The Ivy: Scandal (23 page)

“To this day, I still don’t know if the bitterness that I had come to feel played a part in what happened next. I continue to think that I never intended to ‘sabotage’ her, as she put it—but maybe, subconsciously, on some level…”

Grace stared off into the distance, her typically tough exterior seeming to melt away.

“What happened?” Callie finally dared to whisper, perching precariously on the edge of her seat.

“Our final portfolios were due on a Saturday at eight o’clock in the morning, sharp. The Friday before, we were holed up in our room finishing our final edits. Then Lexi’s phone rang. It was the Pudding. They demanded her immediate presence at a top secret location somewhere in the Yard—she wouldn’t tell me where—presumably so they could perform an initiation ritual.”

The John Harvard statue, thought Callie, remembering the night during her first semester when she had received a similar summons.

“Lexi could barely contain her excitement as she changed out of her sweatpants and into the sort of outfit she seemed to be wearing more and more those days. While she rushed to get ready, she said something along the lines of, ‘If I’m not back in time, would you?’ and then gestured at her computer.

“She was already halfway out the door when I called to her, saying that surely she’d be back in a few hours. She laughed and said there was no telling how late she and Clint might be celebrating. Then she was gone. Off to get drunk and make out with her boyfriend while I stayed home seeing both us of through to the end.

“I sat down in front of her computer, determined that one quick proofread would be the last favor I ever did for her. Except, as I realized when I started, it wasn’t going to be a
quick
final review: her latest articles still needed hours and hours of editing!

“Something inside me snapped. I stopped reading and hit Print. For the rest of the night I lay awake, half expecting her to come home and salvage her pieces before the deadline—but she never did. I waited and waited until, at seven fifty-seven the next morning—I remember because I was staring at the clock, watching it tick—I grabbed both of our portfolios, and I left.

“In between Pudding parties and spending the night at Clint’s, Lexi barely noticed my frosty demeanor over the following weeks. Competing for the same spot had made things awkward, and she suddenly had a new set of friends—friends more like her high school clique, friends who all came from New York or Connecticut and dressed up for dinner in the dining hall. But when we were both at home in the room, we did still hang out. And that’s exactly
what we were doing two weeks later when we heard the
thunk
of somebody depositing two large manila folders into the metal drop-box on our front door.

“Lexi raced to grab them but then lingered, alone for several minutes in the hall. When she finally came back, I knew immediately what had happened. She threw my portfolio to the floor and then shoved hers, which contained the unedited pieces, in front of my face. ‘How do you explain this?’ she demanded, to which I replied that I didn’t have to explain anything since her portfolio had been her responsibility.”

Grace sighed heavily. “Things got even uglier after that. She yelled a lot about how I had sabotaged her and ruined her future, and I’m sure I said plenty of nasty things, too. In the end she demanded that I ‘make things right’ by resigning from the paper and giving her my spot.”

“What’d you do?” asked Callie, realizing her tea had gone cold and setting down her cup.

“I refused, of course,” said Grace. “And that’s when she threatened…to out me—to the entire school—if I didn’t do it.”

Callie sucked in her breath. “Wow,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Just…wow. The sex tape situation was bad, but
that
is just a whole new level of low.”

Grace nodded. “I wish I could say that I told her to go ahead and, while she was at it, to go fuck herself, but instead…”

“
No
,” Callie whispered.

“I’m afraid so,” said Grace. “I went to our COMP director and told him I thought that Lexi rightfully deserved my spot.”

“And what did he say?”

“He laughed and told me that I was crazy and that even if I quit, they wouldn’t accept Lexi in my place. As a senior, he knew a thing or two about roommate troubles and tried to give me some advice that I wasn’t really in the proper frame of mind to hear. All I could think about was that my secret would soon be revealed and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“Jeez,” said Callie, dragging her hands down her face. “That’s some seriously messed up stuff.”

“I know,” Grace agreed. “But she never did go through with it. She’s a terrible person—and has only gotten worse over the years—but back then I guess there were still some lines that even she wouldn’t cross. She did, however, tell the administration that I had created a ‘hostile living environment’ by hitting on her, and who knows what else. That’s how she managed to transfer to another room. And then, after that, she told everyone who would listen that I had ‘sabotaged’ her at the
Crimson
and ‘stolen’ her spot.

“A few weeks later when she started COMPing
FM
, her story changed slightly: she had never really wanted to belong to the paper, since the magazine was ‘obviously so much cooler’ and way more her ‘style.’ But she did continue to stick to the overall I-stole-her-life theme, accusing me of kleptomania regarding her shoes, her clothes, her boyfriend—ironic, yes, I know. But I didn’t dare refute her for fear that she still might tell everyone I was gay. And so for the next year I lived with the rumors, which had spread through the
Crimson
and my dorm. Fortunately, as soon as the other editors came to know me, they showed me nothing
but respect. And eventually everyone else moved on to more interesting scandals and forgot all about it, too.”

“Everyone except Lexi,” Callie pointed out.

“I don’t know,” said Grace. “I used to think she was content with running the magazine. She’s the perfect fit for
FM
, and everyone seems to love—or loves to hate—her column. But if she did orchestrate this entire Insider business for the purpose of having me demoted and you expelled, then it’s probably safe to say that she never got over it.”

Callie drank her cold tea while Grace sipped her coffee, letting it all sink in. Grace’s story seemed like further evidence that Lexi was—and absolutely
had to be
—the Insider. Then again, the day planner Xeroxes that Callie carried in her bag indicated otherwise.

“Before I forget,” said Callie. “One of the reasons I asked you to meet me here today was to show you these.” Pulling out the day planner pages, she handed them to Grace.

“Andrews,” said Grace, staring at the documents, “how the hell did you get these?”

Callie coughed. “Uh, let’s just say that there was more than one item of misinformation in Alessandra’s article,” she started. “You see, I—”

“Not another word,” Grace silenced her. “I’ve got enough problems as it is,” she muttered, scanning the pages.

“So…what do you think?” Callie asked Grace after a few minutes had passed.

“I think,” said Grace, handing the Xeroxes back to Callie, “that this is very bad news.”

“What!” said Callie. “Why?”

“She appears to have a solid alibi on more than one occasion.”

“She
appears
to,” Callie conceded, “but just because she wrote an appointment down doesn’t mean that she actually attended or—”

Grace was shaking her head. “There’s something else that you should know. It didn’t seem relevant earlier, but now…”

“What?” Callie demanded. “Tell me!”

Grace sighed. “There was a fifth Ivy Insider article. Well, really, it would have been the third if I had approved its publication.”

“What?” Callie repeated. “When? Why didn’t you—”

“Slow down, Andrews,” said Grace. “And I will explain.” Her voice had nearly gone hoarse from all the talking. She sipped her coffee and then said, “I was at home working late one night, a Saturday, I believe, last March, when a FlyBy submission notification popped up in my in-box. Curious, I logged on to FlyBy to review the article. One of the first things I noticed was the byline: it was signed by ‘the Ivy Insider.’ But as I continued reading, several things struck me as odd. It seemed unusual that anyone would be posting from the
Crimson
offices so late at night—I think it was after eleven, maybe even eleven thirty? And, even stranger, the event described was
still taking place
at the time that the article had been submitted for publication.”

“What event?” asked Callie.

“That Gatsby party at the Fly,” said Grace. “I knew it was that Saturday because I’d overheard you and Robinson discussing your weekend plans earlier—when you were supposed to be working.” Grace grinned at Callie’s sheepish expression. Clearly you could
take the girl out of the managing editor’s office, but you couldn’t take the managing editor out of the girl.

“Saturday, did you say?” asked Callie. “That was March fifth. I remember because I saved the invitation….” And then threw it away, in a rage, right before spring break. “What’s weird about that? I mean, it wasn’t a Pudding party, but Gatsby still seems like the sort of event that the Insider would love to cover.”

Looking impatient, Grace shook her head. “How could the Insider write about the events of a party that wasn’t even over yet and claim to have attended, while simultaneously typing and submitting the article from the offices of the
Crimson
?”

“Huh?”

“Do you know anyone who can be in two places at once, Andrews?”

“
Ohhh
.” Callie nodded. “I see your point.”

“Let’s not forget that at the time I still believed that
you
were behind the articles and figured that
you
could not manage to be at the
Crimson
while also attending the party. So I concluded that we had a copycat on our hands. Some COMPer, most likely, who saw all the attention the Insider was getting on FlyBy and wanted a taste of the action, so he or she fabricated the details of one of campus’s most historically exclusive events. And, other lapses in judgment aside, I wasn’t about to approve a news story that I had strong reason to suspect was a complete work of fiction.”

“But now,” Callie started, connecting the dots, “you think that the article might have been authentic?”

Grace furrowed her brow. “It’s possible. But that would just be
further evidence that Alexis is
not
involved…unless there’s any chance that she was
not
at the party that night?”

“Oh, she was at the party,” Callie said darkly.

“Well, if the article was authentic, then the Insider definitely wasn’t there,” said Grace, “and he or she must have made up all the details about the party.”

“I don’t know,” said Callie, feeling hopelessly confused. “All the other installments were disturbingly true. I mean, the Insider knew things that only a real—well,
insider
would know! Maybe whoever it is found a way to leave the party early?”

“Maybe,” said Grace. “Did you notice anyone leave sometime around eleven?”

“Uh,” said Callie, “
I
probably left around that time, with my roommate Vanessa. I was not having…a lot of fun.”

“Well, your roommate can’t have been behind it, could she?” said Grace. “She didn’t have access to the
Crimson
offices.”

“Two days ago I would have agreed,” said Callie. “But today…” She gestured down at Alessandra’s article detailing the break-in. “Who knows who might have been able to get their hands on a set of keys?” Swallowing, she pictured Mimi and her large silver key ring.

“I don’t know, Andrews,” said Grace. “It seems highly unlikely that the Insider wasn’t at least COMPing the
Crimson
, if not already a member of the staff and possibly the Pudding, too. If that
isn’t
the case, then—”

“Then everyone’s a suspect and it’s
highly unlikely
that I’ll
ever figure out who the hell did it!” Callie finished. “
Gah!
” she groaned, burying her forehead in her hands. “Shit, shit,
shit!
”

Grace said nothing, allowing her a moment to freak out in peace, for which Callie felt grateful. That is until Grace murmured, “Hmm. Don’t look now, but—”

“What?” said Callie, immediately turning. “Oh. Fuuuck.”

Clint had just traversed the intersections of Bow and Arrow Streets, making his way toward them with what looked like two containers of frozen yogurt from BerryLine.

“Could this day get any worse?” Callie said, turning back to Grace. “Quick, hide me!”

If it’d been Vanessa sitting there, she would’ve thrown Callie the paper and then set about creating a diversion. Grace, however, merely raised an eyebrow as if to say,
Seriously?

Callie grabbed the strap of her bag, eyeing the door that led inside the coffee shop, but before she could get up—it was too late.

“Hi there,” said Clint, stopping and pretending to be—as he had successfully done for so long—a gentleman.

“
Grrhi
,” Callie muttered, letting the strap fall to the ground.

Grace nodded curtly.

“So,” said Clint, lingering on the sidewalk near their table, “how’s it going?”

“Uh…fine?” The cup in Clint’s left hand was filled with plain frozen yogurt topped with strawberries and gummy bears. Callie had hand delivered enough frozen yogurt back in the good old days (of being blackmailed) to know who it was for.

Alexis Thorndike.

Callie craned her neck, squinting at the
Crimson
offices, but didn’t see Lexi anywhere.

“So I heard the strangest rumor,” Clint was saying.

“What?” Callie’s head snapped back to attention.

“Apparently, according to some people, I am a ‘poopy pants.’”

Grace looked like she was about to throw up. Callie blushed. “Whoever said that must be pretty immature, huh?” she blurted, trying to be blasé in naming one of the reasons he had cited for breaking up with her.