Size 12 and Ready to Rock (11 page)

It’s clear from Sarah’s tone that she doesn’t think the news is great at all. Unless you knew her as well as I do, you wouldn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

“Fantastic,” I say. “I’m so excited to hear this great news. Do I need to sit down?”

“Probably,” Sarah says. “I would. Because this news is so great, you’re going to want to be sitting down when you hear it or you might pass out from excitement.”

I go around the side of my desk and sit down, glaring at her. She’s pushing it a little far.

“Anyone else?” I ask, indicating the couch across from my desk, as well as the other chairs I rescued from the cafeteria before they began painting in there.

“Thanks,” says the girl I don’t recognize. “Don’t mind if I do. My dogs are barking.” She sits. I notice Sarah glaring at her. I don’t know if it’s because of the “my dogs are barking” remark (which admittedly was odd, but possibly as sarcastic as Sarah’s “you might pass out from excitement”), or because they’ve had some kind of disagreement before I got here. They appear to be the same age and are dressed in a similarly slovenly style—though I realize I’m not one to talk—so I can’t imagine what they could have found to disagree on, though the visitor’s hair is definitely more neatly styled.

“Can I do it?” Muffy asks Dr. Jessup, bouncing on the toes of her pumps. “Puh-lease, Stan?”

He smiles at her graciously. “Be my guest.”

I look up at Muffy. She and I are friends, if you can call it friendship to share a mutual desire not to see people get away with murder on the campus where we work and an attraction to the same guy (she’s currently dating my ex-boyfriend and remedial math teacher, Tadd Tocco).

Fortunately, Tadd and Muffy make a much better couple than Tadd and I ever did, mostly owing to Tadd’s commitment to veganism and my commitment to being in love with another man, namely Cooper Cartwright. Muffy told me at the last lunch we had together that she’s pretty sure Tadd is going to propose (because she informed him that at their age, if there isn’t forward momentum in a relationship after three months, it only makes sense to break up), but she’s on the fence about accepting.

“On the one hand,” she said over the healthy tuna salad wrap she purchased from the Pansy Café, “I’m not getting any younger, and since I definitely want kids, I might as well have them with Tadd. You know they’ll be smart because his IQ is through the roof, and we’ll save a lot on child care, since professors only work about three hours a week, so Tadd can stay home with them.”

I’d been forced to admit this was true.

“On the other hand,” Muffy said, “I’d always hoped to marry a rich man so I could be the one to raise the kids. I’m not sure what the girls back home will think when they hear I’m still working.”

“Who cares what anyone else thinks?” I asked with a shrug over my not-so-healthy Pansy Café burger and fries. “It’s your life, not theirs. You love your job, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Muffy said firmly.

“Good,” I said. “Just make sure you love Tadd too before you say yes when he asks you to marry him, or I don’t think your plan has a very good chance at working out.”

Now Muffy is looking at me with her perfectly made-up eyes glittering, bursting with eagerness to tell me whatever fabulous news it is she has to impart.

“Heather,” she says, “I know how sad you were that your residence hall was closed for the summer, and ya’ll were left with nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs. Now you can stop twiddling, because Fischer Hall’s being officially reopened this weekend to host the first ever
Tania Trace Rock Camp!
”

I glance quickly from Muffy to Dr. Jessup to Stephanie, then to Sarah, then back again.

“Wait,” I say intelligently. “What?”

“Yes,” Sarah says unsmilingly. “Fifty fourteen-year-old girls here in the city for two weeks, living their dream of getting mentored by none other than Tania Trace. Isn’t it
great?
”

“They’re fourteen to sixteen years old, actually,” Stephanie says. She’s sunk down into a chair covered with blue vinyl—I watched Carl reupholster it myself, after mice ate through the original orange upholstery—and opened her tote. She pulls a brochure from it and hands it to me. I thumb through it as she talks. It’s a wash of bright vibrant colors, like Tania herself when she isn’t suffering from exhaustion. “You remember, Heather. I told you about it last week. Unfortunately, the Catskills location simply isn’t going to work anymore.”

“Why?” I ask. “It looks perfect.” I point to a photo of a girl on horseback. “We don’t have horses.” I point to another photo. “Or an open-air amphitheater.”

“We have plenty of performance spaces,” Dr. Jessup says. “Our drama school is one of the best in the country. Our theaters aren’t open-air, but it’s my understanding that that is Ms. Trace’s preference—”

“Tania wants everything moved indoors,” Stephanie says crisply, plucking the brochure from my fingers.

I’m more confused than ever. “Then how is it camp?”

“It’s still camp,” Stephanie says. “It’s just
inside
camp.”

“What’s ‘inside camp’?” I ask, bewildered. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course it makes sense,” Stephanie insists. “It’s
college
camp. The girls are going to love it even more than they would have loved being at a resort in the Catskills. They’ll be experiencing life on a college campus years before their peers. And not just any college campus, but New York College, one of the top ten most-applied-to colleges in the country. Not to mention, of course, they’ll be spending every minute with Tania Trace. Or one of New York College’s prestigious music instructors. Mostly with one of them. But for at least an hour a day, they’ll be with Tania.”

I sit where I am, stunned, while everyone else except Sarah beams at me.

“Told you so, didn’t I, Heather?” Sarah asks me, leaning forward on her desk, her smile diabolical, but only I know her well enough to realize it. “Isn’t it
great?
”

I ignore her.

“We’re closed for renovations,” I say to Dr. Jessup. I’m not arguing because Tania Trace is my ex’s new wife and I don’t want anything to do with this. I genuinely can’t figure out how we’re going to make it happen. “None of the rooms is even close to ready for occupancy. The paint crew’s barely gotten through the top few floors. And most of those rooms haven’t been fully maintenanced yet. I mean . . .” I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, but I do it anyway. “What about the room to Narnia?”

Stephanie and the girl no one’s introduced to me stare at me blankly, but I’m confident that Dr. Jessup and Muffy know exactly what I mean, because the room to Narnia, like Pansygate, was scandalous enough to have made the
New York Post.
After spring checkout, we found a room in which the four male suitemates had built “a door to Narnia”—a hole they’d cut into the back of a college-issued wardrobe that, when opened, led to an extra room of their suite in which they’d assembled a “love dungeon” complete with wall-to-wall mattresses, lava lamps, bongos, and posters of the actor who played Prince Caspian on every vertical surface.

What was even more annoying was that the suitemates’ parents then had the nerve to refuse to pay the charges we billed them for the cost of repairing the hole in the wardrobe (and fumigation of the mattresses), even though I sent them photographic evidence of their sons’ unusual extracurricular activities.

“No worries,” Muffy says cheerfully. “We already received a list from Facilities of the rooms that need the least work—”

“Facilities?” Then I remember bumping into Carl in the hallway, with his ladder. “Of course,” I murmur. “The lightbulbs.”

“Exactly,” Stephanie says. “Our girls are going to need good lighting to put their makeup on in the morning for the cameras.”

“Cameras?” I fling a panicky look at Dr. Jessup, but it’s Muffy who answers.

“New York College has been offered a tremendous opportunity, for which I’m told we have you to thank, Heather,” she says.

I know what’s coming, but I’m still hoping there’s been some kind of mistake. “What opportunity?”

Stephanie’s smile isn’t reflected in her eyes.

“Tania felt like you handled the little crisis she had while she was here the other night so competently, she says the only place she can feel safe right now while filming
Jordan Loves Tania
—with Bear laid up in the hospital—is in Fischer Hall.”

“This is going to do wonders to boost Fischer Hall’s reputation when the show airs,” Muffy says enthusiastically. “So long, Death Dorm! Hello, most-sought-after residence hall in the country! Everyone is going to want to live in the building where they hosted Tania Trace Rock Camp.”

“But . . .” I look at Dr. Jessup in desperation. “But filming is not permitted in any New York College residence hall without proper authorization.”

Dr. Jessup has his hands buried in the pockets of his suit trousers. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels.

“What can I tell you, kid?” he says, his smile grim. “They got authorization, straight from the president’s office.”

I glance at Stephanie. Her own smile has gone catlike. “I told you President Allington is a big fan of Cartwright Rec-ords Television.”

I frown. More like President Allington’s son is a big fan of Stephanie and used his influence on his dad—who has no idea what’s happening on his own campus because he’s hiding in the Hamptons during Pansygate.

I look at the girl in the T-shirt and jeans on the couch. She’s so cute and little, I assume she’s with CRT, maybe another production assistant or Stephanie’s personal assistant. Though I can’t figure out why she’s dressed like a student.

“Who are you?” I ask, trying to sound polite, but not sure I succeed. “A Tania Trace Rock Camp counselor?”

The girl raises her eyebrows, her mouth making a little round
O
of surprise.

“No, Heather.” Dr. Jessup takes his hands out of his pockets. “This is the other piece of good news. I’d like you meet the new Fischer Hall residence director, Lisa Wu. Lisa, this is Heather Wells.”

Chapter 8

Triple A

Two in the morning

And my hopes were high

Till I saw you leave

With that other guy

Shoulda left then,

But she caught my eye

Whispered, “Come on, babe,

Let’s go get high”

Shouldn’t’ve listened,

Shoulda gone straight home

But I couldn’t stand

Another night alone

Got what I deserved

For that misplaced desire

When I said I couldn’t stay

She slashed all my tires

Now I’m standing in the cold

When’s it gonna go my way?

You’ve got my heart

All I’ve got is Triple A

“Triple A”

Performed by Jordan Cartwright

Written by Jason/Benjamin

Goin’ Solo
album

Ten consecutive weeks in the

Top 10 Country Billboard Hot 100

“Hi, Heather,” the girl says, jumping up from the couch with a huge grin, then leaning over my desk to pump my hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about you. I can’t wait for us to start working together.”

I stare in complete shock at the girl standing across from my desk.

“Uh,” I say, putting my hand in hers and letting her shake it up and down. “Hi. Same here.”

My gaze slides toward Sarah, checking to see if she’s laughing. Maybe this is all a joke, part of the reality show. Possibly they’re punking me?

Sarah’s got her chin in her hands, watching me avidly for my reaction.

No, this isn’t part of the show. This is real. This girl—who looks about ten years younger than I am—is my new boss.

“But,” I say lamely, “what about Simon?”

“Simon?” Lisa glances uncertainly at Dr. Jessup. “Who’s Simon?”

Dr. Jessup clears his throat. “We didn’t feel Simon was the right fit for Fischer Hall.”

Stephanie, who’s pulled her cell phone from her tote bag and is texting, makes a face. “Do you mean that redheaded man? Oh God, no. He was
not
the right fit at all.”

Wait. How does Stephanie know Simon? Was there a panel of judges auditioning my new boss, like
The X Factor
or something?

“We’re going to have so much fun with this,” Lisa is saying. “I can’t wait! Fifty girls and a reality TV crew? This is going to be crazy.” She sings the word “crazy” like it’s part of a song lyric.

I’m glad someone’s excited, because I’m sure not. Everything Sarah said over the phone about the woman she saw sitting in Dr. Jessup’s office comes back to me. I can see what Sarah meant about Lisa Wu being so perky, Sarah wanted to cram her fist down her throat. Perky like a
reality television show host.

It doesn’t help that Lisa’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt to her first day of work and that her dark hair has been swept back into a ponytail and that there is a scrunchie involved—who wears scrunchies anymore, except to wash her face? Plus, she has on flip-flops. Flip-flops. At work!