Free Classic by Cecily von Ziegesar Page A

Field House walls closing in on her, as if she were being gripped and squeezed by a giant,
     sweaty fist. Alan threw down the rope he’d been halfheartedly trying to tie into a decent knot and took Callie’s elbow.
    “Forget this,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I have a much better idea.”
    Easy stared at her from off to the right, Brandon from the left.
    Callie knew she was a coward, because she dropped her gaze and let Alan usher her far away from them both. He led her outside,
     where the snow had started to fall again. It wasn’t until they’d reached the coffee bar in Maxwell that she was able to breathe
     normally. She let Alan direct her to one of the comfortable couches in the deserted student hangout and sank down into the
     plush cushions. She closed her eyes, breathed through her nose, and willed herself to be calm.
    “Here.” Alan plunked a large coffee in front of her and flopped down next to her on the couch.
    “Um, thanks,” Callie said. She pushed her strawberry blond waves back from her face and unzipped her royal blue Michael Kors
     coat, letting it fall off her shoulders. She didn’t know what kind of coffee Alan had bought, but it didn’t matter. Anything
     would do. And if she needed anything stronger, she knew where he kept his flask.
    As she picked up the cardboard cup, Alan dug in one of the interior pockets of his coat. He pulled out a ziplock baggie, opened
     it, and then grinned at her.
    “Brownie?” he asked.
    Callie raised an eyebrow. She didn’t have to ask what was in it. This was Alan St. Girard.
    “I thought you were a smoker,” she said. “When did you turn into Rachael Ray?”
    “I like edibles,” Alan said, still grinning. “It’s a natural progression. It attracts significantly less teacher attention
     and makes a great mid-class pick-me-up.”
    Callie decided she didn’t care. Maybe her life would makemore sense if she viewed it from the Alan St. Girard perspective.
He
was certainly never in danger of succumbing to a panic attack, was he? Hardly. She accepted the proffered brownie and took
     a huge bite. She expected it to taste like dirt and weeds, but it didn’t. Chocolaty goodness exploded on her tongue. She sighed
     happily. “Betty Crocker would be proud.”
    “It’s all yours,” Alan said, pulling out a second brownie for himself. “Bon appétit.”
    They both settled back against the couch, and finally, slowly, Callie relaxed. She could feel the tension gradually leaving
     her body with every breath she took. It helped that Maxwell, usually overrun with Owls and the very last place anyone would
     ever go to relax, was like a ghost town tonight.
    “Everybody must be at the Field House,” she said after a while. “Maybe to escape the snow.”
    “Waverly is falling down, falling down, falling down…” Alan sang to the tune of “London Bridge.” He was wearing a tie-dyed
     T-shirt from Ben & Jerry’s that read CHERRY GARCIA, and suddenly Callie couldn’t stop giggling.
    She visualized Easy and Brandon as Three-Legged Race partners, bound by the legs and hating each other but grimly soldiering
     on toward the finish line—only to collapse in a tangle of limbs. All to the tune of Alan’s ridiculous song.
    She collapsed against the back of the couch, laughing uncontrollably. Alan laughed, too.
    “I don’t even know what you’re laughing about,” he said after a few moments while Callie wiped tears from her eyes.
    She regarded Alan for a moment. He was scruffy and sillybut really one of the nicest guys she knew. She had the sudden urge to spill everything to him. It might be the best idea
     she’d ever had, or at least a much better idea than many of the ones she’d had recently. It wasn’t just because of his special
     brownies, either. He was Easy’s roommate and friend. And he was also friends with Brandon. And unlike some of the other guys—like
     Ryan Reynolds or Heath Ferro—he wasn’t likely to use anything she told him