Classic (12 page)

B
randon heard the beep of an incoming e-mail on his laptop and sighed. He knew who it was, and he couldn’t deal. He had roughly
twelve seconds left to finish his English paper and about five minutes after that to race across campus to class.

He definitely did not have time for another one of Cora’s e-mails.

“Brandon’s got a stalker….” Heath singsonged from across the room they shared. Brandon glared at him. Heath, naturally, looked
completely at ease as he pulled on a long-sleeved black and red Lacoste rugby shirt and ran his hands through his messy, shaggy
dirty blond hair. That was the entirety of his morning routine. Because Heath, unlike Brandon, didn’t care if he looked like
he’d slept in his dirty-wash Diesel jeans. Or maybe they were regular-wash jeans that Heath just hadn’t bothered to take to
the laundry room yet. With Heath, you never knew.

Brandon glanced down at his own Rock & Republic jeans and freshly laundered Hugo Boss hoodie to confirm that he hadn’t absorbed
his pig of a roommate’s dedication to filth through dorm-room osmosis or something.

“You need to tell Queen of the Dorks that you’re busy,” Heath continued, unaware of or unaffected by the dirty look Brandon
was giving him. “Like, permanently busy.”

Brandon rubbed his hands over his face. Heath was right. “She won’t leave me alone,” he muttered.

Heath smirked. “And now you know what it’s like to be me,” he said with a happy sigh. “My little boy is all grown up!” He
smiled almost sweetly. “Of course, I
was
matched with Tinsley. Looks like I’m just destined for hotter things, unlike a geek magnet like you, bro.” He shook his head.
“So sad.”

Brandon shook his head, too and turned back to his computer. He should have known better than to discuss anything with Heath
of all people. He did know better. The fact was, Cora really
was
driving Brandon crazy. She didn’t seem to understand that as far as Brandon was concerned, Perfect Match was a finite collection
of required—not desired—events. It didn’t mean Brandon was suddenly dating her or even suddenly friends with her. But no one
seemed to have mentioned that to Cora. It was only Wednesday morning, and already he’d had to turn down an invitation to study
together, to eat breakfast together, to go into the town of Rhinecliff together.
Thanks, but no thanks
.

He didn’t necessarily want to be a dick about it, the way he knew Heath would be without a second’s hesitation. Brandon
wasn’t like that. He refused to be like that—what would be next? Would he wake up to find he really had transformed into
a degenerate asshole who couldn’t even be bothered to shower half the time?

He clicked to open the e-mail, resolved to be nice yet again. It didn’t really cost him anything to just be nice, after all.
But the e-mail wasn’t from Cora. It was from Callie.

Brandon read it once. Then again. Then, because it still didn’t make any sense, one more time.

But the words didn’t change. Callie was dumping him. Again.

“Callie just broke up with me,” he blurted out, too shocked and stunned to do anything else. At least this time she sent an
e-mail, he thought. It was better than, for example, walking into a room to find her kissing someone else.

“Shit, man,” Heath said. He moved to the hook on the back of their door and wrapped his ratty black scarf around his neck,
obviously done with the conversation. Brandon instantly regretted telling him about the e-mail at all, even involuntarily.
Heath shrugged into his charcoal Shipley & Halmos peacoat and grabbed his messenger bag from the floor, where he’d tossed
it the day before. Homework was one more thing Heath didn’t really do unless he absolutely had to.

“Later,” Heath said, and opened their bedroom door.

Brandon’s head was spinning—and he was pretty sure he was just too numb to feel what he ought to be feeling, so wouldn’t
that
be fun when it caught up with him—but he did know that the last thing he wanted was for the whole school to be talking
about what a loser he was,
again
. That Callie had ripped his heart out,
again.

“Hey,” Brandon said. “Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”

Heath gazed at him innocently. “Of course not, buddy.” He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

E
asy was daydreaming through his history class, which was much more entertaining than paying attention. Farnsworth Hall was
famous for being one of the most overheated places on campus. Even though the windows were wide open, the room felt like a
broiler. He was approximately five hundred degrees and had been forced to strip down to his thinnest layer, a battered Jimi
Hendrix concert T-shirt he’d worn under his henley and hoodie. Directly beneath the windows, Kara Whalen had her coat and
hat on and was still shivering. Easy thought the waste of all that energy was more interesting than another discussion of
the New Deal, but he knew better than to say anything. Ms. Harrigan’s teaching style was more Attila the Hun than Earth Mother.

He missed his history class from fall semester. At least then he’d gotten to stare at Callie while he doodled in his notebook
and imagined he was riding Credo through the fields somewhere, with Callie sitting behind him, clinging to his waist and
pressing up against him. This semester he had to have the fantasy without the visual aid. Still entertaining, if a little
bit less fun.

Easy looked up, startled, when Heath Ferro slid into the seat next to him. He wasn’t even in this class. Easy nodded in greeting,
but instead of returning the gesture Heath leaned toward Easy as he took off his coat.

“Did you hear?” he asked, a bright gleam in his green eyes. Easy knew that look. It generally meant trouble.

“Hear what?”

“Callie dumped Brandon,” Heath said, watching Easy closely. Too closely. “Harsh.”

For the first time since he’d been sent away back in the fall, Easy was actually grateful that he’d had some experience with
military school. He might not have learned the respect for authority his father had claimed he would, but he’d very quickly
learned how to compose his expression to complete and utter blankness. Not easy to do with a drill sergeant barking in your
face. He stared back at Heath and didn’t so much as twitch.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The sarcastic tone of Ms. Harrigan’s voice cut in. “I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but
are you new here to Waverly?” The teacher scrutinized Heath, propping one hand on her round hip.

“Actually, I’m an important part of the establishment,” Heath replied, lounging back in his desk chair and gazing at
Ms. Harrigan as if she had not, in fact, been chastising him. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Heath Ferro.”

Everyone laughed, and Easy couldn’t quite help the smile that threatened to take over his mouth. Not because of Heath’s stand-up
routine but because of the news he’d just delivered.

Finally.

Finally, Callie was free. He couldn’t really believe she’d done it—she’d let Buchanan go. Which meant… everything would finally
be the way it was supposed to be. He could kiss her whenever he wanted. He could have her all to himself. He could walk out
of Farnsworth Hall the minute this class was over, go find Callie, and make her stand in the middle of the quad while he demonstrated
exactly how he felt about her.

Only thirty minutes to go.

After Heath slid out of the classroom, saluting Easy and accepting a round of applause, the rest of the class passed in a
blissful kind of blur. It was much easier to fantasize about Callie when the fantasy would soon be a reality. When class was
finally over, Easy didn’t retain a single fact about the New Deal or Franklin Delano Roosevelt. But he knew where he was headed,
and it wasn’t to another boring lecture. He would convince Callie to blow off her afternoon classes, and then maybe they could
act out some of his favorite fantasies. He could hardly wait.

As the class streamed out around him, he stood up and dug his phone out of his pocket to text Callie and see where she was.
He didn’t care what she was doing, really, he just wanted to be with her. It was like he’d finally admitted that there was
an empty space inside him that only she could fill—and he couldn’t stand being apart from her for even one second more.

As he exited the class he looked down at the blinking message indicator, then clicked over to his e-mail. He smiled. She’d
already e-mailed him. They always thought of each other at the same time, like there was some invisible cord tying them together.
Subject:
Us.

Easy opened up the e-mail and felt his mouth drop open. He stopped dead in the middle of the bustling hallway.

I just don’t think it’s going to work.

She was… breaking up with him?

They weren’t even officially together. She’d broken it off without giving him a chance. A second chance. Or were they on their
third or fourth chance? He couldn’t remember.

He felt like she’d punched him in the stomach. What the hell?