Tempted (8 page)

Mrs. Horniman sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. She was wearing a thick cable-knit cardigan that she pulled tightly around her waist, and Easy could see the remnants of toothpaste at the corners of her lips. “Since it’s late, I’m just going to lay it out for you, okay?”

Easy nodded. He ran a hand through his wet hair, and a few leaves fell to the ground. He felt completely disgusting—he was a drunken mess, about to get kicked out of school for good, all because he’d let Callie get to him. Shit, what was he
doing?
The heater in Mrs. Horniman’s office kicked in, and the warmth made Easy’s head feel clearer. It was ridiculous that everything had come to this—it had taken falling out of a tree for him to realize that it was time to put Callie behind him for good and get his shit together once and for all. The only problem was, it was too late. Visions of military school filled Easy’s brain. His dad had threatened he’d be sent to one in West Virginia if he couldn’t make it at Waverly. There’d be no riding Credo, no art, no girls—just a bunch of guys doing push-ups and trying to prove their manhood. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He felt like he was about to pass out.

“This is your final strike, Easy,” Mrs. Horniman said. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her chin on her hands. “It would devastate me to see such a young and talented individual like you expelled from Waverly. So I’ve managed to sweet-talk Dean Marymount into agreeing that if you can maintain a B average or higher in your classes—”

“Okay,” Easy said involuntarily, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t going to get kicked out? Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was his father’s promise that if Easy graduated from Waverly in good standing, and made it into a reputable college, he could take a year off after high school and spend it, expenses paid, in Paris. Paris would be so much better than military school. And it was even farther away from Callie.

“And you can’t leave campus,” she finished.

Easy looked up at her. “Really?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his chapped lips. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. He stared at the rain-splattered window behind Mrs. Horniman’s head. He probably could have died falling from the top of that tree. Or at least broken an ankle or something.

“Really,” Mrs. Horniman answered. “Listen to what I’m saying, Easy. This is real. B’s or better and stay on campus. Indefinitely.” She smiled at him. “That means no trips into town without my written permission, no long walks in the woods that happen to take you off Waverly grounds—nothing.
Capisce?”

“Capisce.”
Easy leaned back in his chair, eager to get home and get out of his clammy clothes.

“And if I were you, I’d think about taking up some extracurricular activities. You know how much the dean appreciates extracurriculars—and frankly, your horseback riding doesn’t quite cut it. Try something other than solitary activities.” Mrs. Horniman eyed him with amusement. She of all people knew of Easy’s lack of enthusiasm for all unrequired activities at Waverly. Mrs. Horniman leaned back in her chair. “I always thought you’d be perfect for a cappella.”

It took a moment for Easy to realize she was joking, and then, for the first time that night, he smiled.

Instant Message Inbox

JennyHumphrey:
What was that?

BrettMesserschmitt:
No clue. I M drunk and ready to pass out. And dream of Jeremiah.

JennyHumphrey:
Callie’s still not home. Should I be worried?

BrettMesserschmitt:
Nah. She and Easy are prob busy making up after that huge fight.

JennyHumphrey:
Right.

Callie leaned her tired head against the fogged-up window of the black Lincoln Town Car, her eyes still moist. She wiped the sleeve of her cashmere peacoat against her face and stifled a yawn, Easy’s words echoing in her ears. Nothing he’d ever said had felt so cruel—not even the time she’d worn a pink Vera Wang bubble dress to the Spring Fling and he’d told her she looked like a frosted cupcake. He hadn’t meant to be cruel then—it was just a clueless guy kind of thing to say. He’d spent the rest of the night trying to convince her that he loved cupcakes.

She pawed through the pocket of her raincoat for a tissue. How could he talk to her like that? And in front of the entire world? The thought that she and Easy had provided fodder for a million gossipy e-mails and texts made her stomach churn.He was sloshed, of course, but Easy was normally a quiet, melancholy drunk, unlike the Heath Ferros of the world, who only seemed to go into hyperdrive whenever they touched alcohol.
How could he, how could he, how could he?
repeated on a loop in her head.

The only answer that made sense was that he didn’t love her anymore. Her eyes filled up again.

When she’d called her mom to take her up on the spa offer, the governor had informed her the car was waiting at the gate as they spoke—she’d called it just in case. She insisted that Callie didn’t need to pack a thing—the spa would take care of everything. Feeling a little like the actual Cinderella, taken care of by her fairy governor mother, Callie rushed right out to the waiting town car, grateful it hadn’t turned into a pumpkin at midnight.

Outside the car, the dark landscape rushed by, tall pine trees silhouetted by the Halloween moon riding high in the night sky. She put her hand on the cold window. Through the tinted glass partition, the back of the driver’s head was visible. The driver was a woman in her fifties with a jumble of graying curls piled high on her head. Callie could hear the faint strains of country music through the partition, reminding her of every boy she’d ever known back in Georgia, and she wondered if the driver had driven here all the way from Atlanta. No one up here listened to country. Ever.

The tinted glass partition rolled down and the driver turned her head slightly, country music flooding the car. “Are you okay back there, sweetheart?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Callie massaged her temples with her fingers and swallowed heavily, her mouth dry from all the sugary spiked punch. “Thank you.”

The woman clucked gently. “There are bottles of water in the cooler. And let me know if you need to stop to use the ladies’—it’s a long drive.” As soon as the partition slid back up, Callie dove for the hidden cooler. She cracked open an icy bottle of water and took an enormous swig.

A sudden regret filled Callie that she hadn’t had the chance to show Easy she wasn’t such a bad person after all. But she couldn’t explain everything in front of the Barbies and the Powerpuff Girls and the Blue Man Group. She wanted to watch Easy’s face as he absorbed the information, and then she wanted him to sweep her up in his arms … like the princess she was? She couldn’t stop Easy’s hurtful words from bleeding into every thought, and she concentrated on staring hard out the front window, watching the headlights from oncoming cars become fewer and fewer as the town car navigated the roads like a sailboat out to sea.

When she opened her eyes next, the car had turned off the freeway, the tires crunching on the unpaved drive as they inched slowly through a stand of birch trees sunken in fluffy white snow. The moonlight reflected off the drifts, blinding Callie so that her tired eyes could hardly make out the spa grounds. Everything was gleaming and covered in white, as if she had stepped into some kind of magical winter wonderland. She had the strange—yet pleasant—sensation of waking up in Iceland or somewhere equally far from Waverly, Easy, and everything she knew. She’d never been more thankful for her mother’s interference in her life.

The car came to a stop at what looked like a small ski lodge with the words
WHISPERING
PINES
etched into a wooden sign outside. Callie hopped out of the car, the cold night air shaking her awake. Her legs wobbled under her and she leaned on the open car door for support. She hoped the kitchen would still be open. All she’d had to eat today was a tuna and celery sandwich for lunch, and a handful of candy corn at the Halloween party. She imagined the spa kitchen could whip up all kinds of delicacies, and she suddenly craved an egg white omelet with mushrooms and pepper-jack cheese. Maybe an English muffin, too, with butter and jam.

A young woman wrapped tight in an orange parka descended the wooden steps of the quaint-looking ski lodge, snow hanging over its eaves. “Glad you made it,” she said in a low, soothing voice, blinking the sleep away from her eyes. “I’m Amanda.” She stuck out her hand and Callie shook it.

“Callie Vernon,” she said before stuffing her hands quickly back into her pockets. She was suddenly grateful for her long raincoat, realizing how absurd it must be to arrive at a spa in the middle of the night wearing a baby blue Cinderella gown and flip-flops. And she hadn’t brought anything else.

“Let’s get you settled.” Amanda nodded in the direction of the ski lodge.

Callie marveled at Amanda’s flawless ivory skin and touched her own face involuntarily. She wondered if it was the Maine air or some wonderful spa treatment that gave Amanda her glow. A combination of both, she imagined.

Callie followed Amanda into a darkened lobby. “Your room is this way,” Amanda said over her shoulder, her puffy coat making a shushing noise when she turned down the long hallway off to the right. Callie’s stomach rumbled, but she didn’t want to seem too demanding or break the peaceful silence of the lodge by asking about the kitchen. Maybe her room would have a fruit basket, or even some of those little mint chocolates on the pillows.

The floor creaked beneath their feet as they made their way silently around a corner and down another long hallway. Small night-lights lined the walls at regular intervals, their tiny orbs of light revealing simple, off-white walls with dark wood trim. Callie could already feel herself relaxing.

“This is you.” Amanda pointed at a wooden door full of pine knots and painted white, a Pottery Barn kind of look that Callie loved. “It’s pretty late, and we like to get started early, so you should rest up.”

Callie glanced down at the taffeta skirt peeking out from beneath her coat. “I, uh, forgot to pack anything.” Maybe Amanda could lend her a pair of those snuggly shearling-lined boots she was wearing.

Amanda waved her hand as if this were a silly worry. “We recommend that all our guests come without any cumbersome belongings.” She smiled. “We provide you with everything you’ll need.”

“Great!” Callie replied warmly. “I guess I’ll, uh, see you in the morning?” She liked Amanda’s quiet unobtrusiveness, and wondered if she’d get to do yoga with her tomorrow or something. The ski lodge was a little drafty, and the cold air stirred Callie’s senses.

Amanda placed a hand on Callie’s forearm. “I promise, this experience is going to be exactly what you need.” She waved a thin arm and pulled her parka up around her neck, then disappeared down the hall. Callie pushed open her door, ready to experience the full plushness of the spa. She’d take a hot bubble bath and curl up in bed with the TV on.

Callie flipped on the light, illuminating the single low-wattage lamp in the corner, a brass base with a simple white shade. Elegant simplicity was clearly the vibe here. A draft whistled from under the windows, which Callie was slow to realize didn’t have curtains. She held herself as she shivered, goose pimples running up and down her arms. The bed in the corner was small, and the mattress seemed a little thin—in fact, there was something monastic about this whole place. Callie investigated the bathroom, switching on the fluorescent light, a little horrified to see some toiletries already on the bathroom sink. Had they given her the wrong room?

Then she noticed the door to the adjoining room and realized the spa’s mistake—they’d given her a room with a shared bathroom. She thought of the time her mother took them to Mexico, and they were put into a junior suite instead of the master suite they’d booked. It had been an absolute nightmare to share a bathroom with her counter-hog mother. Callie turned off the bathroom light and traipsed over to the bed. No need to freak out. Maybe the old Callie would’ve rustled Amanda out of bed to point out the error, but Callie patted herself on the back for being such a trouper. See, Easy, she wasn’t a princess at all—everything could wait until morning.

She kicked off her flip-flops and crawled into bed fully clothed, pulling the woolly blanket over her head and burrowing her cold toes into the sheets. It was sort of like camping out. A little deprivation before being spoiled rotten would just heighten the sensations that awaited her in the morning, which was only a few hours off anyway. She dozed off and dreamed of fluffy clouds floating by under bright blue skies.

The clouds began shaking in the sky, the scene turning black, Callie started awake to find a large, Eastern European-looking woman hovering over her bed. The woman had a tight grip on Callie’s arm and didn’t let up even though Callie was clearly awake.

“Sunrise,” the woman said in her thick accent. “Time to get up.”

Callie blinked her eyes. “Huh?”

The woman clapped her strong-looking hands together and didn’t move away from Callie’s bed. Why hadn’t Amanda warned her about the insane storm trooper who shared the adjoining room?

“What time is it?” Callie asked groggily. She hadn’t packed anything, and without her sleeping mask or her portable alarm clock she felt completely disoriented.

“Time for the morning march,” the woman answered, grabbing the top of Callie’s blanket and tossing it at her feet.

The first light of day seeped into the room and Callie heard the ominous fall of footsteps in the hallway.
Morning march?
Was there going to be weird chanting involved?