Is Bridgeport big enough for Kae, Robyn, Alex and Jasmine? They're all beautiful, captivating, and a little bit crazy... but there can be only one It Girl.
[ Based on the It Girl series by Cecily Von Ziegesar ]
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At noon, the mailroom in Maxwell Hall was pulsing with life as the Bridgeport Owls scrambled to check their mailboxes before lunch, hoping to find love letters, the new issue of Vogue, or, better than all else, a package slip. Jasmine had to stand on her tiptoes to see into Box 270, on the top row. One would have thought the administration would have enough sense to give the highest mailboxes to the basketball giants and the lower ones to Bridgeport's less vertical. Normally, Jasmine didn't mind the stretch—she knew she looked kind of sexy standing on her toes, her sweater rising to reveal some skin—but today she happened to be wearing her red velvet shoes that were as flat as flat could be, with a short black dress. The dress was sure to flash her behind if she tried to stretch too far. While Jasmine wasn't exactly modest, she wasn't about to give the entire mailroom a free show, either. Frustrated, she hopped up, trying to peek into the slot, her heavy leather messenger bag thumping awkwardly against her hip.
"Having trouble?" a voice piped behind her. "I bet you're just praying for someone really tall...and handsome...and young...to come along and help you." Jasmine rolled her eyes at the sound of Dave voice, turning to face him.
"Do you mind?" she asked, faux sweetly, determined not to let her irritation show. Was that supposed to be some sort of crack about Rakim? "Can you grab the mail from my box, or is that too much to ask from a superhero?"
"I could never refuse a damsel in distress," Dave said gallantly, effortlessly reaching his hand into her mailbox. "Except you have to promise to share." He held out a coveted yellow PACKAGE TOO LARGE FOR BOX slip over Jasmine's head.
She laughed and rested one hand on her hip, not about to jump through hoops for Dave East. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing you'd be interested in. Probably just the new Victoria's Secret panties I ordered."
"You definitely have to share, then." Dave pretended to faint as Jasmine snatched the slip from his hand. "I thought girls didn't say 'panties,' though?"
"They do when guys are around." Jasmine made a beeline for the mailroom pickup window, Dave following like a puppy dog. Didn't he have anything better to do? "Two seventy," she said, handing the girl behind the counter her slip. She was quickly rewarded with a shoe-box-size package.
"Adea, huh?" Dave asked, leaning over her shoulder to look.
"How'd you—oh." Jasmine looked down at the package, realizing her mother had included her middle name in the address: Jasmine Adea Sanders. "It was my Danish grandmother's name," she mumbled, the rest of the address catching her eye. In her mother's elegant backwards-slanting cursive, it was marked to Box 207. Jesus, this was her third year here, and her mother still didn't have the right address. This had better be something good. The return address was her parents' Gramercy Park penthouse. Hmm. She'd thought they were in Amsterdam—her father was orchestrating some fancy business deal—but of course they hadn't kept her up to speed on their plans.
"I'll buy you a mochaccino if you show me what's in the box," Dave bargained as Jasmine slid the package under her arm.
"It's your lucky day." She shrugged, and the two of them headed toward the coffee bar. She always needed a little pick-me-up around this time, or else she found it impossible to make it through her afternoon classes.
"So, Rakim, huh?" Dave glanced at Jasmine out of the corner of his eye, a perfectly angelic expression on his handsome features as they made their way out of the mailroom.
Bastard. He definitely knew something. And if Dave knew about it, then the entire campus wasn't far behind. She quickly put her hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze, lowering her voice to the throaty tone she knew made boys think about sex, and nothing else. "You know you're the only one for me, Dave."
"Ha!" He pretended to eye Jasmine suspiciously but she could see that gooey look come into his eyes. Dave was so horny that a little dose of the signature Sanders charm was all that was needed to make him forget about Rakim. For now. "You're such a tease," he said, holding open the door to the coffee bar and following her as she made her way toward the line. He ordered and paid, and Jasmine went to pick up the drinks from the barista.
"So, get this." Dave followed her as she strode over to a booth in the corner. She dropped her box onto the table disinterestedly and slid onto one padded red-leather bench. Dave glanced around him—like that wasn't suspicious—before continuing in a hushed voice. "My connection at the liquor store says he can get us some killer cheap kegs and even offered up his family's barn somewhere in town." He stretched his arms into the air so that his shirt rose to reveal his tattooed abs. "Think there's any way we could bribe Marymount to let us all go off campus?"
Jasmine raised her eyebrows. "What if I bring the idea to him?" The wheels were already turning—Marymount definitely owed her for keeping his secrets to herself. The Boston weekend had been weeks ago, and she and Dave and Robyn had all managed—somewhat amazingly—to keep mum about catching him canoodling with the equally married Angelica Davis. Now it was definitely Marymount's turn to thank her for it.
"Sweetheart, you're pretty, but you're not that pretty." Dave grabbed for the package, but Jasmine pulled it away from him. "You think if you ask him to let you have a keg party off campus and show him a little leg, he'll say yes?"
"No, dipshit." Jasmine peeked into the package, glimpsing the shimmery gold box with the word Teuscher on it. Mmm. Swiss truffles. These were definitely for sharing. She pulled out the box, opened it slightly, and removed the five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills that were neatly placed on top of the padding inside. Her mom always sent her cash, as if she didn't have an ATM card—and as if there were anything in Rhinecliff to spend money on besides tie-dye shirts and weed. Still, it was a sweet gesture. "I'd be a little more creative than that. Spin it as something more legitimate...like a Cinefiles outdoor screening." She was impressed with her own quick thinking. She was like Nancy Drew, with a naughty streak.
Dave pounced on the chocolates, stuffing two in his mouth at once. Jasmine stared at him, a little impressed that he could simultaneously be so gross and still so handsome. "Think that'll work?" he asked through a mouthful of chocolate.
Jasmine plucked a double-chocolate raspberry truffle from its delicate tissue bed and placed it on her tongue, allowing the luxurious flavors to slowly melt into her mouth. She leaned her head back against the booth and closed her eyes. Only when the round chocolate had completely disappeared could she be bothered to open a single blue-colored eye to respond.
