Infamous (9 page)

“I’m going to go talk to Kara.” Jenny disappeared into the throng of people, throwing her arms around Kara Whalen, annoying Brett’s ex-girl toy, as the blond girl next to her watched.
Wait.
That wavy blond hair was totally familiar, and as the girl turned toward Jenny and shook her hand, Tinsley recognized her. Sleigh Monroe-Hill, her roommate for all of three months freshman year. A cold sweat—brought on not by any sort of nervousness but rather a very focused anger—broke out across her skin.

Sleigh Monroe-Hill was the biggest bitch Tinsley had
ever
met—and she’d met plenty. They’d been at each other’s throats since their very first day at Waverly, when Alexander Zales, captain of the soccer team and the hottest guy in the junior class, had sat down next to them in the dining hall. That was all it had taken: A few days later, Sleigh had told him that Tinsley had some mysterious skin condition—something that caused itching in unmentionable places. Tinsley had gotten her back by shrinking all Sleigh’s designer jeans in the basement laundry room, sending them through cycle after cycle until they were all a size too small. Sleigh had moped around wearing drawstring corduroys and eating Jell-O for weeks, convinced she’d gained the freshman fifteen.

But when Sleigh found out that Tinsley had hooked up with Alexander (ah, sweet Alexander) after one of his soccer games, she completely wigged out, tossing all of Tinsley’s stuff—clothes, books, laptop, La Perla underwear, boxes of tampons,
everything
—from their fourth-floor dorm window in Graham Hall. Totally insane. Shortly afterward, Tinsley came back from lunch to find Sleigh’s side of the room cleared out, like she’d never been there. Dean Marymount called Tinsley in and told her that Sleigh was on a short “mental health leave,” but Tinsley never saw Sleigh again, and enjoyed a coveted single—with two closets—for the rest of freshman year.

Tinsley pretended to examine a framed antique map of Manhattan hanging on the living room wall while she glanced at Sleigh out of the corner of her eye.

“Surprised to see you here, Carmichael.” Cliff Montgomery, smirk on his face, appeared in front of her. He wore a tight-fit-ting royal blue sweater over a wrinkled white button-down and a pair of beat-up Doc Martens.

“Why’s that?” Tinsley asked icily, annoyed that he was obstructing her view of Sleigh. Her insides were fluttering at the unexpected reappearance of her nemesis, and she could barely concentrate.
What the hell was Sleigh doing here?

“Thought you only hung out at beautiful-people places.” Cliff shrugged. “Like the Beatrice Inn?” He dropped the name of an exclusive venue, like it made him cooler just for knowing it. Cliff was cute, in an emo, Death Cab for Cutie kind of way. But he’d had a chip on his shoulder ever since an Italian Club field trip to see
La Bohème
, when Tinsley had let him kiss her in the darkness of the Metropolitan Opera House—and then never let him repeat it.

“Would you mind getting me a drink?” Tinsley asked sweetly, just wanting to get rid of Cliff, and as far as possible from Sleigh. The last rumor Tinsley had heard was that Sleigh was being homeschooled and had reinvented herself as some kind of Joan Baez folk singer wannabe. The leather barrette with the wood stick in her tangled blond hair, along with the dirty-looking jeans and the flower-child tank top, seemed to support the rumor. Please.

As Cliff moved off to procure her a cocktail, Tinsley grabbed her bag and ducked into the first doorway she could find. It belonged to a guest room with deep charcoal walls and a low bed, a door at the other side opening into a small bathroom. After glancing at herself in the mirror and applying a swipe of coal gray eyeliner, Tinsley felt more like herself. In her black American Apparel wrap dress, the edges of her peach Cosabella camisole peeking out, she looked sexy, relaxed, and completely unconcerned about any other girl in the room.

Sleigh Monroe-Hill could kiss her ass.

After changing into a tan Kyumi bubble-sleeved jersey dress, brown patterned tights, and a pair of royal blue velvet flats in Yvonne Stidder’s high-ceilinged powder room, Callie felt much better. For the millionth time she wished Easy were there with her. It just wasn’t as much fun spreading her DuWop lip venom across her lips knowing that he wouldn’t be kissing them—at least, not tonight.
Tomorrow
, she thought dreamily as she strode back into the party, her shoes padding softly against the wide-planked Brazilian walnut floors. She made her way to the wall of windows and stared out at the city, wondering if Easy had managed to get away from military school yet, and if his plans for a romantic weekend included a suite at the W hotel.

She was so deep in thought she barely heard the guy standing next to her ask her a question.

“Sorry, what?” she asked, tearing her eyes away from the dark night. A guy with short blond hair and a jaw like Brad Pitt’s stood in front of her, holding out a martini glass filled with a pink liquid, a cherry floating at the top.

“Yvonne asked me to bring you a cosmo—she said you looked like you could use one.” He offered the drink to her, and she took it, eyeing him up and down. He wore a fitted gray Hugo Boss sweater over a blue dress shirt and a pair of dark Rock & Republic jeans—exactly the kind of outfit she would have picked out for Easy, if only Easy would let her pick out his clothes.

Callie smiled, kind of grateful that she’d gone the extra step with the lip gloss anyway. “Well, thank you,” she answered coolly, leaning against the glass-and-steel bookshelf in the corner. In the past, if a college guy offered her a drink at a party, she would’ve had to carefully consider all of the ramifications of accepting. But now that she was practically engaged, she felt immune to the flirtations of those around her—college boys or otherwise.

“I’m Ellis.” Brad Pitt held his hand out politely. He was sort of like an anti-Easy, which made her miss Easy even more.

“Callie.” She tossed her head slightly, her shoulder-length blond hair bobbing in its loose ponytail. “How do you know Yvonne?” Meaning, how does a hot guy know Yvonne Stidder? She casually ran her finger across the thick architectural books lining the sleek bookshelves.

“I went to prep school with Jeremy. Her brother.” He pointed out onto the roof deck, but it was momentarily empty. “I’m home from Princeton.” He smiled into his martini before taking a drink.

“Princeton,” Callie repeated, impressed. She’d always thought of Princeton as one of those boring ultra- competitive schools where nerds holed up in the library for weeks at a time studying, but now she imagined an ivy-covered campus filled with guys who looked like Brad Pitt. “Do you like it there?”

Ellis nodded, leaning against the back of a bright red chair that looked like it came from
The Jetsons
. “I miss the city, though. I’ve lived here all my life.” He ran his hand through his blond hair. “So, what are you doing while you’re here?”

“I’m actually meeting up with my boyfriend.” She tossed out the word
boyfriend
effortlessly, watching Ellis’s face for a reaction. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“I know how hard that is,” Ellis confided, his light green eyes sympathetic. “My girlfriend lives in Belgium.”

“Wow, that’s far.” Callie stared out at the dark again, immediately conjuring up a French-speaking, big-lipped Angelina Jolie-like girlfriend for him. She wondered how she would feel knowing Easy was on another
continent
. She took another sip of her drink, not realizing she’d sucked half of it down already. Jenny, sitting on the couch with Kara, caught her eye. Callie gave her a look that said she was just talking, that nothing was going on. He had a girlfriend, she thought, almost gleefully. It was extra-okay to just-talk to him.

“It’s not that bad. It’s kind of like flying from here to California,” Ellis said. “I just don’t get to go that often, is all. She comes over sometimes, but her family is over there—her father’s a diplomat—so it’s not as easy for her.” He looked forlorn and Callie could feel his pain.

“What’s her name?” Callie asked, feigning interest in an oversize book on modern Brazilian architecture.

“Sybil,” Ellis answered wistfully. It looked for a moment like he might drift off into a reverie, then he took another sip from his martini. “What about you? What’s your guy’s story?”

“Easy goes to school in West Virginia…but he’s sneaking away for the weekend.” Saying it out loud made her shiver—she hadn’t thought about how after their romantic weekend Easy would be forced to go back to military school. Would he be in trouble? Where do you go if you get kicked out of military school? Prison? “He gave me this.” She flashed him her promise ring.

“That’s impressive.” Ellis scratched his neck, and Callie caught sight of a thin platinum chain around his neck. “To find someone like that. Especially while still in high school.” Callie searched his face for traces of condescension—it sounded like something Tinsley would say—but found none. She read in Ellis’s face that he, too, had found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “Your boyfriend is a lucky guy,” he added. “Hope he knows it.”

“Me too,” Callie giggled. Just one more night and she’d be with Easy again. “Here’s to…uh…long-distance love.” She raised her glass, and Ellis touched his to hers.

“Amen,” he said. “Except your glass is empty. I’ll get you a refill.”

From across the room, Jenny eyed Callie and one of Jeremy Stidder’s cute college friends huddled in the corner. “Is he a friend of yours?” she asked Casey, the cute college boy who was huddled next to
her
. He’d sat down on the black leather couch with her and Kara and joined their discussion about where to find the best diner food in the city. When Rifat Jones had called Kara away to play air hockey in the game room, Casey had slid a few inches closer to Jenny.

“That’s Ellis.” Casey followed Jenny’s eyes across the room, a curl of dark hair falling down over his forehead. “We’ve hung out some. He’s cool. He’s got a girlfriend.”

“And what about you?” Jenny turned her attention back to their flirtation. Casey had initiated it, telling her how much she looked like a movie star whose name he couldn’t remember. He was totally cute—in a vintage-looking Thundercats T-shirt and a pair of black dress pants, he looked like some kind of alt-rocker on a night off.

“No girlfriend,” he said, crossing his heart. “Can you believe it?”

“Barely.” Jenny laughed, leaning her head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling. People swirled around them, but it felt like they were all alone in their own world.

He leaned against the flat gray pillow in the corner of the couch, and it was all Jenny could do to keep from tackling him, feeling his broad chest against her cheek. Was she drunk already? “So, how do you know Yvonne, anyway?” he asked, his gray-brown eyes flashing.

Jenny bit her lip, reluctant to break the spell of their flirtation by saying she was in high school. Would he be freaked out? “Waverly,” she finally answered.

“No shit.” He grinned. “I go to Union. It’s, like, half an hour from you.”

“That’s so cool.” A vision of her striding confidently across the Union College campus on weekend visits, waving hello to Casey’s friends, hearing whispers of
That’s Casey’s girlfriend
, filled her imagination. She could see herself arriving at wild frat parties, holding hands with him.

“Yeah, totally cool,” Casey agreed, scratching his knee. “Union’s a great place.”

Jenny suddenly realized that she was still wearing her ugly lumpy oatmeal sweater—her train wear—and not a streak of makeup. She probably looked like a lumpy batch of oatmeal herself. “Hey, save my seat,” she said, coyly, setting her empty cosmo on the glass-topped coffee table. “I’ve got to take my sweater off—it’s really warm in here.” She dashed off in the direction of her suitcase to retrieve something cuter and her makeup bag. She slipped into a guest room just as Tinsley exited, a determined look on her face.

“I’ve got to change,” Jenny whispered, tugging off her sweater. “I didn’t realize I looked like such a bum.”

“You don’t look too bad.” Tinsley tilted her head to the side, her hair sweeping over her shoulders. “But I’ve seen you look better.”

Tinsley left Jenny behind and crept down the hallway, looking around for any sign of the poisonous Sleigh Monroe-Hill, who would probably start a catfight right in the middle of the party, screaming at Tinsley for getting her kicked out of school. Whatever. It wasn’t like Tinsley had been the one to dump
her
entire lingerie drawer out on the front lawn. (She was pretty sure Heath Ferro had snatched her favorite Agent Provocateur bikini briefs from the bushes, but he still denied it.)

She spotted Callie and a gorgeous guy chatting each other up by the glass doors that looked out onto the patio. Interesting. Apparently, she had abandoned her wedding dress fantasy. At least Yvonne’s party wasn’t a total nerdfest. Tinsley’s nerves felt alive, and she sensed that something very interesting could happen. As she entered the kitchen, she was wholly disappointed to see a pack of complete dorks—probably from Yvonne’s jazz band—holding court in the mahogany and stainless steel room. The skinny, awkward kids sipped Bacardi wine coolers.

Tinsley placed a hand on her hip. “Anyone know where the liquor is hiding?”

She peeked into a cupboard but saw only boxes of Froot Loops.

“I can make you a cosmo, Tinsley.” A short blond guy whose head only came up to Tinsley’s chin immediately jumped forward, grabbing a silver shaker and a martini glass. She paused for a second, wondering if she knew this loser. And then it clicked. It was Julian’s roommate, Kevin.

“I don’t drink pink things,” she replied, taking the martini glass out of his hand and grabbing the bottle of Absolut. “But thank you.”