still a little out of sorts. She loved school; she really did. But she was supposed to be spending her January hanging out at NYC hot spots like the Waverly
Inn
—not the Waverly library.
Then she caught sight of Sebastian, reading on a velvet couch in the back of the crowded café. A little jolt spread from her cold cheeks down to the toes of her slouchy, distressed leather boots. He was so engrossed in his copy of
On the Road
that he didn’t notice her approach.
“Nice to see you again, too.” Brett nudged her toe into Sebastian’s leg when he didn’t look up.
Sebastian’s face lit up when he saw her. He jumped to his feet. “Thought you were taking the later train back.” He leaned toward her, his dark brown eyes jubilant, and pressed his mouth to her cheek. “I would’ve picked you up at the station.”
Brett shrugged. She’d taken a cab to campus because she was still bent out of shape about her
Vogue
internship falling through and wanted the extra time alone. But now, with Sebastian in front of her, looking sexy in his plain black American Apparel T-shirt, it was hard to imagine being anywhere else. “I knew you’d just try to get me to come back to your room and make out.”
A faux hurt look crossed Sebastian’s face. “And there’s something wrong with that?” He stroked Brett’s arm.
“
Yes
.” Brett threw herself down onto the couch, letting her giant Diesel duffel bag land on the wet floor. “Today’s the deadline for Jan Plan proposals, and I’m suddenly without a project.”
“So if I help you figure out what to do, then we can go back to my room?” He raised his dark eyebrows expectantly.
Brett rolled her eyes but was secretly pleased. “I guess.”
“Good.” Sebastian sat back down on the couch and crossed his arms across his chest. “Because I have an idea.”
“If it’s going to involve me posing on the hoods of various muscle cars, I don’t think it’ll work.”
Sebastian pretended to consider the idea, then laughed. “I know a girl who’s doing a fashion project, and the partner she had lined up bailed on her. Do you know Christine Bosley? Chrissy?”
Brett raised her eyebrows. Chrissy was one of the theater kids, but one of the more normal ones. A tall, gangly girl who always wore really elaborate necklaces. “What kind of fashion project?”
“Got me. Something about costumes.” Sebastian took a sip of his coffee. “I just heard her complaining about all the work she had to do in the mailroom.”
Brett took a deep breath. Chrissy had always seemed nice enough, and Brett was pretty desperate. She needed to have something to show Mrs. Horniman, her adviser, by five. Quickly, she fumbled for her Nokia and rattled off a short e-mail to
[email protected].
“Now, come here.” Sebastian patted the spot next to him on the sofa, and Brett slid over till she was almost in his lap. She let her head fall against his chest. He smelled like cappuccino and cinnamon toothpaste.
Maybe Jan Plan at Waverly wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Later that afternoon, Brett strode across campus toward Merritt House, a gray clapboard building with an enormous front porch. It used to be faculty housing but had been converted to student housing in the eighties. All the rooms had private baths. Now it was where most of the arty music and theater girls ended up. It was at the far end of the snow-covered quad, which was pulsing with activity. A snow sculpture competition was going on, and Owls were running around with buckets of snow and water and various sharp tools that looked like they should be used for gardening. Brett spotted the Disciplinary Committee adviser, Mr. Wilde, helping a group of freshman guys build what looked like a giant Snoopy.
Brett climbed the creaky steps and followed the directions to Chrissy’s room on the third floor. The door to room 3D was covered with a stage poster of
Cabaret
. Brett knocked, and almost instantly the door was opened by a