The Ivy: Scandal (16 page)

“—she used to space out like this all the time during last period back in high school,” Jessica was explaining to the others.

“Ow!” Callie cried, rubbing the spot on her arm where her best friend had pinched her.

“Had to do it,” Jessica said with a grin. “Now are you coming or not?”

“Actually,” said Callie, “I’m sort of exhausted…. Would you murder me if I said I kind of just wanted to go home and crawl into bed?”

“Not at all,” said Jess. “I’ll go with you,” she added with a sidelong look at the others.

“Er,
excusez-moi, s’il vous plait
.” Mimi planted her hands on her hips. “
Sa va pas te tuer
, but
I
will murder you.”

Jessica laughed.

“
Je suis très sérieuse
!” Mimi insisted. “How often in life will your best friend be visiting while your neighbors are wearing
ces ensembles absoluement ridicules
?” she finished, pointing at Matt and OK’s outfits. “We must stay up all night tonight at the very least. Probably tomorrow night, too.
Ce feu, c’est juste le commencement!
”

Matt shifted nervously. “What do you mean, ‘that fire is just the beginning’?”

“
Exactement ça!
” Mimi cried delightedly. “It is going to get a lot hotter before
la fin due weekend
.”

OK grinned. “Oh, it’s already getting hotter, baby,” he said, undoing another button on his shirt. Vanessa howled like a wolf while Matt laughed.

Jessica looked at Callie, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Okay,
fine
,” Callie conceded, eliciting cheers from Mimi, OK, and Vanessa. “Let’s get crazy and stuff. But not too crazy, okay? I have a paper due on Monday.”

“Famous last words, my friend,” said Mimi, taking her by the hand and leading them all down Mount Auburn Street. “
Fameux mots de la fin
.”

SEVEN

The Hangover

D
ear Party Animals in Training:

Sunday morning in college: a less than holy time that far too many of us spend praying to the porcelain gods. So what do you do when Saturday night becomes Sunday morning, your rage face becomes your worst face, and the contents of your stomach are about to become the contents of your toilet or (
yick
) your roommate’s shoes? And where are your keys? Your phone?? Your dignity???

I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you that you could have easily prevented that hangover by hydrating, knowing your limits, and never exceeding more than one drink—accompanied by one glass of water—every hour. Nor will I inundate you with crazy hangover cure concoctions like Grandma Thorndike’s classic for the “Overindulgent Evening of Bridge” (essentially a Bloody Mary). No, this simple guide will not address the physical, Sunday morning pain that you all brought upon yourselves but rather this simple fact:

Sometimes even the smartest people do the absolute stupidest things
.

And sometimes they don’t even remember doing them. So in order to solve those Sunday morning mysteries here is my foolproof, five-step program (and here’s to hoping you never encounter a certain other twelve-step program later in life):

Piecing Together the Previous Evening’s Events

1. Check your phone.
This is absolutely the number one, most important step. (Assuming you already checked under your covers, under your bed—assuming that you’re in
your
bed—and, in some cases, your closet for any forgotten overnight guests.) Check your outgoing calls. If you drunk dialed any particular number in excess of three times: send a mass text apologizing for a smartphone software malfunction. Check your outgoing texts. If any of your exchanges resemble these:

COME OVER!

WHERE?

HERE!

! WHERE’S “HERE”?

WHERE ARE YOU?

HIDING!

…ARE YOU IN YOUR DORM ROOM?

HIDE N SEEK, LITTLE BO PEEP!

HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING?

HURRY UP! DADDY’S NAKED AND DON’T LIKE TO BE KEPT WAITING!

GOOD NIGHT, SARAH.

CALL ME IN THE MORNING.

LAKJSFLAKDSFKJAASF!!

?

!#$!ASDKFJKL%$#&258Q98??

HUH? WHO IS THIS?

!#$TASLKJFLAKSJDOUSERKJA;KJF!?!?!?

IS UR PHONE MALFUNCTIONING?

;0 ;) ;)

I DON’T GET IT.

…YOU STILL THERE?

BABY IM SRY!

HA. IT’S OK. BUT SRSLY, WHO IS THIS?

I LOVE YOU.

YO

UH…HI?

’SUP?

NOT MUCH. IT’S 2AM?!

‘S COOL.

DID YOU WANT SOMETHING?

NAH. DID YOU?

YOU TXTED ME!

RLX. NBD.

?

G2G. GTL. YKHII. TTYMBL.

Then you should send the following follow-up text:

SORRY FOR PARTYING…SORRY I’M NOT SORRY.

Or if you
are
sorry (though you shouldn’t be—don’t ask for permission, ask for forgiveness, and never apologize if you can avoid it), log on to Facebook and update your status to: PHONE STOLEN LAST NIGHT! MSG ME IF YOU’VE SEEN IT! Then wait a few hours and repost: FOUND IT! THANK GOD! ROOMIES MUST’VE STOLEN AS A JOKE. APOLOGIES FOR ANY WEIRD CALLS OR TEXTS!

If any of your calls were actually answered…well, there’s nothing you can do but pray. Do keep in mind: playing the
I don’t remember card
makes you sound like even more of a mess.

2. Check your wallet.
Are all of your credit cards still there? No? Whoops—go find them. Yes? Good. Now go online and check your bank statements. They will likely tell you where you were last night, what you bought, and in many cases, what you should
not
have bought. Drinks for everyone at the bar? How generous. Seven pairs of new shoes from Zappos? I’m sure you needed those! (Though far safer than drunk driving—duh!—Drunk Shopping can still be a dangerous game. Remember: “Beer goggles + browsing often = serious retail regret.”) Three extra large four-cheese pizzas with extra cheese? Wait, really? So gross. Let’s hope you shared.

3. Check the trash.
Uh-oh. Sorry, kiddo: three empty pizza boxes just don’t lie. At least that baby bump you woke up with is a food baby, not one of those screaming, crying poop machines.

4. Check your relationship status.
Another risky subcategory of boozing + browsing behavior includes Drunk Facebooking. While sometimes alcohol facilitates bonding, it can also lead to fighting, often with your roommates or significant other. You might be surprised how frequently an exchange of angry words leads to a Facebook update—either from “In a Relationship” to “Single” or “It’s Complicated” or to a good old-fashioned Defriending. Or worse, an actual status update along the lines of “So-and-so is a grotsky little biatch.” Oops. Undo the damage as best you can, apologize, and if all else fails, pull a Jamie Foxx and “Blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol.”

5. Check the mirror.
Do
not
leave your room without assessing the damage done to your face/hair/person. Trust me: you don’t want to show up for Monday morning class with a ginormous penis scrawled across your forehead (thanks a lot, roomies). Also, take a shower. You’re not Ernest Hemingway, and that smell does not become you.

Here to help as always,

Alexis Thorndike

Interim Managing Editor @ The
Harvard Crimson

The Nation’s Oldest Continuously Published Daily College Newspaper since 1873

Advice Columnist @
FM
Magazine

Harvard University’s Authority on Campus Life since 1873

A
tiny triangle of light suddenly stabbed at Callie’s face. Moaning involuntarily, she rolled over on a hard surface, causing the book that she had spread pages-down across her face in place of an eye mask to topple onto the hardwood floor. Groaning again, she forced open one eyelid.

Persuasion
by Jane Austen, she managed to read upside down. Scrunching up her eyes in pain at the now unmasked, early-afternoon sunlight streaming in from a nearby window, she wondered, What the hell had a book been doing upside down on her forehead? How did it get here? How did
she
get here? Where
was
here? Blinking warily, she reread the title of the book—a volume that belonged to…Gasping, she bolted upright.

No Gregory. There were, however, several other individuals lying fast asleep and, in some cases, snoring, spread out, like she had been, at various odd angles on the floor of the boys’ common room.

Slowly she heaved herself up onto one of C 23’s two black leather couches so as to better survey the scene before her.

In the corner under the potted plant Matt and Jessica were spooning. Correction: Jessica spooned Matt, assuming the role of big spoon to her foot-taller little spoon counterpart.

Oddly enough, this was not the most bizarre thing in the room.

Several feet away Adam lay curled up near the TV, wearing a blue-and-white polka-dot dress, stockings, and pumps. Red
lipstick was smeared across his face. A pink wig and a purse had been abandoned nearby.

OK sprawled facedown, spread-eagle under the coffee table, his head, arms, and calves poking out from underneath the mahogany wood. His limbs were bare, and one quick peek under the table confirmed his total nakedness. Callie reached toward the coffee table, cringing as she slid a copy of the
Crimson
out from under a mostly fallen tower of Jenga Truth or Dare blocks. Then, ever so gently, she arranged the newspaper pages to cover his rear. OK didn’t budge.

Sighing quietly, Callie slumped back onto the couch, her eyes traveling to the other side of the room.

Vanessa, wearing only a one-piece bathing suit, appeared to have passed out in the exact same position as OK except that she lay faceup rather than facedown. Her forearms, forehead, and thighs were covered with what looked like chemical equations written in different colors.

Frowning, Callie peered behind the couch. Dana sat slumped against it, a thin thread of drool pooling on the collar of her shirt. In her hands she clutched permanent markers in red, green, and blue.

Spinning slowly, Callie scanned the rest of the room.

Mimi was missing.

Many odd items littered the floor, including (1) pair of glasses; (1) pair of pants (plus suspenders but minus an owner); (3) bottles of wine (empty); (7) cartons of Chinese food from the Kong (also empty); (1) bottle featuring a large green fairy on the label (mostly
full); (1) tiny silver hat, (1) tiny silver shoe, and (1) tiny silver motorcar (Monopoly pieces?); and finally (1) gold trophy that read WORST EVER. But no other people appeared to be present. Callie grabbed a bottle of water next to OK’s foot and chugged for as long as she could stand it. Then, sinking low onto the couch, she placed the bottom of the bottle against her forehead, hoping the cool plastic might relieve her aching head.

Moments later Jessica began to stir. “What the—”

“
Shh!
” Callie called, placing a finger to her lips while her best friend batted at the leafy fronds of the potted plant that had engulfed her.

Using what felt like every last ounce of strength she could muster, Callie motioned at Jessica to join her on the couch.

“What on earth,” Jessica started with a whisper, “happened to us last night?”

Callie shrugged, pointing at the coffee table.

Jessica peered under it and then clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle the giggles induced by the sight of OK sporting only the latest campus headlines.

Callie shook her head and then handed Jess the water bottle, which she accepted gratefully. After gulping some down, Jessica tilted her head at Matt. “
Did you see us…?
” she mouthed.