“You suck, Buchanan,” Julian spat as he threw his tall body across the blond wood squash court in a feeble effort to return the perfectly placed drop shot Brandon had just unloaded. He crashed into the smudged white wall of the court as the ball dropped harmlessly in front of him.
“How come I just kicked your ass then?” Brandon let his racquet clatter to the ground and stretched a sweaty hand out to where Julian was sprawled, panting, on the floor. Julian took it and stood up with a groan. On the other courts the thwacking sounds of squash balls hitting racquets, walls, and sweaty boys continued, but Brandon had just beaten Julian, the second-best player on the team, for the fourth game in the row. It was one of the best feelings in the world when everything about his game seemed to be working for him—when his reflexes were instantaneous, when his shots were all slapped at exactly the right angle, when he could almost tell where the ball was going to land even before his opponent hit it. He was just …
on
. Maybe it had something to do with the sexy text message he’d gotten from Elizabeth right before practice?
“Yeah, whatever.” Julian shook Brandon’s hand good-naturedly before wiping his once-white wristband against his glistening forehead. “Just wait until next time.” “Do you think maybe your incredible losing streak to me may have something to do with that girly thing on your head?” Brandon gestured toward Julian’s ponytail. Was the Tom-Cruise-in-
Magnolia
look ever a good idea? Was any Tom Cruise look
ever
a good idea? Brandon pushed open the court door and started to head toward the water fountain.
“Nice game, sexy.” Startled, Brandon looked up toward the three benches that served as bleachers (there were never that many spectators for squash games) and noticed Elizabeth sitting on the middle one, wearing a denim miniskirt that looked like she had cut it off herself, black tights, and a scoop-neck black leotard top. The heels of her mid-calf Doc Martens were perched almost delicately on the edge of the bench below her. Her dirty blond hair spilled across her shoulders as she pulled her white earphones out of her silver-studded ears.
Brandon hadn’t realized he was staring at her until Julian nudged him in the ribs. “
Hey
.” Brandon started over to her, still a little astonished at the sight of her somewhere as banal as the squash courts. It was almost as if he had conjured her up, since he’d been thinking about her nonstop since their make-out session in her room yesterday. She was just so hot, and sweet. And funny, and— “What are you doing here?” Brandon asked, suddenly self-conscious of the fact that he was practically dripping with sweat. He swiped his wristband across his face quickly.
“Watching you wipe the floor with that poor kid.” Her brown eyes twinkled amusedly as Brandon slid toward her on the bleacher.
He swelled with pride but was grateful he hadn’t noticed Elizabeth—and her sexy legs—sooner, as it probably would have distracted him. Callie had come to watch him play in one of the big tournaments once, and Brandon had been so self-conscious the entire time he’d gotten completely crushed by this kid from Deerfield whom he’d destroyed the last five times they’d played, much to the detriment of his masculine pride. Callie had tried to cheer him up afterward, telling him it hadn’t been so bad, but Brandon could detect the hint of disappointment in her pretty face—and he could almost hear her control-freak mother chiding, “Vernons do not date losers.” Callie had actually canceled their plans for that night, saying she’d forgotten that it was the season finale of
America’s Next Top Model
. He decided to take it as a good omen that his and Elizabeth’s relationship was starting off on the right foot.
“Thanks. You’re looking pretty good yourself, you know.” “And I’m just sitting here.” Elizabeth winked at him. “So, uh, is your practice over? Can you hang out?” Before he could answer, Brian Atherton, a senior who called everyone on the team “dude” and who shaved his head in a vain attempt to disguise his premature balding, threw an arm around Brandon’s shoulders as if they were best friends instead of just reluctantly civil teammates. “Dude,” Atherton intoned, his mouth practically hanging open at the sight of Elizabeth, “this your girlfriend?” Brandon noticed suddenly that the courts were noticeably quieter, no longer ringing with the sounds of cursing boys or of racquets clattering against the walls. Brandon casually eased himself out from under Atherton’s weighty arm and replied without really thinking about it. “Yeah. This is Elizabeth.” He tilted his head toward Atherton. “This is Atherton.” Atherton propped one of his sneakers up on the lowest bench and pretended to stretch out his calf muscle. “So how come you’re with this kid?” he asked incredulously, his eyes greedily taking in her partly bare shoulders as he squeezed his water bottle into his mouth. Brandon had seen him stare that exact same way at a Big Mac after an away match once. Disgusting.
Elizabeth stared straight back at Atherton, apparently unimpressed. She shrugged and smiled, the dimple beneath her lips deepening impishly. Brandon caught her eye and could tell something was wrong. He quickly shoved Atherton aside and swooped her out the door.
“You okay?” Brandon asked, once the heavy doors of the squash complex clicked shut behind them. The cool air felt good on his hot skin as he stuffed his wristbands into the outer pocket of his black vinyl squash bag. “Sorry about Atherton. He’s kind of an ass.” He looked down and realized he was still wearing his court sneakers. They were technically not supposed to be worn outside the courts—the squash complex was a new, expensive addition to Waverly, and there were threatening signs posted everywhere.
“Yeah.” Elizabeth touched her hair distractedly and tugged on her leather bomber jacket. She zipped it up, shutting off Brandon’s view of that insanely enticing collarbone. “Um, you’re really special to me… .”
Uh-oh.
He turned to face her. She hadn’t come all the way over to break up with him, had she? “But … just the word ‘girlfriend’ sort of made me cringe, you know?” She bit her lip.
“Um, okay …” Brandon had no idea what was happening. He wasn’t even the one who had used the term “girlfriend”—but that was kind of what she was, wasn’t she? Except … now she was saying she didn’t want to be?
Elizabeth placed a hand on his bare arm, and he stared down wordlessly at her pale pink nails as she squeezed him gently. She had no business touching him like that if she was breaking up with him.
And yet, she didn’t move her hand away. In fact, she started stroking her thumb against his wrist, and Brandon had to try really hard not to get completely turned on. “So, what are you saying, exactly?” he asked, sort of awkwardly.
“I’m just saying I need to be kind of, you know,
open
about these things.” Her brown eyes stared up at him through their thick, dark web of lashes. “I just hate to feel … trapped?” Her eyes searched his, looking for understanding.
Wait, what? So, she wasn’t breaking up with him—she was just saying she wanted to um,
study
, with other people?
“What do you think about that?” Elizabeth whispered, scooting a little closer toward him so that the honey-and-incense smell of her hair sent him reeling back to yesterday afternoon in her room.
And suddenly, Brandon wasn’t exactly thinking.
Email Inbox
To:
Women of Waverly; [email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
Thursday, October 10, 4:45 P.M.
Subject:
Women of Waverly meeting
Ladies (and Heath),
The second official WoW meeting will be held tonight at 7 P.M. The atrium is booked, so we can all meet in my room (Dumbarton 107) if you don’t mind cramming in!
Thanks for making the first one such a success—spread the word about tonight, and don’t be afraid to bring your questions! Tonight’s topic is
LOVE
.
Heath—you’re welcome to come, but, as it’ll be after visitation hours, don’t get caught.
xo,
Kara
Email Inbox
To:
[email protected]; Women of Waverly
From:
[email protected]
Date:
Thursday, October 10, 4:51 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Women of Waverly meeting
Have no fear, my dears—I will come bearing gifts for my fellow girls!! xxx, H.F.
Email Inbox
To:
Julian [email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
Thursday, October 10, 4:59 P.M.
Subject:
Signal
Not sure what happened to you yesterday, but it’s your lucky day—I’m giving you a second chance. Don’t stand me up again or you’ll be sorry.
Kisses!
T
Brett dropped the last of the beanbags from the upstairs lounge area onto Kara’s dorm room floor and straightened, lightly massaging her shoulder with her hand. In preparation for the Women of Waverly meeting, they’d dragged a half-dozen of the lumpy things from the lounge and somehow squeezed them all into the now-tight space, so the room was a sea of huge, brightly colored vinyl balls. Kara flopped down into a dark blue beanbag chair. Brett had always hated the things—except now they seemed kind of, well, sexy. Hesitating only slightly, she sat down next to Kara, her body weight bobbling the two of them a bit, and making them giggle. Talking with Jenny this afternoon had made Brett feel more comfortable about the whole thing. Not that she’d been feeling
uncomfortable,
exactly, but still.
“What are we going to talk about at the meeting tonight?”
Brett asked, conscious of the fact that their arms were touching. She felt the filler in the beanbag shift a little, and she sank even closer to Kara so that their legs were touching too.
Kara twisted her silver chain necklace so that the clasp ended up back where it belonged. Her nails were painted a pale pink, a color that made Brett think of her own Pinkie Swear Crazy Daisy, and chipped at the ends. She had on no other makeup, and she didn’t need it. She had tiny, pale freckles sprinkled across the tops of her cheeks, so faint you only noticed them when you were really close to her. Like Brett was now. “The theme is love, so maybe we could talk about different kinds of love?” Kara suggested, her eyebrows delicately arched.
“Um …” But Brett couldn’t think about anything but kissing Kara again, and before saying anything else, she leaned in toward her. Kara obviously wasn’t shocked, and her lips moved instinctively against Brett’s, sending shivers down her spine. She tried not to compare kissing Kara to kissing Jeremiah, but she couldn’t help it—it was like she’d been eating apples all her life, and now she’d tried brussels sprouts after a lifetime of thinking she hated them, only to find that they were sweeter than sugar. Kara’s lips were just so soft. And she was an excellent kisser. Brett’s hand rose to touch Kara’s cheek.
“Ta-da!!!”
The girls pulled apart, surprised, and turned to find Heath Ferro standing in Kara’s doorway, in … drag. He had on a long, dirty blond wig and enormous brown-tinted Gucci sunglasses, which he pulled off his face the second he saw the two girls entwined. “Holy fucking shit!”
Brett leapt to her feet first, her face on fire. “Close the door, asshole,” she hissed at him but then sprang toward it and closed it herself. “What the hell are you doing here?” Heath clasped his hands to his mouth. His eyes were all bugged out with excitement, and if the situation hadn’t been so serious, Brett probably would have laughed at the fact that he kind of did look like a girl in that wig—a pretty one, even. He wasn’t dressed like a girl, though, wearing a pair of beat-up khakis and a tight black T-shirt that clearly revealed his lack of breasts. But maybe at first glance, someone might take him for one. “Don’t let me interrupt you, please. That was, like, the hottest thing I have ever seen!” “Heath, you can
not
tell anyone about this.” Brett pressed her hands to her temples, meeting Kara’s equally panicked eyes across the room. “I am
serious
. You have to swear, okay?” Crazily, even in her freaked-out state Brett couldn’t help but notice how pretty Kara looked when she was scared.
Heath tucked the sunglasses absentmindedly into his shirt collar, an elated smile still spread across his face. He looked like he had just walked into the Playboy Mansion. “I promise—really, I swear to everything I have ever loved—I won’t tell anyone about this. Ever.” He looked at the two girls earnestly and then fumbled through his backpack for something, at last pulling out … a digital camera. “As long as I can have one picture?” “What?” Brett pressed her lips together, annoyed. But as she looked at Heath’s eager, kid-in-a-candy-store face, she began to sense that he didn’t pose a real threat after all—at least, not as long as he was kept amused. Brett tapped the toe of her tan suede Campers against the polished wood floor.
“No fucking way.” Kara shook her head at Heath from her seat on the beanbag, leaning back. She smoothed out her short black skirt, and Brett could feel Heath watching her intently, to see if
she
was looking at Kara’s legs. Boys.
“Come on, one little picture. That’s all I’m asking, in exchange for keeping your secret.” Heath glanced back and forth between the girls, absentmindedly tugging the hair of his blond wig. “Puh-lease? You guys are so fucking hot together.” Brett finally caught Kara’s eyes and tried to send her a message with her own.
Just follow my lead,
she tried to say. “Well …” Brett rubbed her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe just one.” If that was all it took to keep Heath Ferro’s mouth shut, it really wasn’t a high price to pay.