Unforgettable (7 page)

“’Kay.” Callie grinned at Jenny over her shoulder as she walked toward the staircase. Jenny watched her for a second. Despite the fact that Callie had tightened the drawstring on her gray flannel L.A.M.B. pants as much as humanly possible, the pants still sagged down to her hips, revealing a tiny strawberry-shaped birthmark near her bony spine. Jenny wished she could stuff some cookies into her, but even the delicious, warm gingerbread ones hadn’t tempted Callie at the meeting tonight. “See you later, roomie!” She waved as she disappeared from sight.

Jenny smiled back at her, still feeling all warm and fuzzy from the meeting, and headed toward Brett’s room. As she passed the hall broom closet she paused. What was that beeping sound? It was faint, but it was definitely coming from the closet. Curious, Jenny cracked open the door.

“Ohmigod!” She jumped back. There was someone in there! A
guy
! She might have screamed if she hadn’t quickly recognized Julian, that tall freshman who was always hanging out with the older boys. He was holding a black cell phone in his right hand, his thumb poised to start texting.

“Shhh!” he hissed, looking almost as startled as she felt. “What are you
doing
here?” Jenny whispered back, glancing down the hallway. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could hear Benny Cunningham and some other girls in the lounge watching
Grey’s Anatomy
reruns.

“I was, uh …” Julian’s pupils were dilated from standing in the dark, making Jenny wonder how long he’d been in the closet. And how he got there in the first place. “Looking for something I left here this weekend.” Jenny smiled skeptically. “What, your cleaning supplies?” She leaned her head against the edge of the door, suddenly very conscious of the presence of a boy in Dumbarton.

Julian toyed with the frayed edge of his tight-fitting Pearl Jam T-shirt. A charcoal gray flannel shirt was tied carelessly around his waist. “Well, leave no stone unturned, and all that.” “Oh, sure.” Jenny raised her eyebrows and played along, wishing she was wearing something more exciting than her chunky wool Diesel sweater. “So, uh, what exactly is it you’re looking for?” His brown eyes gleamed in the darkness, as if her question surprised him. Jenny couldn’t help giggling. It was kind of fun to watch him struggle. He peered over Jenny’s shoulder. “My … uh … my lighter.” Jenny nodded sympathetically and tapped her nails against the cool brass doorknob. “I’ll keep my eyes open for it. What’s it look like?” “A Zippo. Silver, my initials—JPM—engraved on it.” He paused and grinned, revealing a tiny dimple below his slightly chapped lips. “Have you seen it?” “Sorry.” Jenny giggled and shook her head, conscious of how frizzy her hair probably looked right now. “What’s the
P
stand for?” Julian unwrapped his shirt from his waist and stuck his arms into it but left it unbuttoned. His head bumped against the empty shelf at the top of the closet—he was tall. “Padgett.” “Padgett,” she repeated, nodding thoughtfully. Must be one of those family names. “That’s cool.” “Look, don’t get me wrong,” Julian started, scratching his head. “I’m having a good time talking to you and all, but, um, I’m not too crazy about the idea of getting expelled. And you probably don’t want people to think you’re crazy, talking to a broom closet.” “Oh, right.” She giggled. “Let me go do some surveillance.” Jenny closed the door softly and crept down the hall to the lounge. About eight girls were glued to the television, and they weren’t going to move until their show was over, not even for commercials. She whirled around and almost ran straight into Angelica Pardee as she came out of the bathroom in a thick, flowered robe that looked like something from her grandmother’s closet, her hair wound up tightly into a white towel turban. “Hi!” Jenny said brightly, stepping to the side to let her pass.

“Hi, Jenny.” Pardee nodded, her characteristic look of annoyance spread across her damp face. “Have you noticed that there seems to be low flow in those shower heads?” “No, uh, I hadn’t.” Jenny tried to keep her voice sounding normal, but she could tell from the way Pardee was looking at her that she must sound funny. She’d never won at a game of poker in her life.

“All right.” Pardee sighed and headed back toward her apartment at the end of the hall. “I guess I’ll have to talk to buildings and grounds about that too.” Her flip-flops thwacked against the polished mahogany wood floor, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. At least she hadn’t noticed the muddy leaves. Jenny waited until she heard Pardee’s door lock before she threw open the closet door.

“Quick! Pardee’s getting dressed right now, so it’s the perfect chance.” “You’re sure it’s safe?” Julian asked nervously, peeking out into the hallway. “I’m kind of getting used to it in here.” Jenny giggled again and grabbed his arm, tugging him down the hall. Her heart raced and she felt like she was playing hide-and-seek. “Just stop talking!” she whispered, slowing down when they approached Pardee’s door. The two of them tiptoed past it, then toward the back door. Jenny didn’t breathe again until the door was open, and Julian was standing on the grass outside.

“There,” she whispered firmly. “Now, get out of here!” She tried to sound stern but a smile crept into her voice.

Julian exaggeratedly wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “My guardian angel. You saved my life.” “Fine. You owe me one.” Jenny made a shooing gesture with her hands. “I’ll keep looking for your lighter, Padgett.” Julian gave her a funny smile that she couldn’t really decipher. “See you around,” he said finally, and then disappeared into the moonless night.

Jenny stood in the doorway by herself for a moment, taking a deep breath of autumn air before bursting into laughter. Her relationship with Easy might be on its last gasp, but suddenly it seemed other boys might breathe some life into Waverly too.

Instant Message Inbox

JulianMcCafferty:
Hey, where’d you go?

TinsleyCarmichael:
Ohmigod, are you out? I forgot all about you.

JulianMcCafferty:
I kind of noticed.

TinsleyCarmichael:
Sorry ’bout that—something came up. I’ll make it up to you.

JulianMcCafferty:
Yeah? How?

TinsleyCarmichael:
I’ll see you tomorrow. We can fi nish what we started.

JulianMcCafferty:
Think about the ways in which you can apologize.

TinsleyCarmichael:
I’m thinking… .

Unbearably early the next morning, Callie stood in the doorway of her Latin class, willing herself not to fall asleep on her Chloé knee-high-booted feet. The manage to get out of bed on Monday and Wednesday mornings was to set out a new outfit the night before. Today she wore her Iisli cashmere wrap sweater in the palest pink imaginable, a brand-new Theory black skirt with a kick pleat in the front, a sexy pair of hand-crocheted black tights, and her black leather riding boots. But neither her sexy outfit nor the adrenaline high from last night’s girl-talk meeting could keep her spirits up—Latin was mind-bendingly boring, and Mr. Gaston, who, every Wednesday called on one student to recite five lines of the
Aeneid
from
memory,
did not make it any more bearable. She paused outside the door to his classroom to take five deep breaths.

“Can we talk for a sec?” Easy suddenly stood in front of her, wearing his army-green-and-gold-striped wool sweater—the one with the holes in the elbows. Callie hated that she knew every piece of his wardrobe by heart. And that she had his schedule memorized and therefore knew when she could and couldn’t expect to see him. He was supposed to be across campus right now, in Webster Hall. So what was he doing
here
?

“What’s up?” Callie tried to make her voice sound apathetic, but she couldn’t help it—the moment she laid eyes on him, she trembled a little. She tried to think about Mr. Gaston calling on her to recite a passage from Ovid and that calmed her a bit—but also soured her mood. “I
told
you we could talk before bio.” Easy placed his hand on Callie’s arm and pulled her to the corner of the hallway, out of the way of people entering the classroom, and stared at them knowingly. “I couldn’t wait that long. Look, I …” His voice trailed off. He did look kind of awful, like he hadn’t been able to sleep last night. But chances were, it wasn’t because he was thinking about her or anything—he was probably just playing stupid video games until 3 A.M. again. She steeled herself against him. “I want to get back together.”
With me? Or with Jenny?
Callie couldn’t help thinking. She stared at the dark circles under his eyes and wound the soft pink sash of her sweater around her fist. “Wh … what?” She looked up just as Benny Cunningham, in an unflattering kelly-green-and-navy-striped polo dress—um, hello,
horizontal stripes
?—stepped into the classroom, but not before giving Callie a giant, totally obvious wink.

“I made a huge mistake.” Easy’s dark blue eyes looked sadder than she’d ever seen them. He was wearing a pair of Levi’s that were begging to be thrown into the garbage, and he had a splotch of toothpaste at the corner of his lips. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I think I just needed some, um, time to think.” He gulped. “But I love you,” he blurted out, as though he’d said it a million times before.

Callie bit the inside of her cheek, her heart aching in her chest. She’d wanted Easy to love her for practically ever. Okay, well, for months, and it had
felt
like forever. But his timing could not have been worse. Last night, in front of practically the entire school, she and Jenny had made a pact to put their friendship before Easy. Why couldn’t Easy have said this to her
yesterday
?

“So you broke up with Jenny?” Callie asked suddenly, remembering that last she’d heard—from Jenny—
she’d
been the one to suggest they take a little time to think.

Easy stared down at his shoes. The worn-out toes of his brown Vans looked funny against the freshly polished marble of the hallway floor. “Yeah, well, I haven’t actually done that yet.” “You’ve made everything much too complicated.” Callie couldn’t look into Easy’s eyes—it was too hard. She was afraid he’d be able to see through all her bravado and realize how much she missed him, and how much she longed to just lean into his arms and pretend it was last year. But it
wasn’t,
and

Easy couldn’t make it all go away by just snapping his fingers. “Just because you feel this way now doesn’t mean you’ll feel this way tomorrow. How am I supposed to know that you’re not going to just change your mind
again
?” Callie looked down and suddenly remembered that her Chloé kitten-heel riding boots were the same ones she’d been wearing that awful day when Easy told her it was over. When she’d had to cross the quad, bawling, in front of the entire world, to go back to her room and hide and cry on Tinsley’s shoulder, feeling like her life was over. That had been the worst day of her life—and she’d had some bad ones, like when she’d broken her collarbone falling off a horse and her kitten, Butterscotch, had been hit by a car on the same exact day. But nothing had compared to how completely rejected she’d felt when Easy had dumped her like that, so heartlessly and out of the blue.

Easy opened his mouth to say something, but Callie cut him off, tapping the toe of her boot against the hard marble floor. “
No
.” She liked the way the sound of her voice resonated in the now-quiet hallway—it made her feel tough. “We can be friends. That’s it. You can’t always get what you want, Easy Walsh, whenever you want it.” She hadn’t realized how much she’d let her anger creep into her voice until Mr. Gaston appeared in the doorway of his classroom, his black mustache twitching with irritation. “Is everything all right here?” “Yes, we were just finishing up a conversation.” Callie nodded firmly and, with a last look over her shoulder, slid past Mr. Gaston into the classroom, leaving Easy alone in the empty hallway.

She was glad she’d told him off and gotten the final say. Except she couldn’t quite help thinking about how nice those words—those three gorgeous words—had sounded coming from his mouth.

At noon, the mailroom in Maxwell Hall was pulsing with life as the Waverly Owls scrambled to check their mailboxes before lunch, hoping to find love letters, the new issue of
W,
or, better than all else, a
package slip.
Tinsley had to stand on her tiptoes to see into Box 270, on the top row. One would have thought the administration would have enough sense to give the highest mailboxes to the basketball giants and the lower ones to Waverly’s less vertical. Normally, Tinsley didn’t mind the stretch—she knew she looked kind of sexy standing on her toes, her sweater rising to reveal some skin—but today she happened to be wearing her Miu Miu red velvet skimmers that were as flat as flat could be, with a short black cord Free People frock dress. The dress was sure to flash her behind if she tried to stretch too far. While Tinsley wasn’t exactly modest, she wasn’t about to give the entire mailroom a free show, either. Frustrated, she hopped up, trying to peek into the slot, her heavy leather Juicy messenger bag thumping awkwardly against her hip.

“Having trouble?” a voice piped behind her. “I bet you’re just praying for someone really tall … and handsome … and
young
... to come along and help you.” Tinsley rolled her eyes at the sound of Heath Ferro’s voice, turning to face him. He was wearing a pale yellow Lacoste polo that looked blindingly new, the collar turned up. He looked like he should be golfing.