as the door to the boys’ locker room swung open. Out sauntered Isla Dresden. She wore a super-short black turtleneck dress and a pair of patterned tights. Her expression was nonchalant, as if exiting the boys’ locker room was a normal Tuesday afternoon activity.
“Hey, what were you doing in there?” Bradley appeared next to Tinsley, a silver whistle around his neck. His burgundy polo shirt with the Waverly crest was two sizes too small. “That’s the boys’ locker room.”
“I’m so sorry.” Isla smiled sweetly, tousling her wet hair. Tinsley raised an eyebrow. Had she showered in there? “I’m new here.”
“Oh, right.” Unconsciously, Bradley kneaded his oversize bicep with his other hand. “Well, if you ever want a private tour…”
Isla pursed her curvy pink lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A crowd of students streamed through the front door, and Bradley reluctantly returned to his post at the front desk.
Tinsley, who’d been silent through the whole exchange, was about to scoot into the girls’ locker room when Isla caught sight of her. Her eyes lit up. “Just the girl I’ve been looking for.”
“Not in the boys’ locker room, I hope.” Tinsley was pleased Isla had sought her out. Normally, she was a little wary whenever a pretty new girl showed up on campus, but Isla seemed like she wanted to play nice. “I haven’t been in there in ages.”
“Nah.” Isla lowered her voice. “I was just doing a little recon for my Jan Plan project.
That’s
why I was looking for you, actually. I thought you might want to work with me.”
Tinsley glanced at her watch. She was going to be late for the yoga class, but suddenly she didn’t mind. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
“Look at this.” Isla dropped her leather saddle bag on the glass-topped coffee table in the lobby and pulled out an oversize photography book. Tinsley followed her, stepping over an abandoned copy of
Men’s Health
. “This is one of my favorite photographers. Look at the incredible things he does.”
Tinsley watched as Isla flipped the pages. It was an amazing book of portraits,
Vogue
-style spreads that showed people in crazy, improbable scenes: a model wearing a bikini on a snow-covered mountain top, or a pair of outrageously high heels while running around a track. It was a study in contrast, mixing fashion with cool backgrounds and scenes from life. “This is gorgeous.”
“Right?” Isla grabbed the book and held it open in front of her. “Imagine how
even more
gorgeous these pictures would be if the models were you and me. We should totally photograph each other, using this as inspiration.”
Tinsley bit her lip. The full-page spreads were classy, museum-quality photographs. She could easily imagine herself in a white-walled art gallery, surrounded by giant reproductions of these photos—except, of course, with her as one of the models. “I don’t know,” Tinsley replied, at last. “I’m not sure it’s exactly my thing.”
In truth, Tinsley had always fantasized about being a model. Once, when she was eight, a modeling scout spotted her throwing bread to the ducks in the Central Park duck pond and pressed her card into Tinsley’s mom’s hand, begging her to call. But Tinsley’s mother refused, insisting that it was more important for Tinsley to rely on her wits than her looks. So far,
both
had proven useful.
“Come on,” Isla pleaded, snapping the photography book shut. “Think how many cool shoots we could do around campus. Maybe we could find some old wedding dresses and rappel down the side of the chapel in them.” Isla’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You have to work with me. I can’t do it alone.”
For a moment, Tinsley thought of Julian. He’d asked her to work on his film with him, and she’d told him she’d think about it. It was a cool project and everything, but the last thing Tinsley wanted was to become one of those couples who never had any separate interests, who
“Hey, what were you doing in there?” Bradley appeared next to Tinsley, a silver whistle around his neck. His burgundy polo shirt with the Waverly crest was two sizes too small. “That’s the boys’ locker room.”
“I’m so sorry.” Isla smiled sweetly, tousling her wet hair. Tinsley raised an eyebrow. Had she showered in there? “I’m new here.”
“Oh, right.” Unconsciously, Bradley kneaded his oversize bicep with his other hand. “Well, if you ever want a private tour…”
Isla pursed her curvy pink lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A crowd of students streamed through the front door, and Bradley reluctantly returned to his post at the front desk.
Tinsley, who’d been silent through the whole exchange, was about to scoot into the girls’ locker room when Isla caught sight of her. Her eyes lit up. “Just the girl I’ve been looking for.”
“Not in the boys’ locker room, I hope.” Tinsley was pleased Isla had sought her out. Normally, she was a little wary whenever a pretty new girl showed up on campus, but Isla seemed like she wanted to play nice. “I haven’t been in there in ages.”
“Nah.” Isla lowered her voice. “I was just doing a little recon for my Jan Plan project.
That’s
why I was looking for you, actually. I thought you might want to work with me.”
Tinsley glanced at her watch. She was going to be late for the yoga class, but suddenly she didn’t mind. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
“Look at this.” Isla dropped her leather saddle bag on the glass-topped coffee table in the lobby and pulled out an oversize photography book. Tinsley followed her, stepping over an abandoned copy of
Men’s Health
. “This is one of my favorite photographers. Look at the incredible things he does.”
Tinsley watched as Isla flipped the pages. It was an amazing book of portraits,
Vogue
-style spreads that showed people in crazy, improbable scenes: a model wearing a bikini on a snow-covered mountain top, or a pair of outrageously high heels while running around a track. It was a study in contrast, mixing fashion with cool backgrounds and scenes from life. “This is gorgeous.”
“Right?” Isla grabbed the book and held it open in front of her. “Imagine how
even more
gorgeous these pictures would be if the models were you and me. We should totally photograph each other, using this as inspiration.”
Tinsley bit her lip. The full-page spreads were classy, museum-quality photographs. She could easily imagine herself in a white-walled art gallery, surrounded by giant reproductions of these photos—except, of course, with her as one of the models. “I don’t know,” Tinsley replied, at last. “I’m not sure it’s exactly my thing.”
In truth, Tinsley had always fantasized about being a model. Once, when she was eight, a modeling scout spotted her throwing bread to the ducks in the Central Park duck pond and pressed her card into Tinsley’s mom’s hand, begging her to call. But Tinsley’s mother refused, insisting that it was more important for Tinsley to rely on her wits than her looks. So far,
both
had proven useful.
“Come on,” Isla pleaded, snapping the photography book shut. “Think how many cool shoots we could do around campus. Maybe we could find some old wedding dresses and rappel down the side of the chapel in them.” Isla’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “You have to work with me. I can’t do it alone.”
For a moment, Tinsley thought of Julian. He’d asked her to work on his film with him, and she’d told him she’d think about it. It was a cool project and everything, but the last thing Tinsley wanted was to become one of those couples who never had any separate interests, who
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