asleep this morning for about 45 minutes. Thought it might be frostbite, but eventually feeling returned. Slept w/ BB’s sleeping bag wrapped around mine. Helped a little.
Mood: Keep hoping more skiers will come around. Or snowshoers. Gets kind of quiet listening to birds chirp. Kind of lonely, too. But that’s what you’ve gotta deal with when you’re a WildernessMan.
14
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT DRINK IN HER DORM ROOM—OR IN THE DEAN’S DAUGHTER’S ROOM .
“D on’t even
think
about leaving yet.” Isla pressed herself against the closed door of her bedroom on the first floor of the dean’s house. The room was very non-Isla—the white four-poster bed was covered with a faded floral quilt trimmed with lace, and frilly white curtains draped across the windows. The walls were painted a shade of cotton-candy pink that only a five-year-old girl who dreamed of being a princess could love. “I’ve got something that’s only fun when shared.”
“That sounds intriguing,” Tinsley replied, flicking open her phone to check the time. “But I’m supposed to meet Julian soon.” They were meeting up in half an hour, and she definitely didn’t want to be late. It was Wednesday night, and she’d somehow managed to not see him at all for the past few days. She’d been so busy with Isla, scouting places around campus for photo shoots. They’d just come back from pawing through the overcrowded racks at Next to New, the secondhand clothing store in town, to drop off their bags of loot onto Isla’s shaggy white rug.
“Come on.” Isla threw her jacket onto her bed and opened the top drawer of her antique-looking bureau. Isla pulled out a bottle of Ketel One from under a pair of black silk pajamas. “We’ve been working all day. You need to chill out a little first.”
Tinsley considered. She could use a pick-me-up—and there was something really illicit and exciting about drinking in the dean’s house. Especially when he and his wife were playing backgammon in the living room. “How can I refuse? And nice room, by the way,” Tinsley added, giggling.
The room was neat and clean, the only decoration on the pink walls one of the Waverly calendars sent out to parents and alumni. It was filled with scenic campus pictures and “candids” of students looking well fed and healthy in the library and on the quad.
“I think Marymount had a kindergartener with a princess complex.” Isla laughed as she grabbed two shot glasses from the drawer. She set the glasses and the bottle on the floor next to a rocking chair. “I kind of dig it. It makes me feel like I’m living in a dollhouse. Besides, it was the only bedroom on the first floor, so I had to take advantage.” Isla poured a generous shot of vodka into each of the shot glasses and handed one to Tinsley.
Tinsley sat down on the shaggy white rug and tucked her black tiered Charlotte Ronson skirt around her knees. “Funny, I never saw a dollhouse with a shot glass like this,” she laughed, examining her glass. Imprinted on the side was a picture of a hula girl holding up a wreath of flowers over the words
I got lei’d in Maui
.
“I collect them,” Isla said proudly, holding up her own glass, which was imprinted with Cyrillic-looking writing. “It says ‘Russian girls do it better.’” She shrugged. “I’m half Russian, so I guess I do it half better.”
“What are we drinking to?” Tinsley asked, clinking her shot glass against Isla’s.
“To new friends.” Isla smiled deviously.
Tinsley tossed the liquid down her throat, enjoying the burn. “And to making people stare.”
Isla laughed and walked to her closet, pulling off her sweater in a rush of static. She hung it neatly on a hook before throwing on a plain white men’s dress shirt, only buttoning half the buttons. Tinsley had always wished she had a brother: not only did it guarantee cute boys around the house, but she also loved wearing men’s shirts, and just buying a new white men’s
Mood: Keep hoping more skiers will come around. Or snowshoers. Gets kind of quiet listening to birds chirp. Kind of lonely, too. But that’s what you’ve gotta deal with when you’re a WildernessMan.
14
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT DRINK IN HER DORM ROOM—OR IN THE DEAN’S DAUGHTER’S ROOM .
“D on’t even
think
about leaving yet.” Isla pressed herself against the closed door of her bedroom on the first floor of the dean’s house. The room was very non-Isla—the white four-poster bed was covered with a faded floral quilt trimmed with lace, and frilly white curtains draped across the windows. The walls were painted a shade of cotton-candy pink that only a five-year-old girl who dreamed of being a princess could love. “I’ve got something that’s only fun when shared.”
“That sounds intriguing,” Tinsley replied, flicking open her phone to check the time. “But I’m supposed to meet Julian soon.” They were meeting up in half an hour, and she definitely didn’t want to be late. It was Wednesday night, and she’d somehow managed to not see him at all for the past few days. She’d been so busy with Isla, scouting places around campus for photo shoots. They’d just come back from pawing through the overcrowded racks at Next to New, the secondhand clothing store in town, to drop off their bags of loot onto Isla’s shaggy white rug.
“Come on.” Isla threw her jacket onto her bed and opened the top drawer of her antique-looking bureau. Isla pulled out a bottle of Ketel One from under a pair of black silk pajamas. “We’ve been working all day. You need to chill out a little first.”
Tinsley considered. She could use a pick-me-up—and there was something really illicit and exciting about drinking in the dean’s house. Especially when he and his wife were playing backgammon in the living room. “How can I refuse? And nice room, by the way,” Tinsley added, giggling.
The room was neat and clean, the only decoration on the pink walls one of the Waverly calendars sent out to parents and alumni. It was filled with scenic campus pictures and “candids” of students looking well fed and healthy in the library and on the quad.
“I think Marymount had a kindergartener with a princess complex.” Isla laughed as she grabbed two shot glasses from the drawer. She set the glasses and the bottle on the floor next to a rocking chair. “I kind of dig it. It makes me feel like I’m living in a dollhouse. Besides, it was the only bedroom on the first floor, so I had to take advantage.” Isla poured a generous shot of vodka into each of the shot glasses and handed one to Tinsley.
Tinsley sat down on the shaggy white rug and tucked her black tiered Charlotte Ronson skirt around her knees. “Funny, I never saw a dollhouse with a shot glass like this,” she laughed, examining her glass. Imprinted on the side was a picture of a hula girl holding up a wreath of flowers over the words
I got lei’d in Maui
.
“I collect them,” Isla said proudly, holding up her own glass, which was imprinted with Cyrillic-looking writing. “It says ‘Russian girls do it better.’” She shrugged. “I’m half Russian, so I guess I do it half better.”
“What are we drinking to?” Tinsley asked, clinking her shot glass against Isla’s.
“To new friends.” Isla smiled deviously.
Tinsley tossed the liquid down her throat, enjoying the burn. “And to making people stare.”
Isla laughed and walked to her closet, pulling off her sweater in a rush of static. She hung it neatly on a hook before throwing on a plain white men’s dress shirt, only buttoning half the buttons. Tinsley had always wished she had a brother: not only did it guarantee cute boys around the house, but she also loved wearing men’s shirts, and just buying a new white men’s
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