Jenny shrugged. She didn’t know the answer to that question. Instead, she grabbed another sweater--the thick, oatmeal- colored hoodie her father had sent her along with the JAH tote bag--and shoved it, unceremoniously, into her bag.
“That was some pretty rough stuff in there,” Julian said, and immediately, the image of Tinsley staring her down came back to mind. “But why … why did you take the blame? You didn’t do it—you were with me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jenny said, not really meaning it, but she knew talk wasn’t going to change anything that happened. She’d confessed, and Marymount had expelled her. It was over. She was going home. The zipper quivered as she tugged it closed.
“I just can’t, you know …” A quiver worked its way into Julian’s usually calm voice, and his brown eyes looked like a sad puppy’s. “Don’t go like this. It’s not right.”
“Life is full of things that aren’t right,” Jenny said, surprised by how matter-of-fact her voice sounded.
“I know you,” Julian said, regaining his composure a little. He rested his elbow on the top of Jenny’s now-empty dresser. He was too tall for her, anyway, Jenny realized wistfully. “Why are you pretending you’re not devastated?”
“I’m not the one pretending,” Jenny shot back. She heaved her duffel off the floor and tossed it next to her suitcase. The amount of venom flowing through her scared her a little.
“I never pretended anything.” Julian stared down at the toes of his gray canvas Vans. “Okay, maybe I did pretend the whole thing with Tinsley never happened.” He paused. “But only because I really, really wished it hadn’t.”
Jenny sat down on what was left of her bed. She felt as sad and empty as the bare mattress looked. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Julian bit his lip. In his faded blue polo and beat-up khakis, he looked like one of the St. Jude’s boys she used to see playing Frisbee in Central Park. Jenny wondered what would have happened if she’d met him like that—away from Waverly, and away from Tinsley Carmichael. Would they have stood a chance? “That morning after the fire when we were walking in the woods, I wanted to tell you about Tinsley,” he said, pulling open an empty dresser drawer and closing it again.
“So, why didn’t you?” she demanded, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Why didn’t you tell me about it before we even kissed?”
Julian couldn’t look at her. His head was hanging, and he picked up a stray bobby pin from the top of her dresser and twirled it between his fingers. “Because everything with you just … felt so good. I didn’t want to fuck it up.”
Jenny felt herself starting to melt.
Julian
. But even if she forgave him, what was the point? She was leaving, on the next train out of Rhinecliff.
“And I didn’t tell you later, because … because I wanted to protect you from Tinsley.” His brown eyes were bloodshot and sad. A shiver ran down her spine, and she zipped up her H&M knock-off Stella McCartney army green jacket. “I’m pretty sure
she
started the fire, but I was afraid if she found out about us, she’d try to pin it on you.”
“Why would she do that?” Jenny asked, trying to keep her voice even. The question wasn’t really meant for Julian; it was the question she kept trying to answer herself. She kicked at her suitcase, not caring if she scraped up the hardwood floors.
“Because I like you more than I liked her. I like you a whole lot.”
Jenny hoped those words would be her lasting memory, long after the bitterness had drained from her body.
I like you a whole lot.
That was a nice going-away present. She could sense Julian’s desire for closure—for whatever, forgiveness—but she couldn’t give it to him. The problem was, she wasn’t even that mad at him—she was just furious with herself for being so incredibly stupid. Time and time again.
“Don’t worry about it.” She hiked her LeSportsac over her shoulder and grabbed her purple suede school bag stuffed with the books she wanted to keep, leaving the rest on her bookshelves for Callie, or whoever moved back in, to deal with. “At least we had some fun, right?” Her voice sounded breezy and false, even to her. She couldn’t look at him again, and instead focused on picking up her overloaded suitcase with her empty hand. In her closet, her maroon Waverly blazer looked tiny and alone.
“Can I … help you?” Julian asked awkwardly, standing up to his full height.
“No.” Jenny picked up the L.L. Bean tote and grabbed the handle of her Samsonite. She pushed through the doorway, her bags almost getting stuck, before turning around. Julian stood in the middle of the room, looking lost. Every ounce of her wanted to drop her bags and throw her arms around his shoulders and kiss him. But she couldn’t.
She walked away, feeling resolved. Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing. Maybe she’d learned something from each false friendship and each failed hookup. Maybe at her next school, she
would
be the cool and composed person she’d always wanted to be.
Maybe.
Email Inbox
From:
[email protected]
Date:
Wednesday, October 16, 12:41 P.M.
Subject:
RE: RE: How’s it going?
Hey kid,
Hope you enjoyed your stay at Waverly. Thanks for all your help. You did the right thing.
Tinsley
Email Inbox
From:
[email protected]
Date:
Wednesday, October 16, 12:50 P.M.
Subject:
RE: RE: RE: How’s it going?
Hi Tinsley!
Thanks for showing mae such a good time at the party last night … the train ride home this morning wasn’t so fun though. ;) But I’m so glad things happened with Sam. I think he really likes me!
Anyway, can’t wait to hang with you at Waverly next year.
XOXO
Chloe
Instant Message Inbox
TinsleyCarmichael:
Hey, Julian. Too bad you’ll have to say goodbye to your artsy little girlfriend—she was really, um, talented.
TinsleyCarmichael:
If you’re too heartbroken to reply, I understand.
Instant Message Inbox
KaraWhalen:
I heard about what happened. It’s so awful.
BrettMesserschmidt:
Yeah, poor Jenny. But where were you?
KaraWhalen:
Passed out. Can’t believe I missed the meeting.
BrettMesserschmidt:
Well, it’s prob. better you weren’t there. Guess you had fun last night huh?
KaraWhalen:
About that … I am so sorry. Can we talk about it?
BrettMesserschmidt:
Honestly, there’s not much to say.
KaraWhalen:
Oh.
BrettMesserschmidt:
I mean that in a good way.
KaraWhalen:
Oh!
BrettMesserschmidt:
Friends?
KaraWhalen:
Absolutely.
BrettMesserschmidt:
So does this mean I’m going to be spending a lot of time with Heath? ;)
26KaraWhalen:
We’ll see… .
Easy stood outside Dumbarton, kicking his toe against the hard stone step. He looked up to see Callie headed toward him up the walk, the flouncy skirt of her blue-and-white dress swirling around her knees in the wind, smiling as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“What’s going on?” Callie asked, teetering a little on her skinny navy heels. She tilted her head in concern, as if she had no idea what could possibly be wrong.
Easy just stared at her. He’d always known Callie would make a wonderful actress—she was excellent at coming up with her own versions of the truth and sticking to them. “I just came from Jenny’s.”
Callie tensed up, gripping the strap of her distressed black bag with the oversize silver buckles. “Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘Why’? I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” A look of relief washed over her pale face.
“Aren’t you going to go see her before she leaves?” he asked. He recognized his father’s demanding voice in his own, but so what? He was angry, and there was no use pretending he wasn’t.
Callie shrugged, staring down at her hands as if trying to decide whether she needed a manicure or not.
“Didn’t she used to be your friend?” Easy asked, kicking at the edge of the step with frustration. The sun had come out, and he had to squint to see her.
“She
used
to be,” Callie spat back, suddenly animated. Her hazel eyes flashed with anger that must have been lurking right beneath the surface. “Before she started spreading rumors about us.”
“But you didn’t start any rumors about
her,
right?” Easy ran a hand through his messy curls. He had wanted that question to come out a little softer than it did, but it was too late.
“What are you talking about?” Callie crossed her arms over her flat chest.
“How did Tinsley know about Jenny’s drawing?” Easy was afraid to hear the answer. If Tinsley and Callie were getting people to spy on Jenny, that was beyond low. Especially somewhere like art class, which Easy had always thought of as a sanctuary, a place safe from all the gossiping and backstabbing that went on at Waverly.
“Why?” Callie’s voice shook, and she bit her pink, glossy lip like she was on the verge of tears. All for show, Easy thought, bitterly. “Are you still in love with her?”
“What?”
Easy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargos to hide the fists of fury that had involuntarily formed. He couldn’t even think about answering that—not after he and Callie had spent the last five days together every chance they had. She knew better than to ask a question like that. “Just answer me this: Did you get someone to spy on Jenny?”
Callie was dying to pull her Oliver Peoples sunglasses from her bag and throw them on her face, just to put some sort of barrier up against Easy’s demanding stare. But she didn’t want to look guilty—especially since he already seemed to think she was. “Why are you yelling at me?” she asked softly, letting all the anger—at him defending Jenny
yet again
—drain from her voice. “Jenny admitted that she started the fire. What’s done is done.”
“You really think she did it?” Easy asked plainly.
Callie demurred, staring at the toes of her navy Isabella Fiore pumps. “She
said
she did.”
“How do you know it wasn’t us, smoking in the barn?” Easy’s voice rose as he asked the question, and lost its sweet southern tinge. “Jenny’s getting expelled is no joke. Do you realize how serious this is?” He was squinting in the sun, but it felt like he was glaring at her.
Callie
did
realize how serious it was. But what choice did she have? She hadn’t wanted either one of them to go home. Jenny was just too easy a target. And it had been Tinsley’s plan, anyway, not Callie’s. Even if she’d refused to go along with it, Tinsley would have carried the plan out without her, and everything would have happened exactly as it had. “It was all Tinsley,” Callie blurted out before realizing what she was saying.
Easy sat down on the step and arched his back against the hard stone column. He took his hands out of his pockets, much to her relief. She’d been able to see his fists through his cargos and was a little afraid of him. Not that he’d, like, hit her or anything—but she’d never seen him so mad. “You didn’t have
anything
to do with it?” he asked skeptically, raising a dark eyebrow.
“It was Tinsley’s plan,” Callie lied, fiddling with one of the pearl buttons on her cardigan. “She had it in for Jenny from day one, when she found her in her bed. She got that Chloe girl, the prospective, to spy on her. Honest.” Callie looked him in his deep blue eyes and crossed her heart like she had in grade school when she was lying through her teeth. “I didn’t know about it until it was already done.”
Easy seemed to relax a little, and Callie took the opportunity to sit down on the steps next to him. She took his calloused hand in hers. He squeezed hers back, and she could feel her shoulders slump as her body relaxed. “Are we okay?” she asked softly, leaning in to nuzzle against him.
“Yeah,” Easy whispered back, gently cradling her in the crook of his broad shoulder. His neck was soft and warm and inviting, and she felt like she was back where she belonged. He kissed her head, and Callie let go of all the tension in her body, collapsing into his arms in relief.
But as Callie shifted on the stone step, her skinny silver Razr tumbled out of her Fendi bag, landing with a crack on the first step, out of her reach. It immediately buzzed to life, vibrating its way onto the grass. Before she could do anything to stop him, Easy stood and picked up the phone for her, reaching out to hand it back to her. But he stopped when he saw who the text was from. “Speak of the devil,” he said. He pressed a button and his handsome face turned ghostly pale.
“Give it back!” Callie reached for the phone, feeling like she was about to be sick.
Easy’s brow furrowed as he read the message.
“Congrats to us on a job well done
.
”
His voice was hard and full of mocking.
“It worked. The bitch is gone. Let’s drink to that,”
he read off the little screen.