Unforgettable (10 page)

“’Kay.” She paused. “Snack bar afterward?” she added quietly. Dining services had a system where if you had to miss dinner—because of an away game, or a late practice, or what ever—you could use your dinner points at the Maxwell snack bar any time in the evening. Last year, she and Easy would always meet at the stables after practice and fool around for hours, until the dining hall was closed, and then, starving, head over to the snack bar and eat French fries and hummus wraps.

“I’ll even buy you a strawberry milkshake,” Easy promised, his eyes twinkling.

“Deal.” She nodded her head definitively. Milkshakes were her favorite.

“So you’ll meet me at my spot in the woods? It’s—” Callie cut him off. “I know where it is, Easy.” Right by where the boys had gone hunting for mushrooms. She and Tinsley had walked out that way one day, and as soon as Callie had seen the little enclosed field with all the wildflowers and the funky rocks, she had
known
that that was Easy’s secret spot. She’d thumbed through his sketchbooks sometimes, looking at his weird but beautiful drawings of trees and leaves and cigarette butts—he managed to make everything look beautiful.

And now he was going to draw her. Callie felt a little chill and heard the tweet of a whistle in the distance. “Shit,” she muttered. “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you later.” She grabbed her lacrosse stick and dashed off toward the fields, knowing that Smail was going to make her do an extra lap around the field for being late.

But it was kind of worth it.

Once the yellow taxi pulled away and left Brandon standing alone in front of St. Lucius’s moss-covered front gate, he realized he’d gotten so carried away with his grand romantic gesture that he’d overlooked the most important part of the plan—he didn’t know where to find Elizabeth. He took a few steps toward what looked like dorms, aware that the students milling about were definitely staring at him.

St. Lucius was like bizarro-Waverly—the same red brick, ivy, and brilliant oak trees surrounding the enormous quad, and yet not one familiar face. He’d bought a bunch of orchids in downtown Rhinecliff—roses were too conventional, daisies too boring—and now he suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Students were definitely gawking at him as he held the enormous cone of fuchsia and white flowers away from his chest so as not to crush them. He felt like Forrest Gump with his box of chocolates. Well, whatever. Had they never seen a guy bring a girl flowers before?

Two girls in short jean skirts and matching purple regulation St. Lucius blazers approached Brandon on the cobblestone path. Judging from the worn-out look of their blazers, they had to be upperclassmen. “Excuse me …” Brandon accosted them, trying to look as inoffensive as possible. “Do you happen to know which one is Elizabeth Jacobs’s dorm?” The girls, both thin, lanky blondes, exchanged glances. The one with a navy velvet headband spoke first in a nasal, Long Island accent. “Are those for her?” she asked, glancing at the flowers.

“Did her goldfish die or something?” the other asked, her unseasonably tan forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Brandon was taken aback. Did they not have manners here? “Uh, yeah, actually. They are.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly, trying to remind the girls of his question. “But, um, no. I think her, uh, goldfish is fine.” “That’s really sweet.” Velvet headband suppressed a giggle. “She’s in my dorm. Emerson.” She pointed toward a white stone building next to a thatch of birch trees with sunflower yellow leaves. “Room 101—right inside, to the left.” “Thank you.” Brandon headed that way, relieved that things were working out. Over his shoulder he heard the second girl trill out, “Good luck!” Brandon made his way down the path, still sort of weirded out by being in a place that looked like Waverly and smelled like Waverly but wasn’t. He paused briefly at the front door of the building to read the quote, presumably from Emerson, inscribed above the doorway: DO
NOT
GO
WHERE
THE
PATH

MAY
LEAD
, GO
INSTEAD
WHERE
THERE
IS NO
PATH
AND
LEAVE

A
TRAIL
. “He couldn’t help smiling as he opened the heavy green door. That quote reminded him of Elizabeth, and the way she seemed to do whatever the hell she wanted.

In front of room 101, he paused to collect himself, swiping one hand through his hair nervously. Then, just as he was about to knock, he heard the sounds of laughter coming from inside—
two
people’s laughter. One sounded like Elizabeth, but the other was definitely a guy. What was going on? Panic shot through his veins, his get-the-hell-out-of-here instincts going into effect. He looked down stupidly at the orchids.

But then he thought,
What the hell?
He’d just spent forty dollars on flowers, and twenty dollars on a cab over here. What was he going to do, turn around and walk right out? Have the same cab driver come pick him up, along with his sad bouquet of flowers? Would Walsh do that? He didn’t think so.
Have the balls to knock, Buchanan,
he told himself with a brisk nod. And so he raised his hand and knocked on the dark oak door, right under the Greenpeace bumper sticker.

The door opened quickly, and Elizabeth, looking like she was in the middle of a laugh, answered, wearing a pair of low-rise jeans that hung loosely at her hips and a slightly cropped gray T-shirt that revealed the tiny diamond stud in her belly button. Before Brandon had time to properly admire it, Elizabeth’s face changed from surprise to delight, and she threw her arms around his neck, almost crushing the flowers.

“Brandon!” she cried just before giving him a huge, wet, hot French kiss. Well, that was more like it. When she finally pulled away, Brandon felt a little dizzy. Why had he waited so long to come and see her?

And then he noticed the guy sitting on her bed.

Elizabeth tugged Brandon into her room, which turned out to be a surprisingly spacious single. “Come on in!” she said gleefully, her loose blond hair just grazing her shoulders. “It’s so good to see you.” She seemed to remember the other guy. “Oh. This is Morgan. We were just studying.” Elizabeth gave Morgan a raised eyebrow, and he quickly stood up. He was wearing a flannel T-shirt and a pair of corduroys with holes in the knees, and no shoes. Or socks. But he nodded politely at Brandon and didn’t seem too upset about getting chased out.

“Later,” he said, directed at both of them, before disappearing out the door. Where the hell were his shoes? Brandon wondered, staring at the royal blue shag rug. And where were the, uh, books? What exactly were they “studying”?

But before he could give the topic any more thought, Elizabeth was right at his side. “These are gorgeous,” she cooed, closing her eyes and sniffing the orchids. “They look like poetry.” Brandon felt himself blushing. “Glad you like them. Roses seemed a little too conventional.” He watched as she took the flowers out of their wrapping and delicately placed them in a half-full Nalgene water bottle sitting on her computer desk. Well, that was one way to do it.

“You know me already, don’t you?” She gave him a knowing look before setting the bottle down on her surprisingly neat desk. She quickly returned to Brandon’s arms and pressed her soft lips to his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured throatily.

Brandon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Uh, I like your room.” His eyes raced around the high-ceilinged space. Everything about it seemed sexy and Elizabeth-like, from the sleek iMac on her desk to the disorganized stack of Post-it-filled poetry books on her nightstand to the navy-and-turquoise tapestry thumbtacked to the wall. On the bulletin board were photos of Elizabeth all over the world, backpacking through Europe, on safari in Africa, even one on the Great Wall of China. And he couldn’t help but notice lots of pictures of her partying with friends—who happened to be mostly male. She sure seemed to have a lot of guy friends.

Elizabeth placed her palms against Brandon’s chest, and with a devious smile on her pretty face, pushed him down onto the soft cottony comforter on the bed. “It was totally sweet of you to come all the way over here.” She lay down next to him and started stroking his chest. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she purred. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back with tiny blue plastic barrettes, the kind that little girls usually wear, and her wide-set brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Oh, yeah?” Brandon couldn’t help feeling that, well, maybe that other guy—what was his name? Morgan? What kind of girly name was that, anyway?—was no big deal. After all, Eliz-abeth had kissed Brandon right in front of him, so she clearly wasn’t worried about his feelings. And now, as Elizabeth was nibbling on Brandon’s ear, she clearly wasn’t thinking about Morgan. So why should he? Right?
Riiiight
.

Instant Message Inbox

TinsleyCarmichael:
Hey sexy. Whatcha doin’?

JulianMcCafferty:
Headed to squash practice. You?

TinsleyCarmichael:
I’m being deviant and skipping tennis. Heading back to my empty room in Dumbarton now… . Hint, hint.

JulianMcCafferty:
Do you still have my lighter?

TinsleyCarmichael:
Uh, what?

JulianMcCafferty:
Never mind.

TinsleyCarmichael:
Just come over, okay? I’ll make you forget about your lighter. And hurry. I’ve been thinking about you all day… .

JulianMcCafferty:
I’ll be there in thirty seconds.

“So, um, Justin Timberlake or John Mayer?” Jenny asked a little shyly as she and Callie trundled home from field hockey practice in the early evening light, a cool breeze tousling their sweat-dampened ponytails and sending brightly colored leaves scuttling their way. Jenny’s legs were pleasantly exhausted from the exercise—Smail had run them hard today in preparation for their game this weekend against St. Lucius, whose field hockey team was Waverly’s league rival. After about ten minutes of warm-up drills, Jenny and most of the girls had shed their Adidas track pants and sweatshirts, despite its feeling about twenty degrees out. It felt good now, as Jenny’s heart rate was returning to normal and the chilly breeze cooled her still-hot skin. Brett had been a no-show at practice, and for some reason it didn’t feel at all awkward when Jenny and Callie headed back to the dorm together alone. She felt like they’d really been getting to know each other this past week, and not just because of the silly questions Jenny was asking her now. (Coke or Pepsi: “Diet Pepsi.” Cats or dogs? “Cats, but only black ones.” Kirsten Dunst or Scarlett Johannson: “Kirsten, but with Scarlett’s voice.”) “So?” Jenny prompted. “Justin Timberlake or John Mayer?” she repeated.

Callie, still wearing her grass-stained sweatpants, her sweatshirt tied loosely around her thin waist, twirled her Brine field hockey stick in one hand and snorted with laughter. “Are we talking music, or, like, who I’d rather make out with?” Jenny tilted her orange Nalgene bottle and let the last drops of water trickle into her mouth. “Make out with. Definitely,” she clarified.

“No contest.” Callie swatted at a pebble with her stick, sending it ricocheting through the grass. “Justin Timberlake looks like he’d know exactly how to kiss me. Mmm.” Two months ago, Jenny would have been mortified by the idea of walking across a campus full of boys—cute, well-dressed, smart boys—and perfect, preppy, pretty girls, in a grass-stained T-shirt and gym shorts. But now she couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t matter. This was the boarding school way of life—wholesome, healthy, natural, and sometimes sweat-filled. She loved it.

“Really?” Jenny’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she was starving. “I’d definitely go for John Mayer. I guess I like …” She awkwardly trailed off, realizing she had just been about to say
that dark, sensitive, artsy type.
I.e., that Easy Walsh type. Not

like she couldn’t mention Easy, exactly—they’d talked about him plenty of times by now—but more like she didn’t want to ruin the mood by bringing him in. Jenny bent down to tie her shoelace, pretending that was the reason she’d forgotten to complete her sentence.

Callie nodded absently as she climbed the front steps of the dorm. “Hey, I’m going to go in, okay? I’ve got to jump in the shower before heading to the, uh, library.” “Sure.” Jenny responded equally absently, noticing someone moving behind one of the emerald green, carved topiaries that lined the wall of Dumbarton. It was
Julian
. Hanging out around the girls’ dorm again. Jenny waved goodbye to Callie and headed toward the bushes. Despite all her thoughts about being sweaty as a wholesome, natural part of boarding school life, she quickly pulled the elastic from her hair and shook her head, letting her dark curls fall around her shoulders—that was a little better at least.

Julian was standing there with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the ivy-covered wall, looking a little flustered. He was wearing a pale green T-shirt that said, in retro yellow letters,
IT’S
NOT
WHAT
YOU’RE
THINKING
, and an unzipped royal blue track jacket with white stripes down the sleeves.

“Hark!” Jenny said, holding her field hockey stick out like a sword, the tip pointed directly at the lettering on Julian’s chest. They’d just finished
Hamlet
in Miss Rose’s class, and she was still in a Shakespearean state of mind. “Who goes there?” He raised his eyebrows and did a Humphrey Bogart kind of voice. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”