Devious (3 page)

Leslie leaned her elbows on the table and took a deep breath. “Well, as you know, I was happy to take you on as an intern, because my last intern completely fucked me over and left me with a shitload of work to get done before Fashion Week.”

“Yes, of course.” Brett leaned forward as well. She didn’t mind running for coffee or making photocopies or even licking envelopes—she just wanted to be at
Vogue
, to feel it all around her. Ever since she’d had her letter to the editor published in
Seventeen
magazine when she was twelve, she’d fantasized about seeing her name in print again. “And I’m happy to do anything.”

“Yes, well.” Leslie coughed. It almost looked like she was trying to keep herself from smiling. “I’m afraid I’ve just been offered a promotion this morning—one that involves my transfer to Italian
Vogue
. I’ll be moving to Milan next week.”

“Oh.” Brett felt her face flush. She certainly couldn’t hold that against Leslie—who wouldn’t want to jump at the chance to live in Italy? “That’s great, isn’t it?”

The smile Leslie had been trying to hide took over her face. “Yes! I’ve been dying to work over there for years—Italian women are so glamorous. And the
men
!” Brett almost spoke up in agreement, but stopped herself. Sebastian was the sexiest guy she’d ever met. Then the pained expression returned to Leslie’s pretty face. “But, as you see, that means… I don’t need you anymore. And it was too late for me to call you and tell you not to come in today.”

“Can’t I help out someone else?” Brett sputtered, caught off guard. “Really, I’m happy to do anything.” Even being a member of the janitorial staff didn’t sound so bad anymore.

Leslie shook her head sadly, pressing her thin lips together so firmly, they almost disappeared. “I asked around, and unfortunately no one really wants a high school intern. No offense!” she added immediately. Brett was still too stunned to really take offense.

She tucked her flaming red hair behind her ears. Suddenly the whole month stretched out before her. She thought she’d be in New York, sleeping on the couch in her sister’s SoHo loft, working at
Vogue
, spending her evenings at poetry readings or sneaking into clubs with her fake ID. Now she had nothing to do.

Except head back to Waverly. And to Sebastian, which was a consolation. But although cuddling with her hot boyfriend might keep her busy, somehow Brett didn’t think she was going to get school credit for it.

“A
re we there yet?” Brandon Buchanan asked, adjusting the red frame backpack he’d borrowed from the Waverly Outing Club higher on his shoulders. He’d been following his roommate, Heath Ferro, through the thick woods that surrounded the Waverly Academy campus for what seemed like hours. “We’ve got to be miles away by now.”

Even beneath his black microfleece hat and Ray-Ban visors, Brandon could read Heath’s look of disgust. “Dude, don’t start with me.”

Brandon sighed inwardly as he followed Heath through the deep snow, pushing bare tree branches out of his face. He’d just gotten back to campus that morning, after his flight from Switzerland was delayed because of a blizzard in the Alps. The ten days after Christmas had been the best of his life, and strangely enough, he had Heath to thank for it. After all, it was Heath who’d bought Brandon the plane ticket to Switzerland to see Hellie Dunderdorf, Professor Dunderdorf’s gorgeous daughter. Brandon had met her over Thanksgiving break, and since then she was the only girl he could even think about. For once, Brandon hadn’t even minded being at home for Christmas, with his bottle-blond stepmother and his annoying three-year-old half brothers. Because twenty-four hours later, he got to hold Hellie in his arms again, kissing her soft, slightly chapped lips. The rest of the trip flew by. The two of them walked hand in hand, exploring the gorgeous campus of Le Rosey, the exclusive boarding school she attended. Or they holed up in her tiny yellow-walled bedroom, keeping each other warm.

By the time Brandon got back to Waverly on Monday morning, jet-lagged but happy, he hadn’t even thought about his Jan Plan proposal. So when Heath offered to let Brandon jump in on his Jan Plan camping trip, Brandon immediately agreed. He figured they’d spend one night in the woods, take some notes about how to start a fire, maybe make a video of themselves rubbing a couple of sticks together. They could flesh it out later with some research about the history of the Rhinecliff Woods or some drawings of oak trees. Brandon had even seen Heath stuff a few packs of freeze-dried astronaut ice cream into his pack. Brandon had always loved that stuff.

And he did have an ulterior motive for joining the trip. He was looking forward to the opportunity to let Heath know—casually, of course—that he was no longer his virginal roommate. The years of Heath teasing Brandon over his sexual inexperience were over.

But as they hiked farther and farther from Waverly’s campus, the gray January sky began to turn purple. “Maybe we should set up camp now, you know?” Brandon said nervously. “It looks like it’s going to snow.”

Heath paused and shot Brandon an appraising look. “Not bad, Buchanan. Good eye. I scoped this spot out this morning.” He pointed to a clump of white birch trees. They stood close together, as if huddling against the cold. “I already set up our camp.”

“You did?” Brandon asked gratefully. He was exhausted and still jet-lagged. He just wanted to light a fire, take some notes for their paper, then curl up in his down-filled sleeping bag and pass out. “Where? I don’t see our tent.”

“Tent?” Heath smacked Brandon across the stomach with a branch he’d just cut with his machete-size Swiss Army knife. “Did you think we were going to spend three weeks in the wild sleeping in a fucking tent?”

Brandon dropped his pack to the ground. “
Three weeks?
What the hell are you talking about?” The sun dipped down behind the horizon, and Brandon felt his feet starting to numb. “I thought we were going to spend a night or two out here and record what we ate and shit. I brought my camera to take some pictures to supplement the paper.”

Heath set his sack down on the back of a large boulder. “Dude, I bought you that plane ticket to Switzerland so you could fucking learn how to man up. Apparently, it didn’t work.”

“This has nothing to do with manning up.” Brandon stared at Heath, wondering if he had finally, literally, lost his mind. “We just can’t live out in the snow for three weeks. And are you trying to say there’s no tent?” Brandon noticed for the first time that the birch trees he’d seen had actually been chopped down and were strapped together with some kind of twine. They were leaning against the boulder to form a crude lean-to.

Carefully, Heath laid the evergreen boughs on the bare ground beneath the birches before turning to Brandon. “Haven’t you ever seen
Man vs. Wild
?”

Brandon pressed his gloves to his eyes. He was exhausted, and Heath was trying to be some kind of Discovery Channel hero? “Heath, that’s the shittiest shelter I’ve ever seen. We’ll freeze to death.”

“I watched three entire seasons of
Man vs. Wild
over break, and that dude does not bring a fucking tent. He doesn’t have hot cocoa or goose-down pillows. He drinks his own piss if he has to.” Heath pounded his fists against his chest like King Kong. “Besides, that shelter is way better than anything
you
could make.”

Brandon inhaled the cold, pine-scented air and tried to get a grip. Whistling off-key, Heath gathered together a small bundle of sticks and set about constructing a fire. Brandon had to admit, his roommate kind of looked like he knew what he was doing.

But then Brandon poked his head inside the lean-to—which was easy, since there was no door. “Anything could just… walk right in.” It was about one degree warmer than being in the open air. “And there’s not exactly room for two people.”

“Chill out, dude. It’s supposed to be small to keep the body heat in. It’s fucking cold out here.”

Brandon groaned, too exhausted to fight. The jet lag was killing him. After he took a nap, he’d convince Heath to head back to campus and watch some more episodes of
Man vs. Wild
in the comfort of the Richards Hall common room instead.

He unrolled his sleeping bag, which felt perilously thin, and lay down on the lumpy evergreen boughs inside the lean-to. He started to doze off while Heath busied himself around the fire. Brandon was dreaming of Hellie, of being curled up next to her in her white cotton short shorts under her covers, when the acrid smell of burnt flesh reached his nose. With a start, he sat up and moved out of the lean-to. Heath was crouched over the fire, holding a long stick with a piece of meat on it.

“What the fuck is that?” Brandon tried to ask, but his face was numb. He slapped his cheeks, hoping he didn’t have frostbite, and moved toward the fire. When he looked up at the sky, he saw fat flakes of snow falling.

“Meat is meat,” Heath said with a devilish grin on his face, which looked strangely frozen, like the Joker’s in
Batman
. “Don’t ask where it came from—just enjoy!” He held the spear out to Brandon. On it was the scrawny red body of a freshly skinned squirrel.

Brandon’s stomach lurched. “That can’t be the only food we have.” Brandon turned away, rubbing his hands over the fire. “Where are the provisions?”

“Those are for emergencies, dumbass.” Heath brought the stinky piece of meat to his mouth and took a tiny bite. “Mmm, tastes like chicken!”

Brandon got to his feet, which were also alarmingly numb. “This is not going to work.” The fire was dying, and it was still fucking cold. His shoulder hurt from leaning against the boulder in the lean-to, where there wasn’t actually enough room to stretch out fully. He wasn’t about to cuddle up with Heath in there. “It’s, like, negative twelve degrees out and I can already feel my organs starting to freeze.” His stomach rumbled. “And I’m not eating anything that you catch.”

Heath stood up as well. “Suck it up, pussy. It’s supposed to stay above zero—for tonight, at least.”

Brandon rubbed his hand on his forehead, which felt like an icebox. “Don’t be an idiot. We can’t stay out here in these conditions, sleeping on the ground under a couple of tied-together tree trunks. We’ll freeze to death!”

“Dude, Bear Grylls survived Iceland! The Alaskan Range! The Andes—and let me tell you, the conditions were a fuck of a lot worse than these.”

Brandon shook his head slowly. “Come on. Let’s go back to campus. We’ll go on some kind of special survivor hike out in the woods tomorrow—but seriously, we’re going to die if we stay out in this tonight.” And the thought of dying out here and never seeing Hellie again seemed like the worst thing on earth to Brandon at that moment.

Heath parked himself down in front of the fire and took another bite of squirrel meat. “I’m staying, man.”

Brandon stared. Heath had that same determined look that crossed his face every time he needed to prove some obnoxious point. “Fine, I’ll let you keep my sleeping bag. You’ll need it.”

Heath scoffed, licking his fingers. “I don’t even need mine.”

“If you’re not back in two days, I’ll send out a search party.” Brandon pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked for reception. The next best thing to having Hellie waiting for him when he got back to his room was a steaming-hot deep-dish pizza from Ritoli’s.

And at least he was man enough to admit it.

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WildernessMan Log: Heath vs. Wild

By Heath Ferro

Day 1

Woke at dawn to scout woods. Found prime location for shelter and built lean-to with birch saplings using ivy vines and trusty titanium Rambo 5.0 Full Tang knife. Too bad no one could see me do it. Returned later to settle in for the night with BB, who quickly pussied out. No worries. HF needs no one.

Noon temp:
24 degrees F. Not so bad.

Food:
Created a snare and caught first squirrel. Cooked him on a stick till he was nice and crispy. Found some dark brown mushrooms beneath the snow for a late-night snack. Nothing more satisfying than catching and eating your own food.

Warmth:
Plenty of wood for the campfire. Pine needles on floor of the shelter provide plenty of cushion. Cold is invigorating!

Mood:
Excellent. Head feels clear. About to fall asleep with a full belly under the stars after a long day of work. All those babies back on campus, curled up under their down comforters, don’t know what they’re missing.

“A
little higher… a little more. Harder, please…. Oh, yes, that’s it,” Tinsley moaned.

“Do you have any idea how dirty that sounds?” Julian McCafferty took his hands off her shoulders mid-massage. Tinsley was sitting backward in Julian’s desk chair, staring out the darkened window, as he worked all the tension out of her shoulders, tight from an early-morning indoor tennis match. The soothing sounds of an old Death Cab for Cutie song emanated from his Bose SoundDock.