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all about the rest of the planet. She crawled onto his lap, propping the heels of her new black leather Stuart Weitzman boots onto his nightstand, thinking, only fleetingly, what a shame it was to have such hot new boots and no one to gaze at them enviously.
    “You know what I was thinking about?” Julian whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
    Tinsley sighed dramatically, staring up at the giant black-and-white poster of a young Bob Dylan on the wall above Julian’s bed. “I can guess.” Yes, it was going to be so nice to have a whole month of hanging out with Julian, no classes, no responsibilities. She was going to start on her Jan Plan project tomorrow. She’d gotten a fancy new HD Nikon digital SLR camcorder from her father, and she’d been hoping to put together some kind of documentary. Over the summer, after she’d been—temporarily, it turned out—expelled from Waverly, she’d worked with her dad on a documentary about South Africa. Being behind the camera made Tinsley feel creative and powerful. Waverly Academy was, of course, not as exciting as Capetown, but she felt like she could make it work.
    “Listen.” Julian brushed a lock of Tinsley’s dark hair behind her ear, then kissed her earlobe. “I know you’re going to make a film for your Jan Plan, and I was talking to Alan St. Girard and a couple of the guys at lunch. We’re going to try and write a kind of noir boarding-school mystery—you know, kind of Raymond Chandler meets
Carrie
.”
    “That’s such a great idea!” Tinsley exclaimed, tracing her finger along Julian’s jawbone. “You’re the one who thought of it, I’m sure.” She always forgot that Julian was just a freshman—he was so much smarter than any of the boys she knew when she was a freshman.
    He shrugged modestly. “What can I say?”
    Tinsley patted his cheek. “I’m pretty sure Heath Ferro’s Jan Plan freshman year involved interviewing all the girls at Waverly and asking what made them horny.”
    “That’s not a terrible idea, either.” Julian grinned, a tiny dimple appearing beneath the corner of his lips. “But hey, you should work with us on the film. We’ll need a femme fatale, and you could teach us all about directing and setting up shots.”
    “I’m flattered,” Tinsley said slowly. She slid off his lap and sat next to him. “Maybe.”
    Julian tilted his head. “I promise I’ll try to keep them from hitting on you too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
    “That’s not it.” Tinsley stood up. She couldn’t very well tell Julian that it felt like a little
too
much to work on a school project with him—after all, they spent all their time together already. Suddenly Tinsley felt the need for some fresh air. She stretched her arms and grabbed her coat. “Listen, I’m going to run outside and have a cigarette, okay? I’ll be right back.”
    She pulled on her brown wool herringbone Joie coat and tightened the belt. It was visitation hours, so girls were allowed in the boys’ dorm, but doors were supposed to stay open. According to the ancient Waverly handbook, which read like a fussy girls’ finishing-school manual from the 1800s, three feet had to be on the floor at all times in mixed company.
    “Hurry back.”
    Tinsley rushed outside, grateful for the cool burst of air against her skin. She hadn’t realized how warm it was inside Julian’s room until she was out in the dark evening. She pulled the half-crushed pack of American Spirits from her coat pocket and stuck one between her lips, automatically glancing around for teachers. She stuck to the shadows of Wolcott Hall, trying not to step in any mud. In the distance, she saw a couple of girls hurrying across the quad. In their impractically short skirts and high heels, they were clearly on their way to a party.
    Tinsley wandered around the corner of the building, letting the cigarette smoke seep into her lungs and relax her. There, sitting on a bench