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directly under one of the iron gas lamps that lined the campus paths, was a girl in a short black jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. A cigarette casually dangled from her lips. Tinsley blinked. Lots of people smoked at Waverly, but no one wanted to get caught doing it. And this girl wasn’t exactly hiding it.
    Then she realized. It was the girl from the chapel stage—the dean’s daughter. A worn-looking gray cap was perched haphazardly on her head, and her wild dark hair peeked out from beneath it.
    The girl looked up. “Hey,” she said, coolly, taking another puff of a cigarette. Tinsley casually dropped her own cigarette butt to the ground and stamped it out with her toe before walking over to the girl.
    “Do you always lurk around in the dark?”
    “Only when I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing.” Tinsley stuffed her gloved hands into her pockets. “But I see
you
don’t have the same healthy fear of authority.”
    “When your daddy’s the dean, you develop warped ideas of what authority is.” The girl laughed. Her heart-shaped face was pale and surprisingly innocent looking. “Nice boots.”
    Immediately, Tinsley felt vindicated. Her boots were just waiting to be appreciated. “Thanks.”
    “I’m Isla,” the girl replied, crossing her legs. She wore a red wool miniskirt, black leggings, and a pair of knee-high Doc Martens.
    “Tinsley Carmichael,” Tinsley replied.
    Isla’s sea green eyes widened, and she leaned forward. A woven copper ring on her right index finger caught Tinsley’s eye. “I was
wondering
when I’d meet the famous Tinsley Carmichael. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    Tinsley laughed lightly, but of course she was flattered by the recognition of her own notoriety. “Don’t believe it all.”
    “That’s a shame. I thought there were going to be some cool people here.” Isla arched one of her thin eyebrows and took another drag of her cigarette. “Don’t worry,” she said as she caught Tinsley’s eyes on the unconcealed cigarette, “one of the perks of being the dean’s daughter is that it’s nearly impossible to get in trouble.”
    Tinsley sat down next to her on the bench. The cold quickly seeped through her jeans, but she didn’t care. “What are the other perks?”
    Isla laughed, one of those loud, carefree, completely infectious laughs. “Have you ever been inside the dean’s house here? It is fucking sweet.” Isla’s wide eyes made her look slightly wild—probably an accurate assessment.
    “I have, actually,” Tinsley admitted proudly, rubbing her arms with her leather-gloved hands. “Once, as a freshman, this guy and I snuck in. It was a weekend Marymount was away, and we raided the wine cellar.”
    Isla nodded, impressed. “Nice.” She got to her feet and flicked her cigarette butt into the snow, where it sizzled out. She straightened her cropped leather jacket. “Any other exciting hiding places on campus?”
    Tinsley grinned and rubbed her hands together, thinking of the times she and Julian sneaked into the Cinephiles screening room to make out. “I just met you. I can’t tell you all my secrets.”
    Isla threw her head back and let out a long laugh that echoed through the quiet night. “Tinsley Carmichael,” she said slowly, lighting another cigarette and taking a long drag. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
     
    Email Inbox
From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Date:
Monday, January 3, 9:15 P.M.
Subject:
Jan Plan
    Ms. Pritchard,
    I know I handed in my Jan Plan proposal this afternoon to do an “outdoor survival” project with Heath Ferro, but after thoughtful consideration I realized I might be better suited to a different project. I know that tomorrow is the deadline for proposals. Is it all right if I e-mail you in the afternoon?
    Thank you,
    Brandon

     
    Email Inbox
From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Date:
Monday, January 3, 10:24