It Girl: Unforgettable Part 8

Her eyes scanned all the tall figures in the crowd, surprising herself that she wasn't looking for Easy, but Julian.

"Say something for the camera, ladies!" Ryan Reynolds popped up out of nowhere, a sleek silver digital camcorder the size of a wallet glued to his face.

Sage pursed her highly glossed lips and struck a pose for the video camera. "Priorities, dummy." Benny grabbed Sage by the wrist and tugged her toward the barn, where the keg crowd was growing larger. "Beer first, flirting later." Ryan disappeared into the crowd, disappointed. Jenny lagged behind the others, feeling uncomfortable. It was nice that Benny and Sage and Callie included her in their little group, and she had been able to feel everyone sort of watching them the moment they got out of the car, like they were something special. Like she was something special. And that was kind of nice-but at the same time, where was Brett? She needed someone real to talk to.

Another sleek black car pulled up the dirt driveway, sending up giant clouds of dust. Jenny watched with relief as Kara and Brett and Heath piled out, giggling like schoolgirls. Heath had on the blond wig from the other night, and he threw his arms around both girls' shoulders and whispered something in Brett's ear that made her toss back her red hair and shriek with laughter.

"All right, who else thinks it's totally bizarre that Heath and Brett are hooking up?" Benny demanded, unb.u.t.toning her black velvet riding blazer. "I thought she loathed him." Jenny saw Callie roll her eyes and stumble slightly on the uneven ground before quickly righting herself and acting like nothing had happened. "Um . . . I don't think it's Heath she's hooking up with, if you know what I mean." Benny and Sage exchanged glances, but Jenny had to quickly turn away. Wait a second. Did Callie really know about Brett and Kara, too? How? And why was she babbling to Benny and Sage about it? Well, maybe they hadn't understood her. Or maybe they'd chalk it up to the ramblings of a drunk girl.

But from the look on Benny's face, she definitely knew what Callie meant.

To: [email protected] From: Date: Friday, October 11, 7:09 P.M.

Subject: Late B,.

Running late and still have to jump in the shower. (Get that smile off your face. . . .) I'll meet you at the farm, okay?

Luv, El EasyWalsh: R U here yet?

CallieVernon: Yup. Just pulled up with the girls. Movie's on, where R U?

EasyWalsh: Inside the barn, waiting for you to sneak away.

CallieVernon: Oh, yeah? Well, as soon as I get a chance.

EasyWalsh: Hurry, darlin'. . . .

32.

WAVERLY OWLS ONLY PLAY HARD-TO-GET UNTIL THEY'RE GOTTEN.

Callie started to stand in line with Benny and Sage for beer, but she kept getting jostled, and everyone seemed to be stepping on her toes (which were already uncomfortable, crammed into her half-size-too-small patent leather Taryn Rose wedges). And after the text from Easy, her mind was elsewhere-she knew she probably shouldn't be alone with him after she'd been drinking, but the truth was, whenever she was with him, she had to fight the urge to throw herself at him. It was like there was something inside her that responded to his frequency or something.

Still, she wasn't ready to come running the second he called. He could certainly wait for her. She had to enjoy the party for a while, didn't she? Callie rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself up. She looked up at the gorgeous, navy blue night sky. The few stars that were starting to peek out looked like ice chips. She patted the tiny bulge in the hip pocket of her miniskirt. Before leaving her dorm room, she'd pulled open the drawer of her nightstand in search of a hair clip, and had been confronted by the giant box of condoms that had been sitting there since the start of school. She'd bought it out of wishful thinking, hoping that s.e.x would save her and Easy's relationship. But it hadn't worked out that way-it was only by breaking up that they'd been able to save it. Tonight, though, she had put one in her pocket. Better safe than sorry.

Two seconds after deciding to let Easy sweat it out, the eighth person stepped on Callie's toes, and she decided maybe it would be a little warmer-and less crowded, certainly-inside the barn. She slowly extricated herself from the beer line and walked around the corner of the barn, pretending to be searching her red leather tiny Hobo International bag for her cigarettes. The sounds of the movie and the crowd became fainter as she made her way toward the barn door, using the light from her cell phone to make sure she didn't step in any cow s.h.i.t or on any other disgusting barn-bred things. She peeked inside the half-closed door and saw a faint light at the back of the barn, some scary-looking shadows projected on the huge walls. She shivered a little, only partly from the cold. Could barns be haunted like old houses? And was Easy really in here, or was she all alone?

"Easy?" she whispered loudly, her voice wavering in the darkness.

"Hey!" At the sound of his voice, Callie's heart sped up, and when his head popped up over the side of the last stall, she had to catch her breath. She hadn't realized how anxious she was to see him until she'd kind of thought he wasn't there. "Over here." The faint light disappeared and then reappeared as Easy stepped out of the stall and stood at the end of the barn, holding a flashlight.

Callie walked slowly toward him, her knees wobbling a little as she stepped over the uneven barn floor, half covered with hay. She didn't know why she was so nervous. Maybe because she didn't want him to know she was drunk already. Maybe because she could feel his dark blue eyes watching her every step. She couldn't help but feel completely beautiful under his appreciative eyes-skinny legs, too-short skirt, bulky turtleneck sweater and all. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she stopped two feet in front of him. "You're missing the party," she chided, only because it was the first thing that came to her mind.

Easy smiled at her. "I've seen movies before. And drunks," he added playfully.

Callie stared at his cheekbones, which, in the glowing light of the lantern, looked even more striking and defined. He wore a paint-splattered flannel shirt that she was dying to rub her face against, with his beat-up tan cords that had a hole forming in the knee and a splotch of blue paint on the right thigh. He stood the flashlight on its end on the floor of the old horse stall, which didn't smell as horsey as the stables, so thankfully it must not be used anymore. Callie noticed for the first time that Easy had sort of cozied up the stall. A thick, nest-like bed of hay had been formed, and a heavy Scottish wool blanket covered the whole thing. A maroon fleece Waverly blanket was balled up in a corner, presumably to lie down under, and a tattered copy of The Great Gatsby was lying facedown on the blanket.

"Were you reading?" Callie teased, trying to hide the fact that she was really moved by the way Easy had set up this s.p.a.ce for her-for them. She shivered again, even though it was warmer inside than out. She couldn't even hear the movie anymore.

"Nah." Easy scratched his head, embarra.s.sed. "I was just waiting for you." Callie felt her resolve weaken, but not completely disappear. She crossed her arms across her chest and tried not to look straight at him, sort of like trying not to look straight at the sun. It was too painful. But then she noticed the three red roses, lying at the other corner of the blanket, as if waiting for her. "Why three?" she asked, a lump in her throat.

Easy coughed. "I don't know. A dozen seemed . . . too corny." He ran his hand through his unruly curls. "And one just seemed like not enough." His eyes were lowered, and he peered up at Callie through his thick, dark eyelashes. She pictured him, standing in the stuffy little Rhinecliff florist's shop, debating as to how many roses would be "enough." That was so un-Easy-like.

She melted. Easy. Before he could do anything else, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His mouth met hers eagerly and she wrapped her fingers around the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Let's lie down," she murmured after a few intense minutes of kissing. They fell onto the wool blanket and Callie snuggled up against Easy's long, lean body, wishing she weren't wearing her bulky turtleneck. She just couldn't get close enough to him-she wanted their skin to touch.

As if reading her mind, Easy toyed with the bottom of her sweater. "Can this come off?" In response, Callie sat up and kissed his neck, then slowly tugged the sweater up and over her shoulders, revealing her sheer pink Chantelle demi-bra with a tiny black tulip in the center.

She felt his breath against her skin. "Pretty," he whispered, running his lips over her shoulders. His fingers trembled as they traced her collarbone.

"Hey, did your teacher like your painting?" she asked suddenly, sitting up to look at him. She started thinking of the last time she and Easy had kissed. It felt like so long ago when he had told her he loved her. He loved her. Easy Walsh loved Callie Vernon. Her flesh instantly goose-b.u.mped, which she really hoped wasn't a total turnoff. She wanted him to say it again. Things felt different now-right again, or even more right than before they'd broken up.

This was the way it was supposed to be, she thought, for your first time.

"What? Oh." Easy rubbed his hand along her left arm. "Are you cold?" He grabbed the fleece blanket and threw it over them.

Callie shook off his hand impatiently. "She didn't like it?" The sides of his mouth curled up into his familiar crooked grin. "She loved it. She wanted to know where I found such a beautiful model." "Liar!" Callie put her hands on Easy's shoulders and pushed him down to the blanket. "Your turn." She pulled at the b.u.t.tons on his flannel shirt impatiently. While just a few minutes ago she'd been thinking about running her face against it, now that wasn't good enough-she wanted to touch his skin, to feel the warmth of his body against hers. He helped her push the b.u.t.tons through the holes, feeling her urgency.

"Hey." Easy stopped with his shirt and grabbed Callie's chin gently, staring straight into her eyes. "What are we, uh, doing?" "Don't make me spell it out." She reached into her hip pocket and pulled out the shiny turquoise-and-silver package, slipping it into his hand in one smooth move.

Easy stroked her hair. "Really? You're ready and everything?" She thought she'd never seen him look so happy before.

She pulled his shirt off his shoulders and pressed her ear to his chest, where she could hear his heart almost thudding through his skin. She'd never been more ready for anything in her life.

33.

A WAVERLY OWL CAN ONLY TRY SO HARD TO BE SOMETHING HE'S NOT.

Brandon stood off to the side of the barn, sipping his beer and scanning the crowd for Elizabeth's familiar blond head. No luck. He'd gotten her e-mail that she'd be late, but the movie was half over. Not that he was following it-no one was, really. Kids were lying on blankets, smoking cigarettes and drinking Heath's c.r.a.ppy keg beer, huddled together ostensibly for warmth. The sight of all the cuddling couples made him miss Elizabeth even more. Who the h.e.l.l wanted to watch goony Alan St. Girard, who could never be bothered to shave his nasty beard scruff, sucking face with sweet little Alison Quentin?

And then he saw her, standing over by the kegs, wearing the pleather motorcycle jacket she'd had on when he first saw her, a red pashmina wrapped around her neck. Brandon breathed a huge sigh of relief and took the first step over to her.

Except just as he did that, she leaned forward and touched the arm of the guy she was talking to. He could tell from the way her red-gloved hand flexed that she was giving him a squeeze. The same way she had once squeezed his arm.

And now she was doing it to Brian f.u.c.king Atherton. Brandon counted to twelve, as his father had always insisted on doing when angry, because "after twelve seconds, big things don't seem so big." Twelve seconds of watching Elizabeth lean closer and closer to that a.s.swipe, tossing her head back with laughter, the white curve of her neck almost glittering in the moonlight. And all for Atherton, who was staring at her as if she were a Big Mac and he had the munchies. Brandon stormed over to them, not noticing whose blankets he stepped on. "Down in front," someone called out. People giggled.

Suddenly, he stopped. What was he going to do, punch the guy out? He wasn't about to make a fool of himself in front of a d.i.c.kweed like Atherton. He tried to remember what Easy had said to him. Give her s.p.a.ce, and she'll come to you. Brandon clenched his fists. He'd told her he'd give her s.p.a.ce. He knew it wasn't fair of him to change his mind twenty-four hours later.

He stalked over to the pair, still trembling with anger but determined not to show it. Elizabeth smiled when she saw him and waved a red-gloved hand at him. She looked so happy to see him. "Hey, babe!" She leaned toward him and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind the smell of patchouli.

"Hey, man, what's up?" Atherton held up his palm for a high five, a s.h.i.t-eating grin plastered to his face that seemed to say, "You think this is your girlfriend?"

Brandon ignored the high five and nodded toward the film projector. "I heard some freshman girls talking about you back there." "No s.h.i.t." Atherton's eyes scanned the crowd. "Were they hot?" "Yeah," Brandon said sheepishly. "Back by the projector." "Cool." Atherton made a gun with his fingers and made a clicking noise with his mouth to pull the trigger. He leered at Elizabeth. "I'll catch you cats later." Elizabeth didn't even watch him leave. Instead, she put her gloved hand on Brandon's forearm and squeezed. Her other hand held a half-empty beer. "Good to see you, s.e.xy." Brandon could barely stand it. Did it really not matter to her that thirty seconds ago she'd been squeezing some other guy's arm exactly like this? "Yeah, uh, you too. You look like you're, uh, having a good time." He tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn't keep the bitterness from seeping in.

Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise, her cheeks rosy from the cold. "What does that mean?" Brandon rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to make himself keep quiet. He couldn't. "Atherton! He's such a sleaze." Elizabeth stiffened and quickly withdrew her hand from his arm. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Wait a second-are you mad at me? I was going to come and find you as soon as I finished my beer. What happened to Mr. Open?" "I know," Brandon admitted, kicking the ground with the toe of his polished John Varvatos boot. "But I didn't think that would mean having to actually watch you flirt with other guys."

"So what does this mean, then?" Her eyebrows furrowed together in frustration, and Brandon could tell she was actually really surprised-and hurt-that he was acting this way. But there was really no other way he could act. As soon as Atherton had disappeared, so had all his bravado. That wasn't what he wanted-to see the girl he was crazy about drooling all over someone else, and not be bothered by it? That was f.u.c.ked up.

Brandon stuffed his cold palms into the pockets of his Rock & Republic jeans. "I guess it means Mr. Open is closed." And he turned and walked away.

34.

WATCH OUT! WAVERLY OWLS CAN BE A CARNIVOROUS SPECIES.

Brett leaned back, enjoying the feel of Kara's fingers playing with her hair. Kara was sitting cross-legged on the thick cotton quilt Brett had brought to spread out, and Brett's head was lying on a bunched up sweatshirt on her lap. Normally she would have been worried about how that looked, but she'd had a few beers by now and she didn't care so much. Besides, Brett's own hands were playing with Heath's hair, who was lying contentedly on his side, his head resting against Brett's flat stomach. There was something very soothing about the whole thing-of course it was totally weird how suddenly Heath was their good friend, but Brett had started to genuinely like him. He seemed totally sincere about keeping their secret, and it was kind of fun for the girls to pal around with him, leaving everyone else wondering what the h.e.l.l was going on. It was a pretty convenient smoke screen, she had to admit.

Not that she liked feeling like she and Kara were fooling everyone. That wasn't it. But it was important to keep their secret, well, secret. Things between them were so new still-Brett was trying to follow Jenny's advice to just "go with it" and not overa.n.a.lyze everything. She couldn't do that if the whole world, or the whole Waverly population at least, was whispering about her.

Heath's pocket vibrated and he pulled out his phone to read a text. "Ladies, I hate to leave you, but someone's smoking something, and I need to be part of it." He clearly had a hard time pulling his eyes away from them as he stood up. "Don't do anything good without me. Or if you do, take pictures." He kept his voice low so people around them couldn't hear.

"Do you want me to get us some more beer?" Brett sat up and turned toward Kara once Heath had cantered off toward the cornfields.

The film flickered and cut to a day scene, lighting up Kara's face. Brett could read from her expressive greenish-brown eyes that she was wondering if Brett was trying to avoid being alone with her in public. But all she said was, "Sure." Under cover of the crumpled sweatshirt, Brett put her hand on Kara's knee and squeezed gently. In a perfect world, she'd be able to lean in and kiss her right now, tasting her grapefruit lip gloss. Brett felt a deep ache in her stomach but ignored it and got to her feet. She looked down at Kara in her black turtleneck sweater and gray down vest from her mother's athletic line of clothing. It was so weird to be looking at a girl and thinking about how badly she wanted to kiss her. "Be right back," she promised.

Brett wove her way through the crowds of people sprawled out on blankets. The crowd watching the movie had thinned out a little, which was not surprising, as there seemed to be a mult.i.tude of other outlets for entertainment offered by the unsupervised, off-campus evening. How the h.e.l.l had Tinsley managed to get this approved? And where was Tinsley, anyway? But Brett's musings faded to the back of her mind as she noticed that people were sort of hushing one another as she approached. Were people . . . talking about her? Her face flushed immediately, but she managed to make her way over to the keg line gracefully enough.

However, as she tapped the toe of her Stuart Weitzman clog against the hard, gra.s.sy ground, she heard something in front of her in line that almost turned her blood instantly into ice. "Brett? You mean she's . . . gay?" She felt sick. Heath f.u.c.king Ferro. Of course. That lowlife, degenerate hornbag squealer. Immediately, Brett spun on her heel and dashed back toward her blanket, obviously forgetting all about the beer, and stepping on several other blankets carelessly. Out of nowhere, a very drunk and staggering Ryan Reynolds popped up and slung his arm around her lean shoulders "Think I can join in sometime?" "f.u.c.k off," she hissed, shrugging off his arm and continuing her stomp across the lawn, blinded slightly by the darkness and her anger. Finally, she was able to sink down on the blanket where Kara was sitting.

"What's the matter?" Kara asked, immediately knowing something was wrong.

"Where's Heath?" Brett could barely get the words out, her whole body was shaking so much. "I'm going to kill him, right now. In front of the entire world." Kara's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" Brett pressed her lips together, trying to calm down. But her heart was beating a thousand times a minute and all she could think about was punching Heath right in his stupid, c.o.c.ky face. "He told everyone. They all know. Everyone knows." "Ohhhhh." Kara glanced around her, and Brett knew she wanted to hug her or grab her hand or do something to make it feel better, and it made her feel even more p.i.s.sed off by the whole situation. "But he wouldn't do that." "Well, he did." Brett ran a hand through her bobbed red hair, forgetting all about how nice it had felt to have Kara combing it with her fingers ten minutes ago. But everything had changed now-everything. All because f.u.c.kface Heath couldn't keep his G.o.dd.a.m.ned mouth shut. He had to gloat, didn't he? Share it with the whole world? "Who else could have told?" Kara bit her lip, worriedly. "I don't know. Maybe it's not the end of the world if people find out?" A lock of her silky hair fell in front of her face, partly hiding her questioning eyes.

Brett looked at Kara's sweet, pretty face, wishing she could agree. She knew it was silly to be embarra.s.sed about being with Kara-but having people stare at her like she was a circus freak was the last thing she wanted. She'd just gotten over people finding out about her totally tacky family, and frankly, she didn't like being at the center of the Waverly gossip tornado. Unfortunately, it seemed she was in the eye of the storm.

35.

A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS HOW TO EXTRACT HERSELF FROM AN UNCOMFORTABLE SITUATION.

"But we're going to play I Never. You can't go!" Verena Arneval protested as Jenny stood up and stretched her legs. Jenny hadn't quite felt like herself all night, but she wasn't really sure why not. Brett and Kara and Heath seemed to be in their own little world that she didn't really want to interrupt. Callie had disappeared about an hour ago, leaving her to drink with Verena and Alison and Alan and a bunch of others. It was fun, but . . . it wasn't really that fun. Jenny's brain was feeling slow from beer, and if she drank any more, she would be drunk.

Not to mention the disaster that had happened the last time everyone played I Never. No, thank you. She shook her head resolutely, stepping away from the bales of hay she'd been sitting on. Jenny played with the hood of her green sweater and glanced up at the black-and-white film still playing on the side of the barn. She hadn't exactly been paying attention, but something about it seemed so . . . romantic. "I'm just going to walk around a little. I'll be back." She heard Ryan's camera click as he took a photograph of her a.s.s as she walked away. Sigh.

Jenny had never actually seen the inside of a real barn before, only in the movies and on TV, so she meandered toward the building, stepping around groups of people making out on blankets or playing games involving slamming down as much of the now-warm beer as possible. Snippets of conversations about Brett and Kara and their illicit love affair hit Jenny's ears more than once. Yikes. Looked like the secret was already fullfledged gossip. She squinted her eyes but couldn't see Brett's fire-engine-red hair anywhere. She was such a private person, it was going to kill her to have her secrets made so public.

Jenny also scanned the crowd for signs of another familiar body but didn't see him. Maybe that was why she was feeling so depressed tonight.

Her boots kicked their way through the gra.s.s as she turned the corner to the other side of the barn, and there was blessed silence. The sounds of the movie disappeared. Jenny leaned against the weathered wood of the barn and stared up at the fat, silvery moon hanging like a globe in the navy night sky, wisps of clouds half-covering it.

She peeked her head inside the barn door, surprised to see two tiny flecks of red light at the far end of the barn. Curious, she squinted again, not quite sure what she was looking at. As her vision cleared, two things happened at the exact same instant: the clouds moved to let some moonlight shine fully in the barn, illuminating the interior, and one of the red flecks moved. It was Callie, standing up in the last stall, a cigarette in her hand, and her perfect, bare shoulders glowing in the moonlight. The stall wall hid the rest of her body, but it wasn't hard to guess from her naked shoulders that she probably wasn't wearing a strapless dress.

Especially when Jenny noted that the other fleck of red belonged to someone else's cigarette-Easy's.

Her hands started to shake and tears instinctively sprang to her eyes as she realized something she probably should have known all along: they were together again. And then, in a flash of insight, she saw the abstract portrait Easy had hung up in art cla.s.s today. That strawberry shape that had seemed so familiar to Jenny-it was the birthmark on Callie's lower back, something only someone who had seen her recently in a bikini, or a bra, or nothing at all-would have been able to portray so perfectly. She felt her lower lip start to tremble. They were together again, but that wasn't the worst part. Callie had lied to her. She'd thought they were really friends, but she'd been so . . . wrong.

Jenny spun around and walked away from the barn quickly, away from the party. She wasn't sure exactly where she was going, but she knew she had to get away. She was tired of drinking beer and playing stupid games and having people she thought were her friends lie to her. As she plowed ahead, a horrible image of Easy and Callie came to mind, of the two of them, laughing-at her, for believing they were all friends. She could almost hear Callie saying, "I can't believe she really thought you liked her better than me." Jenny stumbled over something on the ground-a corncob. She kicked it hard with her boot, sending it flying through the air and thwacking into some kind of metal silo in front of her with a satisfying thud.

"You'd better watch where you're aiming that. You might hit an innocent bystander." Jenny looked up, and her heart almost stopped in her throat. Julian. He was sitting on some sort of tree stump off to the side of the silo, an empty plastic beer cup in his hands.

An amazing feeling flooded through her entire body-that wonderful, unexpected feeling that comes when, totally out of the blue, you're given something that you hadn't even realized you wanted or needed or craved. Like that morning, when Jenny had opened the package from her father and pulled out a Tupperware container of pumpkin-chocolate-chip m.u.f.fins from the bakery on Amsterdam Avenue that were quite possibly the most delicious and comforting things on the planet.

But that obviously didn't compare to the way she felt when Julian appeared before her, all by himself, just when she thought things were at their absolute worst. He was the one she'd been looking for all night.

"What are you doing out here?" Jenny asked, suddenly fl.u.s.tered that things were happening so fast. She'd just come from seeing her ex-boyfriend, the boyfriend she thought maybe she loved, naked with his ex-girlfriend, her roommate who had made a pact with her that they were done with Easy for good. So much for pacts. She shivered to shake off the awful feeling that she'd been majorly duped in some ma.s.sive con. "In the dark?"

As usual, he had a ready answer. "I gave myself a timeout." Jenny laughed. "So you mean you're hiding?" For some reason, she always felt the urge to be bold around Julian-it was like that part of her brain that naturally prevented her mouth from actually saying the first thing that came to her mind somehow shut off around him. But at the same time, she got the feeling that he didn't mind.

"Well . . ." Julian drew out the word. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hands, crumpling it up noisily. Finally, he sighed. "Sort of." Then he patted the stump next to him invitingly. she sank down next to him, knowing better than to ask who he was hiding from.

As they sat together on the bench, Jenny was completely aware of how close her leg was to his. Only about an inch of air separated them. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, listening instead to the faint sounds of the movie in the distance. Weirdly, it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

At last, Julian spoke, his breath visible in the darkness. "This is kind of a cool place. I just wish, you know, it wasn't such a . . . circus." His longish blondish-brown hair was tucked behind his ears, skimming the shoulders of his olive green fleece jacket. Jenny looked down at their feet-his vintage black Tretorns were enormous, especially next to her small, round-toed boots. But somehow, they looked, well, kind of cute together.

"Do you want to go back and watch the movie?" she asked, hoping he'd say no.

He turned his head toward her, the moonlight lighting up his deep brown eyes so that Jenny could practically count the little flecks of gold in them. "No," he answered simply.