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Beers diamond ads. He’d been embarrassed about saying it, but Jenny had known just what he meant. He’d said he didn’t have that now—meaning he didn’t have it with Callie—but that he wanted it. She wondered if maybe he wanted it with
her
.
    “Well, you know about this …
thing
... going on with …” Brett peered closely at Jenny. “You know.” Jenny nodded, so Brett kept going. “But the thing is, he’s not returning my texts or calls.”
    “How long has it been since you guys talked?”
    Brett pretended to have to think about it, but she knew exactly how long it had been. “Two days. I’ve called him twice.” Eleven times, actually, but she didn’t want Jenny to think she was obsessive.
    Outside, the same girls who had been singing “Drop It Like It’s Hot” started loudly elaborating on which Waverly boys were the cutest. “Easy Walsh is so hot!” wafted up to the room, and Jenny’s face immediately flushed.
    Brett smiled. It looked like Jenny definitely had a secret of her own.

    Instant Message Inbox

CelineColista: B, I couldn’t finish my paper on Herodotus. U think Dalton will give me an extension?
BrettMesserschmidt: How would I know? I’m not in your class.
CelineColista: Well u guys are friends, right? Maybe you could put in a good word for me?
BrettMesserschmidt: I work with him on DC … so do you.
CelineColista: But don’t you have, like, private meetings?
BrettMesserschmidt: DC business only.
CelineColista: That’s too bad. I mean, for my extension.

5
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT ENGAGE IN HALLUCINOGENIC ACTIVITIES , ORGANIC OR OTHERWISE .
    “How good did Tinsley look? Like, Jessica Alba in
Sin City
hot?” Ryan Reynolds asked pleadingly. “What was she
wearing
? Why have I not seen her yet?”
    Brandon Buchanan set his sleek black squash bag down on the worn yet polished hardwood floor of the Richards common room. Even draped with teenage boys, the room felt like an old English hunting lodge, with its dark mahogany moldings, forest green walls, and bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes of classics no one had ever heard of. It kind of made Brandon wish he had one of his father’s pipes.
    He rolled his eyes at Julian McCafferty, the tall, long-haired freshman from Seattle who had just come from squash practice with him. Brandon had beaten him, of course, but it was a little too close for him to feel comfortable. Normally, that would have been enough to make Brandon avoid him, but Julian was surprisingly cool. Girls were going to like him too, Brandon thought a little jealously, once he cut his caveman hair.
    “Who’s Tinsley?” Julian asked in a mock whisper. As always, the room was crowded with zoned-out boys, exhausted from sports practice and re-acclimating to school life after their relaxing summers at their country and beach houses. ESPN flashed from the cabinet television in the corner, the sound muted, Brandon assumed, so that they could all gossip about Tinsley. They were worse than girls.
    Everyone chuckled at Julian’s ignorance. “Dude, clearly you’re a freshman,” said Alan St. Girard, the crunchy junior whose parents both taught philosophy at expensive East Coast liberal arts colleges and reportedly owned a marijuana plantation in New Hampshire. He had bushy brown hair and perpetual beard scruff, which the girls found endearing but Brandon thought disgusting. Fucking shave, dude. “She’s only the foxiest girl on the planet.”
    “Isn’t there something in the handbook about her?” asked Teague Williams, his post-soccer practice body dripping sweat on one of the expensive leather armchairs. “Like, ‘Male Waverly Owls, beware this girl. She will tease you and torture you and haunt your dreams with her luscious presence all four years at Waverly and for the rest of your life on earth.’”
    “I can’t wait to meet her.” Julian dropped his maroon Nike squash bag onto the floor and pulled his bleached-out dirty blond hair into a ponytail, using