Free Classic by Cecily von Ziegesar

the granite countertop.
Isaac was a liar. And a cheater.
She heard a noise behind her and whirled around to see Isaac standing there with a Nalgene in each hand, smiling and looking
     triumphant.
    Isaac, who until three seconds ago, Brett had thought was the perfect boyfriend.
    She couldn’t help glancing over at his phone instead of meeting his gaze. He looked, too, and then color swept over his cheeks
     and stained his neck as he looked back at Brett, realizing what she’d seen.
    “I’m going to break up with her,” Isaac said after a long, tense moment. His voice sounded thick. Brett couldn’t quite meet
     his eyes. Any buzz she might have had from the wine was gone. She felt faintly ill instead.
    “Just… please don’t tell Jenny,” Isaac said, his voice pleading. “I just—I need to tell her about this myself, okay? It’s
     complicated.”
    Brett crossed her arms over her chest and nodded stiffly. It wasn’t her place to tell Jenny, and she certainly didn’t want
     to be in the middle of this mess. She knew about cheating, after all. She’d cheated on her old boyfriend Jeremiah. She hadn’t
     wanted him to find out the things he’d found out—and certainly not in the way he’d found out about them. An “I Never” game
     was the worst possible way to learn your girlfriend had cheated.
    She knew it was complicated. It was always complicated. She just wished she’d kept out of it. This was nothing she wanted
     to know.
    Poor Jenny,
she thought as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and threw her coat back on, still not quite meeting Isaac’s gaze. There
     she’d been, thinking Isaac was so sweet and so nice, and the truth was that he was lying and cheating the whole time. Dating
     poor Jenny and leading this other girl on, too.
    Suddenly Brett felt completely justified in her jealousy of Isla and Sebastian. Guys were obviously capable of anything.
    You just never knew.

11
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT GOOD IDEAS CAN
COME FROM UNLIKELY SOURCES.
    T he Waverly Field House was filled with Owls in varying states of obvious intoxication, and the volume was reaching fever pitch.
     Matched couples were scattered about, figuring out how to tie themselves together with the regulation rope bindings for the
     Three-Legged Race. Callie and Alan stood a little bit back from the starting line of the current heat of three-legged competitors,
     watching the mayhem unfold. Verena Arneval and her tall, geeky senior match hobbled for three wobbly steps and then collapsed,
     her partner squashing her into the AstroTurf of the Field House grounds.
    “Heh. Face-plant,” Alan said from beside her, laughing. “Ten points!”
    Callie smiled but said nothing. She had yet to uncover one single thing she and Alan had in common, but by now she’d come
     to appreciate their pairing’s randomness.
    Reason number one for this newfound appreciation stood on one side of the crowd, his dark blue eyes brooding and stormy whenever
     they landed on Callie. Which was roughly every three seconds. Reason number two stood almost directly opposite, his leg tied
     to the geekiest girl to ever wear a maroon Waverly blazer. Easy. Brandon. Easy. Brandon. Callie felt like she was watching
     some kind of Ping-Pong competition as her head swung back and forth between them.
    Easy caught her eye from where he stood, arms crossed, just watching her. His dark brows rose, like he expected her to do
     something—and she knew exactly what that something was. After all, she’d promised, hadn’t she? Callie swallowed. And then,
     against her will, she felt her head pulled around to find Brandon’s gaze on her—just as troubled and just as dark.
    Callie felt her breath go shallow. She hadn’t even had more than a sip or two from Alan’s flask, but her head was spinning.
    “Christ,” Alan said, looking at her with a bemused sort of alarm. “Are you okay? You look like you’re tripping the hell out.”
    “I just… I can’t…” Callie felt the