The Ivy: Scandal (19 page)

“And
that
explains
this
,” said Callie, picking up the golden trophy that had WORST EVER printed across the base.

“Okay,” said Matt. “But that still doesn’t explain: where
is
Mimi?”

“Meemeeee!” OK yelled, eliciting giggles from the others. “What?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” Jessica and Callie chorused.

“Don’t just sit there,” OK admonished, though he himself had not moved. “Help me.”

“Mimi!” the others droned. “MIMI, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“
Dans ici
!” came a faint call from somewhere inside the bathroom.

“Did you hear that?” asked Matt.

“
Oui, oui
,” said OK, dragging himself off the couch.

After helping each other up, they followed him into the bathroom.

It was empty.

Slowly OK peeled back the shower curtain over the bathtub.

It was filled with a mixture of one, five, and ten dollar bills, and multicolored Monopoly money. Mimi’s head, shoulders, and knees poked out from beneath the cash.

“
Bonjour, mes amis
,” she said brightly, languishing with her head tilted back as if she were in a particularly luxuriant mud bath at a spa. “
Je me sens comme un million de dollars!
”

“Yeah,” said Matt with a laugh. “No wonder you feel like a million bucks. I would, too.”

“Care to rejoin me, fellow dare buddy?” Mimi asked, winking at Vanessa. “You look as if you could use a good scrubbing!”

Giggling, Vanessa hopped into the tub. “‘Put on bathing suits and go swimming in a pile of money,’” she recalled. “Genius. Say,” she continued, “do you know whose glasses are in the common room?”

“Yours,” said Mimi. “You asked Callie to retrieve them to help you prepare before
le hipster est venu
, and then she returned with that book and proceeded to cry out in her sleep. ‘Wentworth!’” Mimi mimicked Callie, naming the main love interest in
Persuasion
. “‘Gregory!’”

“Okay,” said Callie, ignoring Jessica’s amused expression. “That’s enough of story time!”

“Wait,” asked Matt. “Any idea what happened to my keys?”

“
Non
,” said Mimi.

“You didn’t”—Matt lowered his voice—“
roofie
us last night, did you?”

“Ha!” Mimi laughed. “It was only a weensy splash of absinthe. Perfectly legal these days; in Europe we take ours in our tea.
Pfft!
Featherweights,” she muttered. “Now be a dear, deary,” she called to OK, “And fetch us
un
cocktail. I am simply parched!”

“A cocktail?” OK repeated, seeming too surprised to be offended at being told to fetch. “Right now?”

“
Mais oui
,” said Mimi. “
C’est la seule façon de réparer un
hangover.”

Hours later, after gorging on greasy food and a brisk walk along the Charles River, Callie’s hangover had finally subsided. She still felt terrible, however, and not entirely because it was time for Jessica to leave. Insane as the weekend had been and wonderful as it was to see her best friend, her overall predicament remained unchanged. She was two days closer to her hearing and yet no closer to proving that Lexi was the Ivy Insider. And, even worse, the ratio of time spent obsessing about Gregory to actual time spent
with
Gregory basically equaled a huge number divided by zero which was—in real life and in math—a problem with no solution.

“Can I give you two pieces of sisterly advice?” asked Jessica, breaking out of a teary hug near the escalators that descended into the Harvard Square T station.

“Of course,” said Callie. “I need all the advice I can get.”

“Okay,” said Jess, propping herself up on the handle of her carry-on. “Here it goes…. Number one: you’ve gotta stop obsessing about Gregory.”

“Who me? Obsess?” Callie feigned weakly.

Jessica laughed. “Look, I’m not saying you should give up completely because I still think that you two are meant to be…well, at least not like
this
. Howsoever, no amount of obsessing or calling out for him in your sleep—”

Callie groaned.

“—is going to bring him back any sooner. He will return when he is ready. And when he does, maybe he’ll have good reasons for going totally AWOL—or maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s not going to change the fact that you have more important things to worry about right now.”

“I know,” Callie agreed with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to tell myself the same thing since that Monday after spring break.”

“It’s hard, I’m sure,” Jessica said sympathetically. “But necessary. Anyway, number two: as far as this Ivy Insider business is concerned…I think it’s time to start playing dirty.”

“Dirty
how
?” asked Callie.

Jessica smiled mischievously. “In order to beat Lexi at her own game, you’re going to have to start thinking like her. No more Mrs. Innocent California Girl. It’s time to bend a few rules before you get kicked out for violating ones you didn’t even break in the first place.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Callie asked slowly.

Grinning now, Jessica pulled something small and shiny out of her pocket, dangling it in front of Callie’s face. “He would have given them to me,” she said quietly, “but I didn’t want him to get in any trouble in the event that you get caught….”

Callie stared at the object suspended from her best friend’s fingers. “Are you saying…what I think you’re saying?”

“Uh-huh,” said Jessica with a nod, pressing Matt’s keys into Callie’s hand. “You have to break into the
Crimson
building.”

EIGHT

Breaking, Entering, and Pranking

A Day in the Life

At the
Harvard Crimson

8:00 A.M.–All Staff Morning Meeting

Managing Editor: What super important stories are we going to break today, gang?

Staff Writer 1: Maa…Dunno.

Staff Writer 2: Dining halls smell sort of weird sometimes. Think there’s a story in there?

Managing Editor: Hmm. Maybe. What were you thinking in terms of accompanying art? I’m thinking maybe we go big with this and make it our front page with my face, in close-up, as the photo.

Staff Writer 2: Um. Would that be a photo of you in the dining hall?

Managing Editor: What’s a dining hall? I eat all my meals at Upstairs on the Square.

Staff Writer 1: Dining halls are things that smell like fish tacos. And I vote yes, because you’re really pretty.

Managing Editor: Good, then it’s settled.

COMPer: But…aren’t Oprah and Lady Gaga visiting campus tomorrow for a forum on the new Born This Way Foundation?

Managing Editor: Drop and give me twenty, COMPling.

12:00 P.M.–Lunch Break

ME: Where’s my super-duper, special, customized, named-after-me salad? Somebody bring it to me or I’ll have you all castrated!

ME: I’m serious, people. I’m going to start with the freshmen. Then the sophomores. Then the business board. Then editorial. Art Board, you guys are safe for now—I still need somebody to take pictures of me.

3:00 P.M.–Departmental Meetings: Art Department

ME: Let’s see how the new mock-up of
FM
mag looks with my face on the cover.

Photographer 1: You like?

ME: Hmm. Maybe. I’m thinking…it could be bigger.

Photographer 1: What, the title of the magazine?

ME: No. My face.

Photographer 2: But, er, well, ah…your face is already taking up the entire front and back covers.

ME: So what? Can’t you make the magazine bigger?

Photographer 1: How much bigger?

ME: Hmm. How about one and a half times the size of the newspaper at the very least?

5:00 P.M.–Departmental Meetings:

Editorial Board ~CANCELED~

9:00 P.M.—Final Editorial Review~CANCELED~

Midnight—The
Crimson
goes to print.

The next day—BREAKING NEWS:

The Harvard Crimson

NEWS
OPINION
FM
MAGAZINE SPORTS ARTS MEDIA

Breakfast At Tiffany’s

Why I Have Never Set Foot in a Harvard Dining Hall

By LEXUS TEARDUCT,

SHODDY MANAGING EDITOR

and OCCASIONAL ADVICE COLUMNIST

at Really Really REALLY Prestigious Publications

For longer than you’d care to remember

This parody was brought to you by The Harvard Lampoon. http://harvardlampoon.com

C
allie clicked off her flashlight several yards before she reached the bright red door to the
Harvard Crimson
. She glanced over both shoulders and then down across the street at Adams House to make sure the coast was clear. Luckily Plympton Street was completely deserted. Callie permitted herself a sigh. Even though it was three o’clock in the morning, there was no telling how late some students might be coming home from the library.

Her feet flitted across the pavement, covering the final steps in seconds. Then, without daring to look back, she slid the copy she’d made of Matt’s key into the lock.

The hallway was cool and dark. Callie made sure to hug the right-hand wall, avoiding the stacks of newspapers she knew to be arranged against the left. Creeping along in total blackness, she tiptoed her way to the arch that opened into the first floor offices.

As anticipated, all the lights were off. Breathing deeply, she slipped inside. Wary of the computer desks, she edged over the floor one foot at a time, taking care not to bump into anything. When she had made it approximately halfway across the room, she reached into her back pocket, where she had folded the copy of her log-in records that the Administrative Board had requisitioned when the final Insider installment broke.

When she had been COMPing the
Crimson
, she had used one
of the two same computers every day, monitor #3 or monitor #4, sitting next to Matt as frequently as possible. The Insider articles had all been posted from different computers, and judging by the monitor numbers, the workstations in question were located elsewhere in the offices—either in the back or on the second floor.

Her plan was simple: determine where the Insider’s computers of choice were located and then see if this triggered any visual memories of who had been sitting there around when the articles had been posted.

Of course, in order to look, she would need a little light. Her heart thrumming so loud it practically felt like someone on the street might hear, she clicked the flashlight on.

From somewhere in the back corner of the offices, she heard a soft distinctive whisper: “
Merde!
”

Dropping to the floor, Callie threw herself under the closest computer desk, setting the flashlight facedown to kill the beam.

Shit, she thought. Someone’s here. But why hadn’t they turned on the lights? Had she missed something? Holding her breath, she leaned against the side of the desk. Instead of supporting her shoulder, the hard wooden surface gave way. Callie only just managed to roll out from under it before the entire desk caved in, collapsing with a heart-stopping, definitive
thunk
.