Free Devious by Cecily von Ziegesar Page A

stood up, pushing an escaped blond lock out of her face with the back of her hand.
    “Sorry.” He pulled off his olive green cashmere hat and dusted the snow off the shoulders of his black Diesel bomber jacket. He casually tossed both hat and jacket over the back of an armchair covered with lemon yellow canvas. “I was talking to Hellie.”
    “I just wish you’d take this a little more seriously.” Callie frowned slightly as she planted the borrowed video camera on top of the tripod, pointing it toward the Oreos. She was seriously hopeless with any sort of electronics—it was a defect inherited from her technophobic mother.
    Brandon blinked. His eyes were slightly red, as if he wasn’t sleeping right, and his chin was still kind of scruffy. Had he left all his razors in Switzerland? “Okay, I’ll try to be serious.” He coughed into his fist, trying to cover the smirk on his face. “What’s the camera for, anyway?”
    “I thought it would be easier than taking notes. We can go over everyone’s responses later.” Callie glared at him. He wasn’t even offering to help. Old Brandon Buchanan would have been falling all over himself so that she wouldn’t have to raise her pinky finger.
    “Nice thinking.” Brandon’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text.
    Callie rolled her eyes and stood up, smoothing the sides of her silky plaid Theory miniskirt. At least she looked more like herself today, wearing a crisp white Ralph Lauren button-down that set off her newly tanned skin. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose bun, with a few blond wisps slipping down into her face. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I just hope people come.”
    Brandon pointed toward the wall of windows at the front of the atrium, and Callie turned around just as a group of girls pushed through the revolving doors, clad in thick scarves and boots. “Not bad,” he said, impressed. “Did you tell them you were giving away Prada bags?”
    Callie smirked at him, but was secretly pleased. “Can you just make sure the camera’s set up to get the whole lounge area?”
    She’d e-mailed the old Women of Waverly list last night—virtually all the girls at Waverly were on it, and she was pretty sure they’d want to gossip about their love lives. Apparently, she’d been right. Jenny, Tinsley, and all their friends had shown up. “Welcome, ladies,” Callie announced brightly. “Just grab a seat wherever.” She waved the girls toward the couches as Brandon leaned over the camera, adjusting the lens. Callie was momentarily distracted by the sight. Brandon
did
have a completely cute posterior, especially in his faded Earl jeans.
    He glanced back at her. “Cal? Are we ready?”
    Callie shook her head clear. “You just operate the camera. I’ll ask the questions.” The girls had all scattered around on the comfy coral-colored Pottery Barn couches in the lounge area and were looking up at her for instruction. Most of them were dressed in their relaxed, bumming-around clothes: track pants, sweatshirts, Uggs. During the regular semester, most Waverly girls wouldn’t be caught dead looking so frumpy, but somehow, Jan Plan was a different animal. “Thank you, ladies, for coming. Help yourselves to the cocoa and cookies over there.” She took a deep breath. “Basically, I’m just going to ask some questions. I want to hear from everyone, so really, don’t be shy.”
    “You didn’t tell us there were going to be
guys
here,” Celine hissed, leaning forward from one of the couches in her gray Waverly track pants and fleece sweatshirt. “I just came from Pilates. I look like shit.” Callie glanced over her shoulder at Brandon, who was pretending not to listen.
    “It’s okay, sweetie.” Benny Cunningham, who wore her pearl pendant even to field hockey practice, nudged Celine in the ribs. “True love doesn’t care about sweat.”
    “So, does that mean you guys believe in true love?” Callie broke in,