a grudge, since he’d gone behind her back and started hooking up with the little skankette in the first place?
She heard the shuffle of his sneakers against the wet concrete.
“Hey,” he said at last, and stepped toward her with a curt nod. The sight of Julian, hesitating at the bottom of the steps in his olive-green hoodie and faded brown 7 For All Mankind cords, his longish hair pushed behind his ears, made her knees weak. Finally he bent down to reach for some of the scattered cards.
“Thanks,” she said, careful not to let her hands stray too close to his as he snatched the cards up hurriedly.
Julian shrugged and let out some kind of affirmative grunt. He handed her a Michelangelo card with a bright red oak leaf stuck to the dates on the back.
Tinsley bit the inside of her cheek. A strand of hair slipped loose from her ponytail, falling in her face. She stood up slowly so that she was looking down at him. “So, uh, where were you last night?”
Julian didn’t look up, instead handing her the last few damp cards. He put his hands on his thighs and then straightened up. She’d forgotten how tall he was—almost a head taller than her. “In my room,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Everyone was looking for you at the party,” Tinsley lied, shuffling the stack of index cards in her hands. She smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah? Like who?” Julian asked, his voice flat. Finally, his brown eyes met hers. But instead of the warm ones she knew, they were utterly emotionless.
“Well, me, for one,” Tinsley said softly. She could feel his resistance, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to grab him by his shoulders and press her lips to his and make him remember how good it felt. She took a step toward him, her black Tory Burch flats scuffing against the wet pavement.
“I didn’t feel like it,” Julian said, as if that explained his absence. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cords, completely indifferent to her acknowledgment that she’d been the one looking for him. But at least he wasn’t walking away.
If Julian hadn’t gone to the party, he clearly hadn’t seen Jenny’s triumphant ascension to the stage, a thought that cheered Tinsley. There had to be something left between them, didn’t there? She blinked her violet eyes and decided to tell him once and for all how she really felt.
“But even if I had gone”—Julian shifted his canvas backpack from one shoulder to the other—”I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with
you
.”
The words weren’t shouted, or spat out, or said with any overt cruelty, which made them hurt all the more. Julian was simply telling her the absolute truth—as if she had known it already.
The door to Maxwell Hall opened and a couple of girls in brightly colored rain gear came bounding down the steps, giggling and opening their mail.
“Julie!” Alan St. Girard called out to Julian from across the quad, where he and Ryan Reynolds were tossing around a Frisbee. Julian raised a hand to the guys, and with a last, almost pitying glance in Tinsley’s direction, he turned his back on her and walked away without further response.
She watched as Julian’s figure receded in the distance. He caught up with Alan, and soon they were joined by a crush of boys headed toward the dining hall.
What. The. Fuck?
Everyone
wanted to be around Tinsley Carmichael—didn’t they? A sick feeling overcame her as she grasped for the mental roster of nice things she’d done for her fellow Waverlies. She’d started cool clubs like the Cinephiles to bring a little cultured fun into their dreary lives. She’d helped Callie get over Easy, at least the first time around. She’d thrown the party at the Miller farm, which had ended up even more exciting than she’d planned. She … well, the list went on and on.
I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with you.
The words cut so deeply Tinsley couldn’t remember where she was going, and she sat down on
She heard the shuffle of his sneakers against the wet concrete.
“Hey,” he said at last, and stepped toward her with a curt nod. The sight of Julian, hesitating at the bottom of the steps in his olive-green hoodie and faded brown 7 For All Mankind cords, his longish hair pushed behind his ears, made her knees weak. Finally he bent down to reach for some of the scattered cards.
“Thanks,” she said, careful not to let her hands stray too close to his as he snatched the cards up hurriedly.
Julian shrugged and let out some kind of affirmative grunt. He handed her a Michelangelo card with a bright red oak leaf stuck to the dates on the back.
Tinsley bit the inside of her cheek. A strand of hair slipped loose from her ponytail, falling in her face. She stood up slowly so that she was looking down at him. “So, uh, where were you last night?”
Julian didn’t look up, instead handing her the last few damp cards. He put his hands on his thighs and then straightened up. She’d forgotten how tall he was—almost a head taller than her. “In my room,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Everyone was looking for you at the party,” Tinsley lied, shuffling the stack of index cards in her hands. She smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah? Like who?” Julian asked, his voice flat. Finally, his brown eyes met hers. But instead of the warm ones she knew, they were utterly emotionless.
“Well, me, for one,” Tinsley said softly. She could feel his resistance, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to grab him by his shoulders and press her lips to his and make him remember how good it felt. She took a step toward him, her black Tory Burch flats scuffing against the wet pavement.
“I didn’t feel like it,” Julian said, as if that explained his absence. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cords, completely indifferent to her acknowledgment that she’d been the one looking for him. But at least he wasn’t walking away.
If Julian hadn’t gone to the party, he clearly hadn’t seen Jenny’s triumphant ascension to the stage, a thought that cheered Tinsley. There had to be something left between them, didn’t there? She blinked her violet eyes and decided to tell him once and for all how she really felt.
“But even if I had gone”—Julian shifted his canvas backpack from one shoulder to the other—”I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with
you
.”
The words weren’t shouted, or spat out, or said with any overt cruelty, which made them hurt all the more. Julian was simply telling her the absolute truth—as if she had known it already.
The door to Maxwell Hall opened and a couple of girls in brightly colored rain gear came bounding down the steps, giggling and opening their mail.
“Julie!” Alan St. Girard called out to Julian from across the quad, where he and Ryan Reynolds were tossing around a Frisbee. Julian raised a hand to the guys, and with a last, almost pitying glance in Tinsley’s direction, he turned his back on her and walked away without further response.
She watched as Julian’s figure receded in the distance. He caught up with Alan, and soon they were joined by a crush of boys headed toward the dining hall.
What. The. Fuck?
Everyone
wanted to be around Tinsley Carmichael—didn’t they? A sick feeling overcame her as she grasped for the mental roster of nice things she’d done for her fellow Waverlies. She’d started cool clubs like the Cinephiles to bring a little cultured fun into their dreary lives. She’d helped Callie get over Easy, at least the first time around. She’d thrown the party at the Miller farm, which had ended up even more exciting than she’d planned. She … well, the list went on and on.
I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with you.
The words cut so deeply Tinsley couldn’t remember where she was going, and she sat down on
Similar Books
