The Ivy: Scandal (9 page)

“Oh, right,” said Callie. “Thanks,” she added, glancing at the phone. “I’ll be right back.”

“Ask him for an iPhone!” Vanessa called after her.

“Oh, to be you!” Callie shot back as she headed for the stairs, well aware that her paychecks from working the front desk at Lamont Library could only stretch so far.

Outside, Callie dialed her dad’s cell. After a few rings it went to his voice mail. That’s weird, she thought, staring at the iPhone’s call log. It showed no record of an incoming call from any of her father’s lines. Instead, the only incoming call was from a restricted number, registering above several other missed calls, also labeled
restricted
.

She shivered even though it was a relatively temperate night. What if…?

“Oh my god,” she muttered aloud, dashing back into the Kong.

“Vanessa!” she called breathlessly when she reached the upstairs lounge, weaving her way across the crowded dance floor. “Vanessa!”

Vanessa turned around from where she still stood near the bar. “Is everything okay—”

“What did my dad say—
exactly
—when he called?”

“Um, I don’t know, just that he was looking for you, and then when I said you were busy, he hung up?”

“Yes, but did he actually
say
that he was my dad?” Callie demanded, grabbing Vanessa by the arms.

“Huh.” Vanessa frowned. “To be honest, it was somewhat
difficult to hear over the sound of DJ Damien mixed with Tyler’s colossal stupidity…but what other deep-voiced dude would be calling my phone looking for you at this time of night other than your da—Oh.” Vanessa paused. “You don’t think…?”

“What about all these missed calls?” said Callie, holding up Vanessa’s phone. “
Also
from a restricted number?”

“They could be from anyone,” Vanessa said gently, examining the call log. “Sorry, but I try to screen as often as possible, even when it comes to the numbers I do recognize.”

“What?” cried Callie. “Why?”

“Answering the phone the first time someone calls is, like,
so
overeager. Do you want whoever’s calling to think you’ve got nothing better to do than sit around waiting for it to ring? Screening a call or not responding to a text is the fastest way to let a guy know how desirable you—Oh, what’s the use trying to teach you these things when you’re clearly not even listening?”

“It was Gregory,” Callie whispered, her eyes bright. “I know it.”

Vanessa scrunched up her nose. “Just like you
know
Alessandra is lying about the fact they’re still together?”

“Yes, I do know and I think I can prove—” Callie stopped short, glancing suspiciously over her shoulder. “Any chance you’re ready to leave?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Vanessa. “This party’s a bust anyway. I wouldn’t go on a date with anyone here even if they’d had the fair opportunity to pay me.”

Callie laughed. “I’ll get our coats.”

When they were outside, Vanessa rounded on her. “So what’s the deal?”

“Before Gregory disappeared, he left me…a note,” Callie confessed quietly as their heels clicked along the cobblestones.

“What?” said Vanessa, stopping outside Dexter Gate. “Where? When?”

“On a Post-it…right before he disappeared, I think.”

“A Post-it?” Vanessa repeated skeptically, starting to walk again. “What’d it say?”

Callie took a deep breath. “‘Callie: My apologies for the delay.’”

“That’s it?” Vanessa frowned. “I mean…sorry.”

“It was significant,” Callie persevered. “He stuck it on a book that we both love and then left it for me to find.”

“Left it where?”

“In his room.”

“So you found this note in his room?”

“Actually Alessandra found it.”

Vanessa stared at her. “Was it even signed?”

“Initialed. G. B.”

“Let me get this straight,” Vanessa started slowly, halting in front of Wigglesworth, entryway C. “Out of everything he could have done to explain his absence or tell you how he feels, he chose a Post-it, and you think ‘sorry for the delay’ actually means ‘wait for me, baby,’ except it’s in, like, code or something because even though it’s addressed to you he somehow…knew that Alessandra might find it before you did?”

“Exactly,” said Callie, though for some reason it sounded incredibly far-fetched when Vanessa said it out loud. “Or maybe he meant to write more, but he…ran out of time?”

“Okay,” said Vanessa. “I—er—hate to be the voice of reason here, but when I think back to your track record with notes and to his track record in general…” Vanessa made a face as if she didn’t like what was about to come out of her mouth. “This isn’t the first time he’s vanished in the morning and left you with no explanation,” she pointed out, recalling Gregory’s behavior after Harvard-Yale.

“Yes,” Callie admitted, “but that was because of Clint—”

“Clint—Alessandra—there’s always someone else, or something else, keeping you two apart,” Vanessa interrupted. “When are you going to stop making excuses for him and admit that maybe it’s just not meant to be?”

Callie recoiled, stunned.

“Sorry!” Vanessa wailed instantly. “I’m sorry, that came out—ugh! What I’m trying to say is it’s not you, it’s me. It’s not me, actually, it’s my mom. Her therapist and her spiritual guide from the Manhattan Kabbalah Centre are both on vacay this week, so she won’t stop calling me and spewing all this psychobabble bullshit about my dad and—”

“It’s okay,” said Callie, placing a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Let’s just…go inside.” She scanned her key against the lock. “Anyway,” she continued as they mounted the stairs, “you might be right. Maybe I should stop making excuses for him. Maybe we really aren’t…meant to be.”

“Are you okay?” Vanessa asked, pausing at the top of the stairs.

Callie swallowed. “I’m fine. But it’s true: if he really wanted to reach me, wouldn’t he have found a way? And definitively dumped Alessandra?”

“Eh.” Vanessa shrugged. “Look on the bright side: if you’re right and she’s lying, then at the very least he hasn’t contacted either of you.”

“She
is
lying.” Callie furrowed her brow. “And you know what? I can prove it!” Grabbing Vanessa’s hand, she dragged her down the hall, stopping in front of suite C 23.

“Callie, what are we—”

“Shh,” hissed Callie, holding a finger to her lips. Then, opening the door, she pulled Vanessa inside.

It was dark, but they could hear noises coming from OK’s bedroom.

Noises of a certain nature known to inspire giggles, which Vanessa succumbed to but quickly stifled. “Looks like someone got more than just a date tonight,” Vanessa whispered as they tiptoed across the room.

Callie shook her head, ushering Vanessa into Gregory’s empty bedroom and shutting the door softly behind them.

“What are we doing in here?” Vanessa asked, flicking on the light.

“Proving that Alessandra was lying,” Callie said, crossing to the desk. “Ah-ha!” she cried a moment later, holding up an old copy of the
Crimson
.

“So what?” said Vanessa.

“The other day at the Pudding, Alessandra said that when Gregory called her, he told her that he’d essentially never even
heard
of the Ivy Insider.”

Vanessa appeared unimpressed.

“Look!” Callie insisted, pointing to the headline for an op-ed about the Insider.

“I don’t see how that proves anything,” said Vanessa. “Just because there’s a copy of the
Crimson
in our bathroom right now doesn’t mean that
I’ve
ever read a word of it!”

Callie narrowed her eyes.

“What!” Vanessa cried. “It’s not like you’re COMPing anymore…eesh—sorry. My bad, again.”

Callie sighed, setting the newspaper back down on Gregory’s desk. “Hey!” she called in hushed tones. “Come here and take a look at this.”

“What now?”

“There,” said Callie, pointing to the trash can. “All the way at the bottom. I think it’s a printout of an Insider article!”

“Ew!” said Vanessa, whacking Callie’s hand away. “Don’t touch that—it’s garbage.”

“Precisely,” said Callie, dropping her arm and straightening. “And what do you think he was doing with that article
before
he threw it away?”

“What?” asked Vanessa, her eyes going wide. “Are you saying…?”

“Yes.” Callie nodded. “He—

“—wrote it!” Vanessa exclaimed at the same time Callie cried, “read it!”

Callie stared at her. “Wait, wha—”

A high-pitched moan sounded from somewhere in the vicinity of OK’s bedroom.

Callie froze and then motioned to Vanessa that it was time to leave. Quickly they turned off the light. Racing across the common room, they shut the front door just in time to block out what sounded like OK doing a Tarzan yell.

Catching each other’s eye, they burst into giggles.

“Gross,” said Vanessa when she could speak again.

“So gross,” Callie agreed, opening the door to their common room. “I mean, I love the guy, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear him…uh, you know…”

“Hear who what?” asked Dana, poking her head up from over the top of the overstuffed armchair, where she had curled up with a book.

“Hey, Dana!” Callie called, starting to giggle again.

“It’s nothing,” Vanessa assured her. “Nothing at all. Where’s Mimi?”

“Lampoon initiation, probably,” said Dana. “She mentioned that it started today.”

“Oh,” said Vanessa with a yawn. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m exhausted!”

“Same here,” said Callie, heading for her bedroom. “Good night, you guys!”

Once inside she kicked off her shoes. She was halfway out of her dress when she paused, staring at the bulletin board on her wall. Frowning, she shook her head.

After pulling on pj’s, she plucked Gregory’s copy of
Persuasion
off her shelf. The photo from Harvard-Yale fluttered out alongside it. She glanced at Gregory’s face, and then at the thumbtacks on her desk, and then back at the board, Vanessa’s words reverberating like a bad echo. Could he be…? No, she decided, sticking the photo back on her bookcase and plopping on her bed with the book. “Definitely not,” she muttered aloud as she started to read.

At least I definitely
hope
not.

FOUR

Eat, Party, Love

(Harvard) Society Pages

All the gossip that’s fit to print
*

The toast of the weekend social scene was, quite obviously, the HPSC’s Annual Charity Date Auction. Almost
everyone
—with one notable exception—was there, but for those unfortunate few who missed it, a recap.

The auctionees were called in alphabetical order, and luckily the bids grew increasingly higher as the night wore on, starting with a measly one hundred dollars and ending with a rousing thousand.

Callie Andrews, the first auctionee, was seen canoodling with her purchaser, Bryan Jacobs, for the remainder of the evening. Looks like she’s moved on to her next upperclassman in the prestigious Fly Club for Gentlemen. The two new lovebirds haven’t even been on their date yet, and we hear she’s already referring to him as her “one and only.”

Other notable auctionees included Alessandra Constantine (duh), Aaron Thomas (lacrosse hottie alert!), and Penelope Vandemeer (jet owner), who all stood tall on behalf of their club, the Hasty Pudding, even though all were anonymously slammed in the Pudding’s Punch Book by their (now) fellow veteran members. For these three, among
others, agreeing to be auctioned on behalf of the club (in a pretty transparent attempt at image rehabilitation) was certainly charitable in more ways than one!

(Incidentally, of the seven people questioned over the course of the evening, not one guessed the charity correctly. Gee, how embarrassing.)

OK Zeyna was the highest-priced ticket item of the night, with Alessandra Constantine coming in a close second. No doubt her incredibly high-profile relationship held her back. Or maybe it was OK’s shirtless antics that sealed the deal for one lucky senior in particular, spotted leaving the party around the same time as everyone’s favorite “prince”…

The auction wasn’t the only memorable event of the evening. Alexis Thorndike and Clint Weber, already on the rocks after the inevitable reconciliation, have returned to resume their roles as costars of the popular campus reality drama
Breakups and Makeups in Prominent Public Places
.

Of course, nobody’s presence was of greater interest than a certain individual’s conspicuous absence. You could have heard the straw from a scorpion bowl drop after his name was accidentally called. And, as if the silence didn’t say it all, the evening’s very first auctionee could be overheard articulating what was on everyone’s mind, suggesting that Bolton might now be better suited as the beneficiary of the charity, and adding wryly that he “couldn’t afford [her].”

And that’s saying something because, as previously stated, she sold for only a hundred dollars.