley critically, as if measuring her capacity for illicit behavior.

“If you knew me, you wouldn’t even ask.”

Five minutes later, Tinsley and Isla raced outside, into the bright January afternoon. It was a sunny day, and the glare off the brilliant white snow was almost blinding. Immediately Tinsley felt goose bumps break out over every bit of visible flesh—which was most of it. The tiny red Shoshanna bikini barely covered her breasts, and the bottom was even skimpier. Tinsley felt like she should be on a beach in Brazil instead of the snowy tundra of upstate New York. Isla confidently strode out into the middle of the quad, her yellow bathing suit bright against the white snow background. She still wore her tall black riding boots.

Tinsley, with her heavy lace-up Uggs, followed her out into the yard. Never before had she felt so aware of her own body. Every inch of it felt electrified. Freezing, but electrified. A group of girls in track pants and sweatshirts descending the steps of the dance studio next to the gym started giggling and pointing.

“Isn’t this awesome?” Isla demanded, throwing her arms around a snowman that stood in the quad in front of the gym. Tinsley squinted. She could see Stansfield Hall in the distance. What if Dean Dresden looked out his second-floor office window right now and saw his daughter frolicking around in the snow, sans clothing?

“Cold, but awesome.”

“Blow him a kiss!” Tinsley directed, holding up her expensive digital
SLR
. Isla danced around the snowman like a nymph, slinging her arm around it. The late-afternoon sun was setting behind the classroom buildings, and long shadows were creeping across the quad. But Isla was still in the sunlight, and her dark hair and smooth skin looked striking against the white snow that glittered like diamonds.

Tinsley was amazed. Isla had a perfect body—a little curvier than Tinsley’s own, which just made Isla look a little more grown-up. And the way she moved, she looked… completely uninhibited. Like she always walked around her new boarding school wearing a bikini and playing in the snow.

Tinsley clicked away, feeling a crowd start to stop and gather around them. Conversations got louder, and were coupled by male hoots of excitement. In their heavy coats with their thick scarves wound around their necks, everybody else seemed so
repressed
.

“Your turn!” Isla grabbed the camera, and Tinsley did a pirouette in the snow. For some reason, she felt like one of the wild fairies in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, even though it was January, in the middle of the day. Laughing, she made a snowball and started a mock snowball fight with the snowman, then pressed her cheek to his and grabbed his stick-arm as if they were slow dancing.

She might be freezing, but at least she wasn’t boring.

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WildernessMan Log: Heath vs. Wild

Day 2

Woke before dawn to the sounds of screeching birds. Who knew birds were so damn loud?

Noon temp:
23 degrees F. Thought it was supposed to be warmer. I guess if Bear Grylls can survive in Siberia, HF can make it here!

Food:
Spent three hours fashioning a twine net to catch birds. Hung it between two trees. Spent four hours watching birds fly over it. Finally caught rabbit in snare trap. Furry and cute. Felt bad eating it but starving. Searched for berries but the fucking birds ate them all first. Guess I have to get up earlier tomorrow.

Warmth:
Starting to feel effects of cold. The challenge is on.

Mood:
Good. Tired. Will sleep well. Heard some cross-country skiers laughing in the distance. Either that or hyenas. Wonder if there’s a party tonight. Could use a beer after all my hard work, but a good night’s sleep will have to do.

J
enny strode across the Waverly quad Wednesday morning, ArtBin in hand. She was eager to get started on her art project and had woken, showered, and dressed before nine. The quad was nearly empty—Waverly students took their sleeping in seriously.

Kara Whalen, wearing dark leggings tucked into her Uggs, nearly knocked Jenny over as she rushed down the path. “Sorry, Jenny. I’m late for my French immersion class. We’re going to Paris at the end of it!”

“
Bonne chance
,” Jenny cried, watching Kara disappear into the language building. She shook the snow off her boots and stepped carefully across the freshly polished wood floor of Maxwell Hall, the student center. She always felt terrible for the poor janitors who worked so hard to make the floors sparkle only to be covered again, minutes later, by slush tracked in by dozens of Waverly feet.

The whir of coffee machines filled Jenny’s ears as she entered the enormous stone-arched common room. Maxwell was one of her favorite buildings on campus. It was the original chapel, but it had been turned into the student center, and it made Jenny feel like she’d stepped into an old castle. It always smelled like coffee and cinnamon raisin bagels. The art deco-tiled café tables spread across the room were half filled with other early risers huddled over cups of coffee. Jenny quickly paid for a cappuccino and looked around for a seat.