Devious (8 page)

Celine Colista, a senior co-captain of the field hockey team, waved at Jenny. She was parked at a café table with Lon Baruzza, the scholarship kid who worked in the dining hall and had a reputation for being a player. Books and notebooks were spread out in front of them. Celine sported the clean-faced, ponytailed, sweatpants look popular among lazy Waverly Owls after long nights.

“You guys look like you’re working hard.” Jenny paused at their table as she picked up three packets of Splenda. “Isn’t Jan Plan supposed to be a chance to recharge?”

“I’ve always wanted to read
Anna Karenina
,” Celine gushed, holding up a library copy of the fat book. “But I had no idea Lon did, too… until we were talking about it at the First Night party. So he was sweet enough to join me. We’re going to write a paper about the
tragic
female heroine.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead theatrically.

Jenny glanced at Lon, who gave her a sly grin. From the way he’d been staring at the pretty, olive-skinned Celine, it was clear that Lon was much more interested in
her
than in Tolstoy. “That sounds like fun, I guess.”

Jenny set herself up in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, which gave her a good view of the door as people started to stream through, eager to wake up with a cup of coffee and a bagel. She quickly set her supplies out, feeling the rush of excitement she always had when starting a new project. She cracked open her new set of Derwent graphite pencils, all neatly sharpened. With a deep breath, she started to sketch. First she set to work on the stationary objects, which would be completely sharp in her drawing. She sketched the ornate, arched doorway, the garbage can with the flip top, the bottles in the overflowing recycling bin, the empty mugs collecting along the counter. When she had set the scene, she began to sketch the people themselves. Or, rather, their bodies as they moved through space. A couple of guys tossing an orange back and forth came through the door, and Jenny hurriedly tried to capture the arc of the fruit as it sailed through the air.

“Looking good.”

Jenny almost jumped out of her skin. Leaning against the back of her chair was Isaac Dresden, wearing a navy blue peacoat and a pair of dark jeans. He pulled off his red wool hat, his short, dark curls standing up with static. Jenny’s heart beat faster. “Excuse me?”

Isaac pointed a half-eaten biscotti toward her sketchbook. It sat in her lap, open to her half-finished drawing of the orange traveling through the air. “Your drawing.” Jenny noticed a tiny patch of blond hair, in the middle of his dark waves, right above his left ear. It reminded Jenny of her cat, Marx, who was all black except for a patch of white on his belly.

“Oh, thanks.” Jenny blushed, embarrassed to be comparing Isaac to her cat. “Actually, I guess I should be thanking you.”

“Me? What for?” Isaac moved off the back of Jenny’s chair and sat down on the coffee table in front of her. He slid his black canvas backpack onto the floor.

“I get to pretty much draw all day, because of you.” Jenny suddenly felt shy. She closed her sketchbook and took a sip of her coffee, praying that she wouldn’t dribble any down the front of her slightly snug navy blue J. Crew V-neck. It had an embroidered
J
above her heart and was an ironic Christmas present from her brother, Dan. He’d told her it would help her remember who she was at chichi boarding school. Now, however, she was worried that it was drawing unneeded attention to her already ample chest. “It was really nice of you to take up my case in your dad’s office.”

Isaac shrugged. She was acutely aware of how close his knees were to her own. “Well, I have some experience in that area. I kind of know what he needs to hear.”

“I appreciate it.” Jenny’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, but she was determined not to feel nervous. Isaac was just another boy, after all. A very cute one, and the dean’s son, of course. But still just a boy. “It must be kind of weird to go to school where your dad’s, you know, in charge.”

Isaac took a sip from his stainless steel coffee mug. He still hadn’t taken off his coat, which Jenny disappointedly took as a sign that he wasn’t staying. “We’re used to it by now, me and Isla. He was headmaster at St. Albans, in Connecticut, for a couple years. And he taught at Milton, back when we were younger.”

“Why’d you guys come here?” Jenny asked, curiously.

“The official answer is that it was a step up for my dad.” Isaac lowered his voice and tilted his chin down mysteriously.

“And the unofficial answer?”

He grinned flirtatiously. “I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet.”

“And what does one have to do to earn it?” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe she was being so bold.

“I don’t know.” Isaac rubbed his chin. “Go on a walk with me later.”

Jenny blushed, flattered. She liked Isaac. And, of course, everyone was talking about how hot he was. It seemed incredible that of everyone at Waverly, he was interested in
her
. But she still didn’t feel totally comfortable about the fact that he’d practically gotten her Jan Plan project approved for her. Had she received special treatment? And was she okay with that? “That’s really nice of you. But, uh… I think I’ll probably be working all day,” Jenny stammered. Her pencil fell from her hand, and she quickly leaned down to pick it up.

Isaac stood up. “That’s cool.” He looked a little disappointed, but not put out. He slung his backpack on his shoulder. “Maybe a rain check, then.” He tapped her drawing with his finger. “Good luck.”

As Isaac walked away, Jenny couldn’t keep her eyes from following him. Ten minutes ago, she’d been in one of those creative bubbles where all she could think about was her drawing.

But suddenly, the idea of working on her project all day long, alone, no longer seemed quite so exciting.

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C
allie crossed her arms and tapped the pointy toe of her Tory Burch ankle boot against the marble floor of the Reynolds Atrium. The two-story glass-ceilinged space was designed by a world-famous architect and funded by Ryan Reynolds’s billionaire father. Normally, Callie avoided the atrium when possible—it always made her feel like she owed Ryan something, and he was the last guy a girl wanted to be indebted to. But the lobby area, filled with potted trees and comfy couches, was perfect for a large group of people to casually get together. Callie had set out a tray of Oreos and Chips Ahoy! cookies on the heavy antique coffee table in the center of one of the conversation nooks. It was almost two on Wednesday afternoon, and her stupid partner was nowhere in sight.

What could Brandon be doing that was so important? Reluctantly, she pulled a tripod from the heavy canvas bag of equipment she’d borrowed from the audiovisual department and started to fumble with its legs. She’d decided to record the interviews so that she could focus on her questions and not get distracted trying to write everything down.

“You’re late,” she snapped at Brandon when he finally breezed through the revolving glass door five minutes later, stuffing his BlackBerry into his pocket. She stood up, pushing an escaped blond lock out of her face with the back of her hand.

“Sorry.” He pulled off his olive green cashmere hat and dusted the snow off the shoulders of his black Diesel bomber jacket. He casually tossed both hat and jacket over the back of an armchair covered with lemon yellow canvas. “I was talking to Hellie.”

“I just wish you’d take this a little more seriously.” Callie frowned slightly as she planted the borrowed video camera on top of the tripod, pointing it toward the Oreos. She was seriously hopeless with any sort of electronics—it was a defect inherited from her technophobic mother.

Brandon blinked. His eyes were slightly red, as if he wasn’t sleeping right, and his chin was still kind of scruffy. Had he left all his razors in Switzerland? “Okay, I’ll try to be serious.” He coughed into his fist, trying to cover the smirk on his face. “What’s the camera for, anyway?”

“I thought it would be easier than taking notes. We can go over everyone’s responses later.” Callie glared at him. He wasn’t even offering to help. Old Brandon Buchanan would have been falling all over himself so that she wouldn’t have to raise her pinky finger.

“Nice thinking.” Brandon’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text.

Callie rolled her eyes and stood up, smoothing the sides of her silky plaid Theory miniskirt. At least she looked more like herself today, wearing a crisp white Ralph Lauren button-down that set off her newly tanned skin. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose bun, with a few blond wisps slipping down into her face. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I just hope people come.”

Brandon pointed toward the wall of windows at the front of the atrium, and Callie turned around just as a group of girls pushed through the revolving doors, clad in thick scarves and boots. “Not bad,” he said, impressed. “Did you tell them you were giving away Prada bags?”

Callie smirked at him, but was secretly pleased. “Can you just make sure the camera’s set up to get the whole lounge area?”

She’d e-mailed the old Women of Waverly list last night—virtually all the girls at Waverly were on it, and she was pretty sure they’d want to gossip about their love lives. Apparently, she’d been right. Jenny, Tinsley, and all their friends had shown up. “Welcome, ladies,” Callie announced brightly. “Just grab a seat wherever.” She waved the girls toward the couches as Brandon leaned over the camera, adjusting the lens. Callie was momentarily distracted by the sight. Brandon
did
have a completely cute posterior, especially in his faded Earl jeans.

He glanced back at her. “Cal? Are we ready?”

Callie shook her head clear. “You just operate the camera. I’ll ask the questions.” The girls had all scattered around on the comfy coral-colored Pottery Barn couches in the lounge area and were looking up at her for instruction. Most of them were dressed in their relaxed, bumming-around clothes: track pants, sweatshirts, Uggs. During the regular semester, most Waverly girls wouldn’t be caught dead looking so frumpy, but somehow, Jan Plan was a different animal. “Thank you, ladies, for coming. Help yourselves to the cocoa and cookies over there.” She took a deep breath. “Basically, I’m just going to ask some questions. I want to hear from everyone, so really, don’t be shy.”

“You didn’t tell us there were going to be
guys
here,” Celine hissed, leaning forward from one of the couches in her gray Waverly track pants and fleece sweatshirt. “I just came from Pilates. I look like shit.” Callie glanced over her shoulder at Brandon, who was pretending not to listen.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Benny Cunningham, who wore her pearl pendant even to field hockey practice, nudged Celine in the ribs. “True love doesn’t care about sweat.”

“So, does that mean you guys believe in true love?” Callie broke in, eager to get the meeting on track. She slunk into an armchair and crossed her legs at the knee. She imagined herself leading a talk show and used her best Tyra Banks voice.

A chorus of girls answered immediately in the affirmative. “Um, of course!” Verena Arneval pushed her short, pixieish hair off her forehead. “It might not all be like
The Princess Bride
, but it’s got to be out there, right?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Callie asked, chewing on her pen. She was trying really hard not to think of Easy. She’d known him before they’d starting dating, of course, since Waverly was small. And she’d thought he was cute and sexy and arty, but it wasn’t love at first sight or anything. More like an instant chemical reaction, the moment he touched her. After that, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but things were never merely physical. It was like they had this deep, almost mystical connection—and despite their completely obvious differences, they both felt it.

“Definitely,” Jenny spoke up. She hadn’t meant to be the first person to answer, but she’d been thinking about Isaac, the way their eyes had met across the crowded chapel. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily
love
—not yet, at least—but it was something. “Doesn’t everyone?” she asked, leaning against a fat pillow in the corner of the couch.

“No way,” Kara Whalen interjected. Callie eyed her carefully. Kara had an interesting romantic résumé: after having a brief girl-fling with Brett, she’d started dating Heath Ferro, the self-proclaimed biggest player at Waverly. “Or, at least, it’s overrated. Maybe there’s a connection—but don’t you have to know someone before you fall in love?”

“I don’t know.” Benny bit her pearly pink lips. “I think it’s totally possible to know someone for years, and then one day… you just sort of see them in a different light.” She glanced, not so subtly, toward the camera, fluffing up her hair.

“That’s so boring,” Celine announced, snatching an Oreo from the platter Callie had set on the coffee table. She took a tiny nibble, then looked up at the camera. As if suddenly remembering that the chocolate cookie might glom on to her teeth, she set it down on the table. “Of course there’s love at first sight—maybe it’s just not literally, you know, the
first
sight. But yeah—haven’t we all had that moment where you look up and meet some guy’s eye, and there’s just this amazing jolt of connection?”