She slunk down the quiet hallways, holding her breath as she passed Pardee’s door. She silently made it out the front of Dumbarton and slid her socked feet into her boots out on the porch. The night was dark and crisp, and Callie’s breath froze the second it left her mouth. Her feet crunched down the salted pathways. A billion stars were visible in the inky black sky. She knew exactly where she was going.
By the time the dark red stables at the edge of campus came into view, Callie’s hands were nearly frozen. She’d forgotten her gloves. The smell of horses hit her forcefully, sending all her memories of Easy rushing back. She hadn’t been back here since he’d been expelled because it would have been too painful. It felt like just yesterday that they’d been lying in the clean hay, kissing. He
had
to be here.
Callie glanced around for Groundskeeper Ben’s telltale flashlight, but the only movement she saw was a fat owl swooping down from the bare branches of an oak tree. She shivered and stepped toward the stable door, pushing it open with her shoulder.
A couple of horses shuffled and whinnied; then there was silence. The stables were pitch black except for the beam of moonlight streaming through the small window over the tack room. The building was empty save for the horses.
Tears of frustration filled Callie’s eyes. She didn’t know why she’d been so certain that Easy would be here. It was stupid, but she always felt like she had some kind of Easy-radar. She could tell the moment he entered the dining hall or when he stepped out of a crowded party for a cigarette. It made her feel like they’d had some sort of mystical connection.
Apparently, any connection had been severed the moment she dumped him.
Callie wandered down the aisle in the center of the stables, not ready to head back to her room. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light and she stepped on a piece of what she hoped was mud. She looked up in surprise when she noticed she was in front of Credo’s stall. Easy’s horse had remained at Waverly even after his expulsion because of some complication with bringing her back to Kentucky. Credo’s huge brown eyes were watching Callie closely, and she reached out a bare hand to touch the horse’s soft forehead.
“What are you doing here?”
Callie shrieked. Standing in the shadows of Credo’s stall was Easy Walsh.
“It’s okay,” Easy said in a calming voice to Credo, running his hand gently along the horse’s back. Easy shot her a look. “Don’t you know not to scream in front of a horse?”
“Sorry,” Callie apologized, smoothing down her hair nervously. Her own heart was beating out of control. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought maybe it was Ben.” Easy shrugged as he stepped forward and leaned his elbows on top of the wooden gate to Credo’s stall. He was still wearing the ugly military school coat he’d had on at the party, but it somehow made him look even more rugged and sexy. In the moonlight, his tanned skin glowed and his blue eyes gleamed bright. Callie wished he weren’t on the other side of the wooden door. “I didn’t want to get kicked out—again.”
Callie laughed awkwardly. The sound echoed through the lofty stables. She inched closer to the gate. “How did you get here, Easy?” And
why
, she wanted to ask but couldn’t. Credo couldn’t be the only thing that had brought him back.
Easy yawned as he ran a hand over his short dark hair. “I bribed the car service that was supposed to take me back to military school. They let me off at the bus station instead.”
Callie felt his eyes boring into her. She knew he’d seen her at the party. He must have noticed Brandon holding her hand. Did he care? She bit her chapped lip. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, even though your parents are probably flipping out.”
That brought a crooked grin to Easy’s face, and Callie felt her knees weaken. “They were sending me back to school early, so I should have another day or two before they notice I’m gone.”
“But what are you going to
do
?” Callie asked urgently. She leaned forward on the gate, her hand accidentally brushing against Easy’s knuckles. She jumped back quickly. “I mean, you can’t hide out in the stables forever.” Of course he couldn’t. But the thought of Easy leaving again… it was a thought she didn’t even want to entertain.
“I don’t have to.” Easy stepped away from the gate and grabbed a horse brush hanging at the side of the stall. He started to brush down Credo, who tossed her head in approval. “Dresden told me since I kind of saved Isla, he was going to go ahead and reinstate me. He’ll make it official tomorrow.” He said the words casually, as if the dean revoking expulsion was something that happened every day.
“
What?
” Callie’s jaw dropped almost to her feet. Easy was back… for good? “Oh my God. Easy, that’s incredible.” She felt faint. What would it mean to have Easy back? Would everything be like it was before? Just hearing him say the name
Isla
felt like angry pricks all over her skin. She hoped he wouldn’t feel grateful to the dean’s daughter for inadvertently helping him back into Waverly.
Easy took a deep breath and pushed the gate open. He stepped out into the aisle, hay crunching beneath his sneakers. He gave her a long look that made her forget about whatever the hell she’d stepped in tonight. “You look good,” he said gruffly.
“You, too.” Callie felt a lump in her throat. She took a step toward him, and reached her hand up to run across his head. Her body shook a little when she touched him. “Even with short hair.”
Easy stared down at her. Callie felt her eyes lock on to his and that familiar gravitational pull take over. Easy’s blue eyes, up close, looked confused. But he wasn’t exactly pushing her away. Their lips inched closer and closer together until finally, after what felt like eternity, they met. Callie closed her eyes and pressed her body against Easy’s. Every inch of her felt alive. She felt his hands clutch her tangled hair, pulling her even closer. Their mouths moved frantically against each other. It had been so long since they kissed—really kissed—that Callie felt a familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach.
“Wait. No.” Easy backed up abruptly.
“What?” Callie tried to catch her breath. She touched Easy’s arm but he shook her hand off gently. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled sadly as he rubbed his chin with his hand. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Buchanan?”
Callie stood up straighter. She reached for her hair, trying to smooth out the parts Easy had ruffled. “What about Brandon?” she asked petulantly.
“I saw you guys holding hands.” Easy leaned back against Credo’s stall, and his horse poked her head over and nuzzled his shoulder. Easy turned and made a soft cooing noise into the animal’s ear. Callie stared at the horse jealously. She wanted Easy to be whispering in
her
ear.
Callie took a deep breath. She drew a half circle in the dusty floor with the toe of her boot. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”
Easy stroked the horse’s velvety nose with his hand. “Besides, I seem to remember you telling me you couldn’t be with me anymore. That it was over. On top of the Empire State Building, remember?”
Callie felt as if she’d been punched in the lungs. Yes, she had said that. But things had been so different then. It was after she hadn’t seen Easy in weeks, or even
talked
to him. Not a single e-mail or text. She barely knew he was alive. And she’d lost the promise ring he’d given her. She just hadn’t been herself.
“I know. But I don’t think it is.” She took a deep breath and stared across the aisle at Easy. Her stomach was doing somersaults. “Do you?”
Easy sighed heavily, and turned away from her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
B
rett sat in the reading area on the first floor of Sawyer Library on Sunday morning, her back to the enormous plate glass windows that looked out over the quad. Mrs. Birdsall, the icy old librarian, had gone upstairs, probably to try and catch some kids making out in the stacks, and Brett took the opportunity to pull a Nature Valley bar from her bag and take a quick bite. Food was strictly prohibited in the library, as was making out.
Brett sighed heavily and chewed on her crumbly granola bar. Normally on Sunday, the library was packed with frantic Waverly Owls cramming for Monday-morning tests or rushing to finish papers. But during Jan Plan, the library was nearly deserted, except for a table of freshman nerds in the corner, huddled over what looked like architectural blueprints for a space station.
The party had been a disaster. First, her fight with Sebastian, which she was trying really hard not to think about. Then, she’d gotten the e-mail from the dean citing her for being at the party. She blamed Sebastian for the fact that she’d been so distracted she’d left without her scarf. Another thing to be annoyed at him about. She’d had to slink into Stansfield Hall this morning, along with half a dozen other guilty-faced Owls, to claim it from the makeshift lost and found that the dean had—deviously—set up right outside his office door.
Chrissy was taking a trip to some giant fabric store outside Albany, but Brett had begged off at the last minute. She couldn’t deal with Sebastian’s exes anymore. Maybe they could do the rest of the project separately.
“You’re Brett Messerschmidt, right?” Brett looked up from her giant book of boring mid-nineteenth-century French art to see a slender Asian girl in slim-fitting dark jeans tucked into a pair of high black boots. Her silky black hair hung down almost to her butt. She was vaguely familiar, but Brett couldn’t think of her name.
“Yeeess?” Brett raised an eyebrow, not sure where this was going.
The girl stepped back and took Brett in from head to toe. Brett felt like she was at a casting call from the way the girl was evaluating everything from her flowered Juicy Couture waffle shirt to her baggy, ultra-comfortable J. Crew boyfriend jeans. Ironic, now that she wasn’t sure she even had a boyfriend. Brett defensively touched her hand to her cheek to cover the tiny pimple that had appeared yesterday. “You’re junior class prefect, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Brett replied, tapping her Salvatore Ferragamo ankle boot impatiently against the table leg. She was prefect for now—who knew what the new dean would have to say to her tomorrow morning? “Is there something I can help you with?”
The girl shrugged. Her skin was annoyingly perfect. “No, you’re just not what we expected.”
“
We?
” Brett glanced around her, determined she must be the subject of some stupid Jan Plan version of
Punk’d
.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Sylvia Ng. I used to go out with Sebastian.” Sylvia pulled a copy of
The New Yorker
from her Louis Vuitton tote bag and returned it to the wall of periodicals, which, Brett knew, weren’t supposed to be circulated. “I was just talking to Leila Rodriguez, and we realized that, even though we don’t really think you’re Sebastian’s type or anything, we think it’s cute that he’s so, you know. Into you.”
Brett shook her head, trying to clear her brain. “How do you know that?”
Sylvia exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. “The other day he told, like, every girl he’d ever hooked up with that he had a girlfriend now. At least, like, me and Leila, and Leigh, and…”
Brett felt like she had a nasty-tasting pill lodged in her throat. The call log in Sebastian’s phone. He’d been calling all those girls—to tell them he was off the market? Why had he done that? Her stomach dropped as she realized the answer. Because of her. Because she’d flipped out on him after the Tricia Rieken appearance. He’d gone out of his way to make sure it didn’t happen again. For her sake.
And she’d been a complete bitch to him in return.
“Excuse me,” Brett murmured, getting to her feet and grabbing her coat. She didn’t even bother to return the art book to its shelf. Why had she been so quick to assume the worst? She had no reason not to trust him, and yet she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain.
Brett raced out of the library, earning her a cranky warning from Mrs. Birdsall, and practically jogged over to Sebastian’s dorm, slowing down only to catch her breath at the front door. The senior guys watching some lame Seth Rogen movie in the common room stared at her as she stalked by. When she got to his door, she paused. What was she going to say? She’d promised not to do this again. Was she determined to ruin every relationship she got into?
The door opened. Sebastian stood there, shirtless, in a pair of black Calvin Klein pajama bottoms. On his stereo, opera music was playing. “Were you ever going to knock? Or you planning on standing in the hall all day?”
Brett blinked, trying not to stare at Sebastian’s lean, muscular chest. “I was trying to figure out the best way to apologize to you.”
Sebastian stepped back, leaning against the back of his desk chair. “What’d you come up with?” His voice wasn’t cold, exactly, but it was distant. Although she certainly deserved it.
“I’m sorry.” Her heart was still beating like crazy from her run over here. She had to speak in short, clipped sentences. “I acted like an insane person. I’m really, really sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain. Or, rather, that I jumped to conclusions in the first place. It’s just… I got a little… nervous, when I started to realize how many girls you’ve dated. I wasn’t really sure how I fit in.”
Sebastian pressed his lips together. “I told you how you fit in, remember? I told you that you were the only one who mattered.”
“I know.” Brett tried to take a deep breath of air. “I guess, the truth is…” She trailed off, not sure she wanted to admit this. But she had to be honest. She owed him that much. “I cheated on my last boyfriend. And he cheated on me. And so I’m not totally sure… I trust anyone anymore.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Hey, crazy lady. I know you have a ton of baggage—I could tell that the first time I saw you.”