Reckless by Cecily von Ziegesar Read Free Book Online Page A

little Jenny at the table with his dad, trying to answer all the questions he bombarded her with, one after another, lawyer style, until she burst into tears. Jenny didn’t know what a hardass his father could be; she definitely needed to go through extensive preparations before being subjected to anything as demanding as a dinner date.
    And Callie knew his dad already and knew how to handle his blustery demands. And it kind of felt like … they were friends now. There wasn’t anything wrong with taking a friend out to eat with your dad, right?
    But as he slid into his seat at the back of the room, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he suspected it wasn’t entirely due to the history exam he was about to flunk.
    Email Inbox
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected]
Date: Thursday, October 3, 5:55 p.m.
Subject: Put on your party shoes
Ladies,
Through a very fortuitous twist of fate, something special has just happened to fall into our laps or rather, on our roof … and we must take advantage of our good fortune!
Keg party, Dumbarton roof. 8 p.m. Shhh … Pardee has a couple of girl-friends over tonight—we saw them with several bottles of very cheap red wine, so you know what that means. I think it’s safe to say that she’ll be MIA .
Please tell Emily Jenkins her presence is requested—I think it’s about time we added a new member to Café Society.
xxx,
Tinsley

7
WHEN NOT INVITED TO A PARTY , A WAVERLY OWL MAKES HER OWN FUN .
    “Crazy Daizy or Maliblu?” Brett asked, holding up two brightly colored bottles of Pinkie Swear nail polish for Jenny to examine. The two of them were sprawled out on the floor of Dumbarton 303, leaning against the spare bed, the one formerly occupied by Tinsley Carmichael. Jenny’s old cot had been returned to storage in the basement, and she had taken over Brett’s bed—the thought of sleeping in the bed that Tinsley had been kicked out of creeped her out. All necessary equipment for at-home manicures was spread out between them: bowls of warm, soapy water to soften their nail beds, orangewood cuticle stick, nail file/buffer, creamy Bliss hand lotion, stacks of cotton pads, bottles of clear base-coat polish, Q-Tips, nail polish remover. It was like Rescue Salon or, at least, as close as you could get to it at Waverly.
    Brett had suggested a mani-pedi night earlier that day, and Jenny was thrilled. Apparently it was something Callie and Tinsley and Brett had done all the time, and Jenny was pleased that Brett felt comfortable enough with her now to sort of let her fill their intimidating shoes. Jenny imagined that their mani-pedi nights had never been as mellow as this, though. From what Jenny had seen of their interactions, they were always fraught with underlying intensity and competitiveness. It seemed like each of them was desperate to come off as much cooler, more sophisticated than the others. Even Brett could get completely wrapped up in one-upping Tinsley and Callie.
    “Um, Maliblu’s a little too funky for me.” Jenny wrinkled her nose at the sparkly blue bottle. “I don’t think I can get away with blue nails.” Her toes, stuffed uncomfortably into one of those foamy toe-separator cushions, were painted a bright cherry red. Vanessa Abrams, her brother Dan’s high school girlfriend who was now living in Jenny’s old room in her dad’s West End Ave apartment, was the kind of girl who could pull off dark blue nail polish. With her shaved head and black-centric wardrobe, it would look almost natural. Not that she’d ever bother with a pedicure.
    “I thought artists were supposed to be daring,” Brett teased, and pressed the little bottle into Jenny’s palm, careful not to smudge her still-wet base coat.
    Jenny picked up the polish and examined it. She could be pretty boring sometimes. Why