Lucky (11 page)

Callie let her black leather Pierre Hardy saddle bag drop to the floor and immediately threw herself into the side of the booth where Easy was sitting, tackling him roughly.

“Oof!” Easy’s knee banged against the edge of the table. He grinned slowly, a small crust of white toothpaste stuck in the corner of his mouth. Callie licked her finger and painted the toothpaste away. “Thanks, Mom,” he drawled, and Callie smacked him lightly on the shoulder before scooting off him. She traced her fingers down his leg, loving how square and boy-like his giant knees were beneath their super-soft denim. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his beautiful blue eyes. They reminded Callie of the ocean, but not the bright, Caribbean turquoise one that everyone loved to snorkel in—the dark, out-in-the-middle-of-the-Atlantic Ocean, whose depths you couldn’t even fathom.

Easy leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It started out sweet and tender, and then slowly, it began to build and build, until they both had to pull away. They stared at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

“Want me to, uh, put
Lolita
on the book cart by the door?” Easy asked in a low voice, referring to the time-honored signal that the Staxxx were in use. His Kentucky accent became more pronounced the more turned on he got, and right now, Callie could barely tell he’d spent the last two and half years at an East Coast prep school. His finger ran around the top of her Habitual stovepipe jeans, brushing lightly against the small of her back. Callie felt her stomach drop, the way it did in the high-speed elevator that took her to her father’s office at the top of the Bank of America skyscraper in downtown Atlanta.

“What if we get caught?” she asked, only half concerned. The library was always dead in the morning, and besides, everyone was too busy stressing about the barn investigation to even think about having an
SAT
study party. She slipped off her eggplant
TSE
cardigan, revealing a thin white Anthropologie camisole underneath.

“Who cares?” Easy shrugged. “It might be our last chance. We ought to jump at every opportunity.” He had meant it as a joke, but as soon as the words left his lips, Easy felt his stomach flip-flop. Ever since the dean’s e-mail he’d been a nervous wreck, and he’d hardly slept at all last night. He’d been in trouble many, many times at Waverly, and even though he’d heard about that kid Julian’s lighter being found, he somehow felt that the accusatory e-mail had been directed at him, and him alone. He wouldn’t be surprised if within the week he’d been kicked out of Waverly, disinherited by his father, and sent to reform school. He wasn’t so much afraid for himself as for Callie. What would she do if he got kicked out? And what would he do if
she
got kicked out?

“Don’t be silly.” Callie shook her head, her wavy blond hair brushing her bare shoulders. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Easy put his hand behind Callie’s neck, loving the feel of her bare, soft skin. “It was a joke, but … babe, Marymount’s looking to kick someone out. And we were in the barn. We’re probably his number-one suspects.” He slid his hand down to Callie’s shoulder. “How come you’re not worried?” It struck him that he was acting all paranoid and, well, Callie-like, and she was acting all mellow and Easy-like. How had that happened? Did she know something he didn’t?

Callie shrugged, her hazel eyes seeming unconcerned. “I just have faith that whoever’s responsible will be punished.” She leaned in to nuzzle his neck. “You need to relax,” she whispered in a low, throaty voice.

But he couldn’t relax. Callie had told him the morning after the fire that she was positive Jenny had started it out of jealousy. Which meant that when she said “
whoever
was responsible,” she really meant Jenny. And what was that hushed phone call with Tinsley about in the stables the other day? It was weird that Callie and Tinsley were suddenly all chummy again. Easy sat up suddenly. “You’re not up to anything, are you?” he asked. His words hung in the air, and he worried that he was just being paranoid, but it was too late.

Callie blinked her eyes slowly. Her lashes were blond and pretty without the black gunk she had on them half the time. “Of course not.” She tossed her head, her strawberry blond hair falling messily into place. She’d cut off her long locks a few weeks ago, and now they fell right around her shoulders, framing her long, thin neck. “I just meant that we’re innocent and don’t have anything to worry about.” She leaned forward again and nibbled on his earlobe, her hot breath in his ear. “Now where were we?”

Easy closed his eyes. Being with Callie felt so good. He didn’t want their relationship tainted by his paranoia about Dean Marymount’s suspect list and the fire. If she said there was nothing going on, there was nothing going on. “We were right here,” he whispered back, and kissed her soft, pillowy lips. Callie had said it from the beginning: They were together again, and that was all that mattered.

Instant Message Inbox

CallieVernon:
I can’t go through with this.

TinsleyCarmichael:
Huh?

CallieVernon:
EZ suspects I’m up to something.

TinsleyCarmichael:
And?

CallieVernon:
And … I can’t risk it. Can you take it from here?

TinsleyCarmichael:
Jesus. Grow some, C.

CallieVernon:
Don’t be like that. You know you’ve got cojones for both of us.

Normally Jenny loved the buzzing sounds of her favorite art class, portraiture. The stools scraping across the concrete floor and paintbrushes scratching across canvas were usually enough to inspire her to get to work. Once the scent of oil and turpentine hit the air, she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to.

But today, her fingers felt heavy and sluggish. Even with her purple ArtBin spread open in front of her, and all her Derwent drawing pencils lined up according to hardness, her hands were rigid with worry. She stared at the blank white drawing paper. Mrs. Silver had instructed them at the beginning of class to draw or paint whatever they liked, so long as it “tapped into their innermost thoughts and feelings.” It was sort of a hippiedippy exercise, but everyone seemed excited to get a break from all the strict rules they faced elsewhere. While all the other students were busy sketching or painting, Jenny had frozen up. It was as though she’d been trying so hard to suppress her innermost thoughts and feelings that now she couldn’t access them, like a faucet that had gone dry from lack of use.

Mrs. Silver suddenly loomed over Jenny’s shoulder, her round, friendly Mrs. Claus-like face screwed up in a question mark. Today she wore a purple-sea-horse-batiked minidress with sparkly silver leggings and dark brown Ugg boots.

“Trouble getting started?” she asked, plopping a doughy hand down on Jenny’s shoulder. Jenny nodded slowly.

“Put the pencil down,” Mrs. Silver instructed her. Jenny slipped the charcoal pencil back in the tray, in its correct spot between 2B and 4B. When had she become so anal? “Now. Take a deep breath.” She inhaled and exhaled quietly, hoping no one around her would think she was about to have a seizure or something.

“No, no, no,” Mrs. Silver clucked. Her frizzy gray hair was pulled back into two messy buns near the back of her head, but new wisps escaped each time she moved. The sea horses on her minidress danced. “That wasn’t deep enough. Try again.”

Jenny glanced around, feeling self-conscious as she inhaled deeply, filling up every single inch of her lungs with turpentine-fumed air. She felt her chest expand—not something she really needed—but soon she felt little tingles of life start to spring into her arms and hands and then her whole body. She exhaled loudly, not caring if anyone was watching.

“Much, much better.” Mrs. Silver giggled happily and clamped her hands on her full hips, lowering her voice so that Jenny had to lean toward her to hear the words. “I want you to communicate with your subconscious. The purpose of this exercise is to let go, to just draw without constraint.” Her hands flitted about, making phantom drawings in the air. “Don’t worry about what it’s going to be—maybe when you’re done, it won’t look like
anything
. I just want you to put pencil to paper and see what happens.”

Jenny nodded again. She was having trouble reining in her thoughts, which were mostly preoccupied with Dean Mary-mount’s veiled threat at the welcome dinner last night. And then there was the upcoming Usual Suspects party. At first, Jenny hadn’t been going to go. Watching Callie and Easy celebrate their possible last night together didn’t exactly make her want to party. But ever since the dean’s e-mail had circulated, Jenny had been feeling isolated. She wondered if the other Usual Suspects sensed the same disturbing quiet whenever they entered a room. And why didn’t Julian sit with her at the prospectives’ dinner last night? She’d been so disappointed when she spotted him clear across the room, with some of the squash guys. But maybe he just hadn’t seen her sitting there, and then hadn’t been able to move once Marymount began his speech.

“Okay, you’re still not relaxed. Let’s try something else. Close your eyes.” Mrs. Silver put one freshly lotioned hand over Jenny’s eyes for effect. “Good. Now pick up the pencil and just start drawing. Don’t think about it. Just move the pencil over the canvas.”

Jenny was sure everyone was staring at her, but she went along with the exercise. The scent of Mrs. Silver’s rose-hip lotion filled her nose. Her arm moved rapidly, like a lie detector needle in a movie when the suspect is telling wild lies. Soon her wrist was getting in on the action, adding a detail here and there while Jenny studied the inside of her eyelids. Mrs. Silver removed her hand and Jenny kept her eyes closed. The light passing through her eyelids made her see nothing but red.

“Good,” Mrs. Silver urged. “You’ve got it now. Think of it as taking your brain out of the equation—just let your subconscious speak directly through your pencil. Keep doing it—keep your eyes closed if you need to.”

Jenny heard Mrs. Silver walk away to talk to another student at the front of the room. She opened her eyes again, but instead of looking at what was on the paper, she stared out the enormous plate glass windows of the art studio, watching the heavy wind whip through the bright red leaves of the birch trees directly outside. Rain droplets started to fall, splattering against the windows along with a few stray leaves.

After what seemed like a very long time had passed, Jenny pulled herself from her trance, hearing Alison, a couple of desks away, snap her supply bin closed with a bang. Jenny’s eyes rested on her own drawing. She paused. Had she actually drawn this? The sketch pad in front of her was filled with messy dark lines, but the scene itself was clear. A thinly sketched building, the entire top of which was consumed in dancing, leaping flames, while on the ground dark figures ran in all directions. Jenny focused on two figures that seemed to remain stationary, oblivious to the fire, locked in a squiggly embrace amid the chaos. The figures were recognizable only to Jenny.

In an instant, the entire ordeal replayed itself in Jenny’s head. Easy and Callie had hooked up behind her back. Callie had betrayed her promise of friendship. And Easy had told her before they even got together that things with Callie had been over for a long time. Another lie.

“Wow, that’s intense.” Alison leaned in and inspected Jenny’s drawing, her smooth black hair falling forward and tickling Jenny’s bare forearm.

Jenny snapped back to reality. “Thanks.”

“I’m not even sure what mine’s supposed to be.” Alison shrugged at her sketch pad, which was filled with a series of dots and squiggly lines floating around a rectangle. “My subconscious is way less interesting than yours.”

Jenny stared at her drawing, swearing she could hear the crackle of the barn burning down and smell the charred wood. She was thankful she’d “tapped into her subconscious” in portraiture class, the only art class she didn’t share with Easy.

“So who do you think is going to get the ax?” Alison asked under her breath.

Jenny trained her eyes on the figures at the center of her drawing, remembering Callie’s bare skin, Easy’s hands traveling the length of Callie’s skinny body. “Callie and Easy were the only ones actually in the barn. And they were smoking.” Jenny shrugged. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

“Do you think they’ll
both
get kicked out?” Alison whispered.

Jenny was suddenly aware of someone behind her, and had the eerie feeling that she was being watched. She deliberately dropped her pencil and reached down to retrieve it, glancing over her shoulder. But it was only Chloe, looking innocuous in a yellow-striped Ralph Lauren polo dress and doodling with a piece of charcoal. She’d been so silent throughout class that Jenny had forgotten she was there. Mrs. Silver was right—she really needed to relax. She was getting paranoid. “Maybe,” Jenny replied.

“I just want Marymount’s interrogation meeting to be over with.” Alison sighed. “It’s so stressful. It’s making me totally break out.” She pointed toward her cheek, where an almost invisible pimple lingered below her left eye. It looked like a freckle.

“Where are we going next?” Chloe suddenly piped up, and Jenny nearly fell out of her seat. She needed to drink some chamomile tea. Or find Julian. He knew how to relax her.

“Um, I’m supposed to go meet Alan… .” Alison glanced at Jenny guiltily and the girls packed up their pencils and headed to the supply shelves.

“How about I go with Jenny, then?” Chloe asked eagerly, her blond ponytail bobbing as she followed them.

Jenny began to shake her head no—she didn’t have the energy to squire around a prospective—but then she felt guilty. “Yeah, you can hang out with me.” After all, she knew a little too well what it felt like to be lost at Waverly.