Brandon ignored him, trying to catch Sage’s eye. She winked flirtatiously at him—wait, did she actually like it when he said stupid macho things? When he sounded like Heath?
Mrs. Horniman planted her hand on Brandon’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Nice try, Buchanan. Just be grateful you weren’t asked that question by your Yale interviewer, or, I have to say, you probably won’t be spending your college years in New Haven.” She patted him encouragingly, then turned to face the class. “Everyone? I’d like you to choose a topic from the list you brainstorm today, and write up an essay to bring with you next week. Which means no goofing off today,” she finished, then moved away from Brandon to another group.
“James Bond?” Heath poked his finger into Brandon’s ribs once she was gone. “He’s a fuck of a lot smoother than you.”
Brandon ran his hand through his spiky golden-brown hair and leaned back in his chair. “Shut up. Horniman was making me nervous.”
“My brain is like a giant brick today.” Kara rubbed her temples. “We were up way too late last night.”
“Well, I suggest we reconvene this weekend with a little incentive.” Heath brought an imaginary bottle to his mouth and took an invisible chug. “The questions will flow more freely under those circumstances. And the answers, too.”
“Hey, if it’ll help me get into Harvard, how could I refuse?” Sage tilted her head at Brandon, her eyes already flashing with excitement.
“You’re all right, hippie chick.” Heath held out his fist and Sage punched it. “Details to follow. Buchanan, you in?”
Brandon sighed, but nodded in agreement. He needed an essay topic, and they certainly weren’t going to get anything done today.
One thing James Bond didn’t have: a jackass roommate.
13
A WAVERLY OWL TAKES EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO LET AN EX KNOW WHAT HE’S MISSING .
Tinsley descended the steps of Dumbarton, her white Oliver Peoples aviators pulled over her eyes. The skies were filled with ominous rain clouds that threatened to burst at any moment. She zipped up her black Diesel bomber jacket, feeling low-key in a pair of gray J Brand slim-fit jeans and black flats.
Demure,
she reminded herself as she fought the urge to turn back inside and crawl under the covers.
Indifferent. Unperturbed
.
Jenny’s crowning at the Halloween party had been a fluke, of course—was there some kind of underground campaign among underclassmen and other losers to put one of their own up onstage? It
had
to have been rigged. But Tinsley was surprised at how much it still stung the morning after. She’d slept badly, waking up in starts and then falling back asleep only to find a slutty-looking Cleopatra waiting for her in her dreams.
She concentrated on holding up her chin as she strolled across campus. It wasn’t like she really cared about the stupid costume competition, anyway. She was on her way to Maxwell Hall to study for her intro to art history midterm, where she’d spread her books out on a coffee table and curl up in one of the luxurious overstuffed armchairs. In full public view, she’d show how completely and utterly unbothered she was by the fact that little Jenny Humphrey had stolen her thunder.
Tinsley’s phone buzzed to life from inside her leather Fendi messenger bag. As she opened the bag to reach for it, her entire stack of art history study cards tumbled out, scattering across the wet concrete sidewalk in front of Maxwell. Fuck.
She bent down to start picking them up, hoping they wouldn’t get completely soaked through. As she reached for a Botticelli note card she noticed a tall, thin boy coming down the Maxwell steps, headed directly toward her. Julian.
“Hey.” Tinsley glanced up at him only briefly as she tucked the card into her bag, praying that Julian was too much of a gentleman not to help her out, no matter how mad about the Jenny thing he might still be. But really, shouldn’t
Tinsley
be the one harboring
Mrs. Horniman planted her hand on Brandon’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Nice try, Buchanan. Just be grateful you weren’t asked that question by your Yale interviewer, or, I have to say, you probably won’t be spending your college years in New Haven.” She patted him encouragingly, then turned to face the class. “Everyone? I’d like you to choose a topic from the list you brainstorm today, and write up an essay to bring with you next week. Which means no goofing off today,” she finished, then moved away from Brandon to another group.
“James Bond?” Heath poked his finger into Brandon’s ribs once she was gone. “He’s a fuck of a lot smoother than you.”
Brandon ran his hand through his spiky golden-brown hair and leaned back in his chair. “Shut up. Horniman was making me nervous.”
“My brain is like a giant brick today.” Kara rubbed her temples. “We were up way too late last night.”
“Well, I suggest we reconvene this weekend with a little incentive.” Heath brought an imaginary bottle to his mouth and took an invisible chug. “The questions will flow more freely under those circumstances. And the answers, too.”
“Hey, if it’ll help me get into Harvard, how could I refuse?” Sage tilted her head at Brandon, her eyes already flashing with excitement.
“You’re all right, hippie chick.” Heath held out his fist and Sage punched it. “Details to follow. Buchanan, you in?”
Brandon sighed, but nodded in agreement. He needed an essay topic, and they certainly weren’t going to get anything done today.
One thing James Bond didn’t have: a jackass roommate.
13
A WAVERLY OWL TAKES EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO LET AN EX KNOW WHAT HE’S MISSING .
Tinsley descended the steps of Dumbarton, her white Oliver Peoples aviators pulled over her eyes. The skies were filled with ominous rain clouds that threatened to burst at any moment. She zipped up her black Diesel bomber jacket, feeling low-key in a pair of gray J Brand slim-fit jeans and black flats.
Demure,
she reminded herself as she fought the urge to turn back inside and crawl under the covers.
Indifferent. Unperturbed
.
Jenny’s crowning at the Halloween party had been a fluke, of course—was there some kind of underground campaign among underclassmen and other losers to put one of their own up onstage? It
had
to have been rigged. But Tinsley was surprised at how much it still stung the morning after. She’d slept badly, waking up in starts and then falling back asleep only to find a slutty-looking Cleopatra waiting for her in her dreams.
She concentrated on holding up her chin as she strolled across campus. It wasn’t like she really cared about the stupid costume competition, anyway. She was on her way to Maxwell Hall to study for her intro to art history midterm, where she’d spread her books out on a coffee table and curl up in one of the luxurious overstuffed armchairs. In full public view, she’d show how completely and utterly unbothered she was by the fact that little Jenny Humphrey had stolen her thunder.
Tinsley’s phone buzzed to life from inside her leather Fendi messenger bag. As she opened the bag to reach for it, her entire stack of art history study cards tumbled out, scattering across the wet concrete sidewalk in front of Maxwell. Fuck.
She bent down to start picking them up, hoping they wouldn’t get completely soaked through. As she reached for a Botticelli note card she noticed a tall, thin boy coming down the Maxwell steps, headed directly toward her. Julian.
“Hey.” Tinsley glanced up at him only briefly as she tucked the card into her bag, praying that Julian was too much of a gentleman not to help her out, no matter how mad about the Jenny thing he might still be. But really, shouldn’t
Tinsley
be the one harboring
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