Devious by Cecily von Ziegesar Read Free Book Online Page B

This was kind of what she imagined her
Vogue
internship would be like, minus the sitting-on-the-floor part.
    “Here it is.” Brett plucked the postcard of the
Venus de Milo
statue from the board. She was about to turn back to Chrissy when something else caught her eye. A postcard of a tiny coastal Italian village, brilliant white buildings covered in jumbles of red tiles. Brett squinted. It looked like the same town in the photograph Sebastian had given her for Christmas—the village where his grandmother lived on the Amalfi Coast. Sebastian’s family spent three weeks every summer there. Had he sent Chrissy a postcard?
    That was… sweet. But also a little odd. Did boys really send friends postcards?
    “What do think about a sort of sixties retro, boho-peasant look? You know, revamped a little?” Chrissy asked, chewing on the end of a pink Hello Kitty pencil. “Sort of like Nicole Richie meets…
Hunchback of Notre Dame
.”
    “I think it could work,” Brett answered, absentmindedly. She was sure that at some point in her lifetime she’d sent a platonic male friend a postcard. Hadn’t she mailed Brandon Buchanan a postcard of the Parthenon from Athens one summer? It was just a nice way to keep in touch. “But maybe I should have told you sooner, I don’t know anything about sewing.”
    “I’ll teach you.” Chrissy laughed, ruffling her hair with her left hand. “It’s easier than you think.”
    Brett smiled back. Okay, she liked Chrissy. Besides, any friend of Sebastian’s was a friend of hers.
    Right?
     
    Instant Message Inbox
JulianMcCafferty:
Miss you.
TinsleyCarmichael:
U R sweet.
JulianMcCafferty
Just took
The Third Man
out from the lib. Wanna watch tonight?
TinsleyCarmichael:
Maybe… Thought I might stop in at the party in Richards’ basement. U in?
JulianMcCafferty:
I kinda feel like doing some research for the script.
TinsleyCarmichael:
Oh. OK. Maybe I’ll stop by after.

8
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT THE FUTURE IS MUCH MORE INTERESTING THAN THE PAST .
    C allie peeked around the open door of the rare books library on Tuesday afternoon. She was ostensibly looking for a quiet place to prepare her ideas for her psychology project, but in reality, she was just drawn to this room. It was a beautiful space—a second-floor balcony with a polished mahogany railing looked out over the distressed leather armchairs and glass-doored bookcases below. Glass-covered display tables offered up rare editions of leather-bound manuscripts, and diffuse light filtered in through the tall, curtained windows. It was almost always empty save for Mr. Gruber, the rare books librarian, who stayed in his second-floor office and fawned over the recently acquired first folio of Shakespeare with white gloves.
    But Callie wasn’t exactly interested in the books. She loved the rare books library because it was the first place Easy Walsh had kissed her. Even though they’d broken up, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. And she didn’t really want to.
    Callie rubbed her arms and sank into a leather loveseat. Mr. Gruber claimed he maintained the sixty-degree temperature for the sake of the books, but Callie suspected he didn’t want students lingering in his private lair. (She hoped he didn’t do anything too weird in there.) At least she’d come prepared, wearing her coziest Juicy Couture cashmere lounge pants and hoodie. A couple of Dumbarton girls had thrown an appletini party in the upstairs common room last night, and Callie was still a little hungover. It was nice to be alone to brood.
    “Callie. You’ve got to let me work with you.”
    Callie cringed when she heard a male voice. She looked like crap today. But she realized with relief that it was only Brandon Buchanan. Even though they’d dated all of freshman year, she didn’t quite think of him as a
guy
. He had nicer clothes than she did, his skin was always perfectly moisturized, and he was just a little too
neat
.
    Except… he looked kind of scruffy today.