The Ivy: Rivals (10 page)

Friend?
Oh, excuse me, sorry, sir, I thought I was your
girlfriend
. My bad!

Lexi beamed. Callie forced a smile and shook hands, hoping she wasn’t expected to contribute to the conversation even though baseball and taxes were her two all-time
favorite
topics!

“Now, could you three excuse me for a moment?” Governor Hamilton said. “Professor Madoff’s been eyeing me all night—no doubt hoping to talk my ear off about the national debt—and I need to give him five minutes. But don’t think I’m letting you off so easy,” he said, turning to Clint. “I fully expect you to find me later so we can talk ball—and maybe a little politics, too,” he added with a wink.

“Excellent, sir,” said Clint, returning the governor’s viselike handshake.

“I’ll be right back, too,” Lexi said, spotting Alessandra, who had just emerged from the rest room (no luck sneaking out the window, it seemed). Callie watched Lexi enfold Alessandra in a hug as if she were her long-lost twin sister—or perhaps just the daughter of her uncle’s important campaign donor and the Pudding’s most high-priority punch.

Clint turned to Callie. “On a scale of one to ten,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together, “how miserable are you?”

Oh, thank god. “Um, eight? And a half,” she confessed.

“Well, you’re doing great,” he said, squeezing her hand.

At what—smiling and nodding? Only speaking when spoken to?

“Is it all right if we stay for just another twenty minutes—a half hour, max? I know I haven’t been the most attentive date tonight, and I’m sorry, but getting a little more time alone with the governor could be the deciding factor for a summer internship. You understand, don’t you?”

Callie nodded, trying to keep her face from flinching in reaction to her unfortunate shoe situation. Junior summer internships
were
important; everybody knew that. What was her twenty or thirty more minutes of probably-not-going-to-result-in-paralysis foot pain to the future of his career? After all, relationships were supposed to be about compromise. “I’ll just go sit over there—by the bar—until you’re done.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” said Clint, leaning to kiss her forehead.

Taking a step, she winced, and her ankle twisting, she stumbled.

“Are you okay?” Clint said, catching her. “You didn’t have too much to drink, did you?” he asked, his hands on both her arms.

“No!” she said. Suddenly she smiled. “No, it’s just my clumsy platypus feet.”

Clint laughed. “Platypuses are a graceful aquatic species that would probably be offended by that comparison.”

“Hey!” she cried, whacking him but laughing nevertheless.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hugging her. “So we’re all good?”

“Yep!” she said. “I’ll be waiting!” Debating exactly how unacceptable it would be to remove her shoes, she hobbled back over to the bar, where Gregory happened to be sitting on a stool staring into his drink.

“I did it!” she cried, tapping him on the shoulder.

“You did what?” he said, barely turning to look at her. (Uh-oh. The moon-sun-earth position had clearly shifted dramatically in her absence.)

“I said
platypus
in a conversation.”

“Good for you,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

“It wasn’t even weird or anything,” she continued, hopping onto a neighboring stool.

“Have you ever considered that might be because most of what comes out of your mouth is already weird anyway?”

She searched his face for any trace of amusement but found none. “Well . . . you owe me a dollar.”

“Shit, not again,” he muttered suddenly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Reading the name on the caller ID, he stood and cursed. “I have to take this,” he said. “Here,” he added, pulling some bills out of his wallet and flinging them at her.

“But this—”

“Tip the bartender for me,” he called over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

Callie stared at the bills in her lap. There were three twenties, a five, and two ones.

What the hell was that about? she wondered, slipping the five to the bartender and pocketing the rest. She would give it back tomorrow, along with a reminder that not everyone could afford to be so damn careless with their funds. Speaking of which—was it possible that Gregory had been playing the role of her Secret Pudding Fairy Godperson?

She knew it wasn’t Mimi. . . . There was a chance that it was Clint, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask, fearful of how the whole you-have-way-more-money-than-I-do-and-sometimes-I-can’t-afford-everything-that-you-can conversation might go. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for Clint. Quickly she turned back to the bar. He was standing with Lexi again, but his attention seemed focused on the governor, who had his hand on Clint’s shoulder like he was offering some fatherly advice.

“I think I’ll take that drink now,” she said to the bartender, whom she had waved away only moments earlier.

She drank it as slowly as possible, amusing herself with people-watching and silently redubbing their serious conversations based on body language.
Sure, I’ll balance your budget if you tell me who did your hair plugs, Professor Platypus!

Twenty minutes passed, and then thirty, and then forty, at which point she turned again to find Clint. Still cozying up to Lexi on the far end of the room, only this time the governor was nowhere nearby—

Standing, Callie made her way to the back exit of the Faculty Club. Once outside, she slipped off her shoes. On the two-minute walk back to Wigglesworth, the snow stung only slightly more than the tears leaking from her eyes, freezing as they rolled down her cheeks.

“Wake up, Callie . . . wake up!”

Callie groaned into the darkness. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know,” Clint whispered. “You really ought to learn to lock your front door.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m sorry that the event ran over,” he began.

“S’all good,” she murmured, burying her face in her pillow in case he could see her expression in the dark.

“No, it’s not. I was a jerk, but I’m going to make it up to you.”

“Can we talk about this another time?” she asked, rolling over.

He stayed where he was, crouched near the head of her tiny twin bed. “We don’t have to do any
talking
,” he said, “but I am going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Come with you . . .
where
?” she asked.

“That’s a secret.”

“Are you crazy? It’s two o’clock in the morning. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I think you are,” he said, reaching for her coat.

“Clint—seriously? No, what are you doing?”

“Just put this on and come with me. It’ll only take a minute, I swear.”

She didn’t move.

“Please?”

“Only a minute?”

“Yes.”

“And then you’ll go away and let me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“
Fine,
” she murmured, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. “But you literally only get
one
minute. . . .”

Five minutes later they were still walking, though she had lost track of time due to the disorienting effects of the blindfold that, after only a few more minutes of goading, he had somehow convinced her to wear.

“Are we there yet?” she asked, her feet still hurting from earlier as their boots crunched through the snow.

“Almost,” he said.

Eventually they came to a stop. The nighttime breeze brushed past her cheek and she shivered. “Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Just give me one more minute. . . .” he said, guiding her over to something—a bench, maybe—and sitting her down. Then his hands left her shoulders and she could hear him walking away. Maybe the plan was to ditch her not once, but twice in the same evening?

Irritably her fingers worked at the knot in the silk scarf that he had tied around her head.

“All right, you can look now!” he called at the same moment that the blindfold slid off.

She was staring at a tiny ice-skating rink, no more than thirty by thirty feet, around which Clint was hanging the last of four paper lanterns. Jogging back over to where she was sitting, he connected one cable to another. Suddenly, everything lit up, the lanterns hanging from a string of twinkly lights.

“You—you built me an ice-skating rink?” she asked, staring in disbelief.

“No.” He laughed. “This was already here. The law school rebuilds it every winter on top of what is otherwise an outdoor volleyball court. But I did set up the lanterns.”

Callie looked around. “So this is the law school?”

“Yep,” he said. “And hopefully where I’ll be in a year and a half from now if I’m lucky. . . . You’ll be a junior by then.”

She was silent.

“Why the long face?” he asked, chuckling. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me
that
easily, did you?”

“Well, this is very pretty,” she said after a beat. “But I wanted to
go
ice-skating, not just sit and stare at the place where people do it.”

Clint laughed again. “Is that why you think I brought you here—just so we could look at it?”

“But . . . we don’t even have any skates.”

“Look underneath you,” he said.

Standing, she looked. She had not, as she’d imagined, been sitting on a bench after all. Rather, it was a big plastic bin with a lid labeled
SKATES
.

“Oh.”

“Let’s see if we can’t find something in your size,” he said, lifting the lid. Soon he located a pair and then bent in front of her, securing the laces. “How do those feel?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” she said, wiggling her toes.

“Well, come on, then,” he said holding out his hand after he had put on a pair of his own.

Callie hesitated. “What if I can’t do it?”

“It’s easy,” he said. “You can do it. And if for some reason you can’t, there’s nobody here to see you but me.”

“What if I fall?”

“What
if
?
You
are definitely going to fall! But it won’t hurt if you don’t go too fast, and I’ll be right there to laugh at you.”

“Hey!”

“
And
to pick you up after, too.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, taking her hands and pulling her toward the rink. “I’ve got you,” he added as they stepped out onto the ice. He was skating backward, still holding her hands.

“This isn’t so b—
ahhh
!” she finished with a cry: after a few successful forward motions she had slipped, catapulting into Clint’s arms.

But she didn’t fall.

Holding her, Clint laughed. “You really don’t believe in doing things halfway, do you? Baby steps now, Andrews.”

Still clutching her hands tightly, he began to glide slowly backward. “Move your feet like this,” he instructed. Copying him, she started to slide forward.

And just a short while later . . . she was skating!

“I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” she shrieked, picking up the pace.

“You’re doing great!” he agreed. “Ready for me to let go—”

“Yes!” she cried, releasing his hands. And then she was really flying: skating around the rink like she’d been doing it for years, her scarf soaring out behind her, faster and faster until—

Her left foot slid out from under her, sending her toward the ice.
“Ahhhhhhhh!”
she cried as she went down.

“Callie! Callie, are you all right?” Clint called, racing over. She wasn’t moving: flat on her back across the ice. “Are you hurt—”

“Did you see how fast I went?” she screamed, sitting up suddenly.

A look of relief swept across Clint’s face. “You’re sure you’re not hurt. . . .”

“My butt hurts,” she said after a moment. “And it’s
cold
,” she added, standing and brushing the ice off of her backside.

“Want me to give it a kiss?” Clint asked.

“
Ew
—no!” she cried, skating away.

“Come on, just one little kiss,” he pleaded when he caught up.

She tried to fight him off for only a moment before she decided that giving in might be even more fun. It was 2
A.M.
and there were twinkly lights: how long could you really stay mad inside of your own personal ice rink while the rest of the world lay fast asleep?

Forty-five minutes later, after they’d had their fill of skating, they were sitting back on the bin. Clint had produced a thermos full of hot apple cider, which they were now passing between them. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close. “So . . . am I forgiven?” he asked.

“That depends,” she said, sipping the cider. It was sweet and warm and cinnamon-y.

“On . . .”

“On why that
girl
keeps showing up wherever you happen to be.”

“Which girl?” Clint asked.

“You
know
which girl,” she said, pushing the thermos toward him.

“Oh,” he said. “Didn’t we already have this conversation a couple of days ago?” he asked, sounding patient nevertheless.

“Yes, but . . .” Callie stopped to think. “But that was before it seemed like she was everywhere! All the time! Even when she’s not there, she’s still there,” she cried, the words tumbling out faster and faster. “Because your mom is talking about her or her uncle is the governor or— I don’t know, it’s like she has four twin sisters, or that superpower where you can be in two places at once: telekinesis or teleportation or—”

“Stop,” he said, laughing a little.

“I’m being serious!” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I know,” he said. “But you
seriously
have nothing to worry about. Lex—
Alexis
, is just a friend.”

“Oh, great, so she’s
Lex
now,” Callie muttered.

“Just a friend,” he insisted.

“I just . . .” Callie frowned. “I just don’t get it.
Why
do you want to be friends with someone who is so . . . well . . . evil?”