It Girl | Chapter 22 of 52

Author: Cecily von Ziegesar | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 12957 Views | Add a Review

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15

A WAVERLY OWL SHOULD ALWAYS
TAKE THE MORAL HIGH ROAD.

Easy saw Callie leaning up against the storefront, nervously fiddling with her bamboo-handled Gucci bag and holding an unlit cigarette. It was a warm afternoon, and she was wearing a colorful flimsy shirt and matching skirt. Rhinecliff locals—mostly scraggly-haired hippie artists—were milling about the cobblestone street, eating strawberry ice cream cones from the creamery and stopping to talk to Hank, the guy who sold tie-dyed T-shirts and incense on the sidewalk. Easy doubted the hippies were talking to Hank for the incense, though. Hank sold pot to plenty of Waverly students, including Easy. He’d already waved his hello.

“Well, look who’s here,” Callie said sarcastically.

Easy didn’t answer. They were in front of Pimpernel’s, a frou-frou boutique Callie deigned to shop at. It was the only store in Rhinecliff that didn’t usually sell tie-dyed shirts—and when it did, they were silk, sequined, and cost $300. The last time he’d been here, Easy had spent the whole time examining a tiny pink knitted socklike thing that cost $360, trying to figure out what it could possibly be. A nose warmer? A bag for pot? A snuggly condom? Callie had finally informed him that it was a cashmere dog bootie.

It was important that he talk to Callie, though, so here he was. “We’re in trouble,” he announced flatly.

Callie examined her freshly manicured nails. “We, huh?”

Easy scowled. “Of course we. And why did I see Jenny Humphrey come out of Dalton’s office? Was it for last night? She had nothing to do with this.”

“Well, Ms. Emory called me in too. And if you must know, yes, Jenny was in there because of last night. It’s not like I can take the rap. The E thing, remember? My parents would dis-own me and send me to NASCAR school!”

“What are you talking about?” Easy demanded, rubbing the unshaven sides of his face.

Callie shook her mane of blond hair off the back of her neck. “Look, I don’t want to get kicked out. So I said you were there with Jenny and that we were broken up.”

“What?” Easy asked, stunned. Callie shrugged and pushed open the door to the store. Chimes jingled to announce their arrival.

“Sweetheart! Welcome back!” shrieked a very tall, very thin woman with slicked-back blond hair as soon as they stepped through the door.

“Hi, Tracey!” Callie cooed. They kissed each other’s cheeks in a well-rehearsed routine. Easy hung back, wanting out. Immediately. Shopping, screaming girls, cashmere dog booties— so not his thing. Why had he come? He should be enjoying his last days at Waverly.

“I held some things for you over the summer.” Tracey beck-oned, whisking Callie and Easy into a little back alcove. She brought out a garment rack of shiny dresses, skirts, and blouses. She held up an ivory Donna Karan gown. “Isn’t this pretty?”

Easy turned his head to the side to read the price tag: $2,250.

“Oh, yes,” Callie breathed. She didn’t seem at all concerned that she’d gotten her new roommate in trouble or that she’d lied to the administration. Nope. All she was worried about was whether this dress came in a small enough size.

“You could practically wear this to your wedding!” Tracey shoved the dress up against Callie’s body.

“If you were a hooker,” Easy added rudely. He plopped down onto the lavender couch, pulling a frilly, pink-lace pillow out from under his ass.

Callie rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she sighed at Tracey. “They know nothing!” Then she walked over and stroked Easy’s arm. “So, was Dalton mean to you?”

“He said I might get kicked out.”

“Oh, but you won’t. You’re a legacy. They never kick out legacies.” Easy saw a flicker of worry cross her face as she gathered up the dresses Tracey had given her to try on.

“I don’t know,” he responded as she closed the pink dressing room door. “What if they decide to set a new precedent?”

“They won’t,” Callie insisted determinedly, throwing her nude La Perla bra over the top of the dressing room door. It looked flimsy and a little sad. “You’re definitely safe.”

“So you’re just going to let Jenny take the rap for you then?”

“Why not? Mr. Pardee caught her, after all. And she’s pre-pared. We discussed it.”

Easy sighed. “You know, Dalton told me she didn’t say one way or another what happened. So what if she tells?”

“She won’t,” Callie called back, her voice cracking with forced determination.

Easy sat back. The shopkeeper, Tracey, stared at his Converse high-tops, which he’d propped up on the store’s lavender velvet ottoman. What, was he not supposed to put his feet there? Tough.

Suddenly, Callie stuck her head out of the dressing room door. “Sweetie? I need you to do me a teeny, tiny little favor.”

“What?” If it was to help her untangle her thong or zip something up, he really wasn’t in the mood.

Callie’s eyes met his. “Well . . .” She curled a strand of blond hair around her forefinger. “If Jenny’s going to take the rap for me—and I’m sure she will—we need things to look . . . believable.”

“Believable?”

“You know. Like something actually happened between you two.”

Easy rolled his jaw around incredulously, staring at her.

“So,” Callie breezed ahead, “this might sound weird, but I’m wondering if you might flirt with her a little. You know, maybe if you two acted like you liked each other. Just a little.”

“You’re asking me to flirt with another girl?” Easy laughed, taking his feet off the velvet ottoman. “Have you forgotten you’re the most jealous person on the planet?”

Callie closed the door again and slung the dress she’d just been wearing over the top. “I am not jealous,” she retorted.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Flirt. Be nice to her. Friendly.”

With the dressing room door closed, Callie’s view of Easy was obscured. But if she could have seen him, she might have been confused by the seemingly huge, googly grin on his face and the rising color spreading up his neck to his cheeks.

When she stuck her head out of the door again, he’d managed to compose himself.

“Does that really sound so bad? You’re not going to get kicked out of school. That’s just silly. But you were already seen by Mr. Pardee in the dorm, so you’re already in trouble. It wouldn’t hurt to make it a teensy bit believable, would it?”

“Well, they’re right!” Easy put his hands in the air helplessly.

She jiggled up and down out of frustration, and Easy looked at her chest for a second. “Sweetie, please? Wouldn’t that be awful if I got kicked out?”

“But what if I get kicked out?”

Callie screwed up her face. “You won’t,” she said firmly. “I already told you that.”

Easy hesitated. Was it possible that Callie had somehow seen him sitting on Jenny’s bed last night, touching her back, and that this was all a test? Better to play it like he wasn’t sure about the idea—although inside, of course, his whole body felt like it had been struck by lightning. Was it really possible that his girlfriend was actually asking him to get to know the girl he was digging? “This doesn’t sound very moral,” he answered stoically, keeping the shit-eating smile off his face.

“Moral?” She slammed the door shut again. “Are we forgetting about how you stole me away from Brandon Buchanan last year? Right out from under his nose?”

“So?”

“That wasn’t exactly moral, was it?”

Easy shrugged.

“Anyway,” Callie continued, “I’m going to tell Jenny about it, too. It’s not like I’m asking you to make out with her or anything. Will you please just do this for me?”

“I . . .” Easy croaked. She wasn’t testing him. She was serious. He really was the fucking luckiest guy in the world.

Callie opened the door, wearing the white Donna Karan dress. She looked like Boarding-School-Bitch Barbie on her wedding day. “So you’ll do it?” she asked. He slowly nodded, and she broke into a smile. “Thank you, sweetie. It’ll be a humungous help.”

No, no, Easy thought. Thank you.

art

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Thursday, September 5, 12:15 P.M.

Subject: Miss you

Hi Dad,

I just had my first English class. My teacher read part of "Howl" aloud and it made me think of when we snuck your gross-looking but yummy oatmeal cookies into that weird movie place and watched that documentary on Allen Ginsberg. I loved that day.

Field hockey tryouts were yesterday and you're not going to believe this but I'm a total natural. Did you secretly coach a hockey for beat poets team or something? Because I don’t know where I get it from . . . .

I’m still adjusting to everything here—it’s different from the city and Constance in so many ways. Smells much better and there are no roaches, but there are lots of RULES—I’m still learning what they are . . . . Let’s hope I pick up on them as quickly as field hockey.

Have you heard from Dan?? I admit I even miss him sometimes.

Hugs and kisses!

Love you,

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Alice
Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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