The Ivy: Scandal (35 page)

Stopping, Callie smacked him on the arm. “
You’re
the one who just missed like six weeks of school—

“Didn’t miss it as much as
you
missed
me
, apparently,” he shot back, seizing her and tickling her sides. “If only I’d known how many
hours
—nights, even—that you wasted—”

Shrieking with laughter, she broke away, sprinting toward their dorm.

“Wait,” he cried, catching up and grabbing her hand to keep her from opening the bright green door to Wigglesworth, entryway C—the very place where she had first laid eyes on him at the beginning of the year on Move-in Day.

“What?” asked Callie, alarmed. Had they forgotten something? Overlooked some loophole that would allow Lexi to worm her way out of everything before tomorrow?

Gregory was looking very grave indeed as he leaned in until he was less than an inch away from her face. But at the last second his
lips curved into a smile, right before they brushed her own.

“Oh,” she said, moments—or was it hours?—later when they broke away. “
That
.”

“Whoo-hoo!” a voice suddenly screamed from above.

Mimi and Vanessa were hanging out Callie’s bedroom window, whistling and applauding. “Your highness!” Mimi screamed over her shoulder. “You are missing the performance!”

“Yes, don’t let us interrupt,” Vanessa yelled down. “We’re not, like,
dying
to know how your hearing went. What’s it to us if you’ve been expelled? We haven’t been losing sleep over it for weeks—”

“Oi!” OK screamed, jamming his upper body out the window of Vanessa’s bedroom next door. “HE’S BACK! What gives, mate? You don’t write? You don’t call? Not even to warn me of your imminent return? You know: I’ve half a mind to give you a good pummeling with Mr. and Mrs. Fist,” he finished, waving his arms in the air.

Gregory flashed OK his impossible-not-to-forgive-instantly grin. “Sorry, bud. I had to go see about a girl.”

Callie beamed.

Dana’s bedroom window flew open. “Welcome home!” Matt and Adam yelled at Gregory. “What are you waiting for?” Matt added to Callie. “Get up here and tell us how it went!”

Callie looked at Gregory. He shrugged. “We could always just run away,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Hitchhike back to New York, steal a boat and sail to Vieques, or hide out
somewhere closer to campus…I happen to know of a certain conference room in University Hall that ought to be vacant until tomorrow morning.”

“You have thirty seconds to get up here,” OK bellowed, “or Mr. and Mrs. Fist will be down for a chat.”

Callie laughed. Tempting as the offer was—to escape and enjoy a few more precious moments alone—she owed her friends, who had sacrificed so much of their time and effort to ensure that she stayed in school, an explanation.

“All right,” Gregory conceded, surveying her face. He opened the bright green door. “After you.”

Half an hour later their roommates finally appeared to have run out of questions.

“Hey,” Vanessa said to Callie, pulling her aside while OK demanded, for the seventh time, why Gregory hadn’t hidden a note for
him
in a copy of
his
favorite book (“But wouldn’t that have ruined all the pictures?” Gregory asked, earning him a ‘good pummeling’ from ‘Mr. and Mrs. Fist’). “Before I forget,” Vanessa continued, “this was delivered to our room earlier today.”

It was a copy of the
Harvard Advocate
. Swallowing, Callie took the magazine and opened to the table of contents.

SPRING

FEATURES

Commencement: A Senior Reflects

Jeremy C. Holden

Is It Really an Economic “Crisis”?

Hedge Funds, Harvard, and Wall Street

Andrea F. Wilson

FICTION

The Bottom of the Well

Akiko Keido

Roommates

Callie I. Andrews

ART

“I painted this for you”

Oil on canvas

Shelby Samuel

Reflections: IV

Metal, glass, & wood

T. M. Boyle

POETRY

Shallow Depths

Maxwell W. D. Morrison

This is not a “Poem”

Julian P. James

“Oh my god!” she screamed, hugging Vanessa and jumping up and down.

“What?” asked Dana, looking alarmed.

“Have I misunderstood?” Mimi rushed over. “
Tu n’es pas vraiment expulsé
?”

“No,” said Callie, letting go of Vanessa. “Everything’s fine. More than fine,” she added, as Gregory came to read over her shoulder.

“Callie wrote a story about four insane—
ly
awesome—roommates, clearly largely inspired by yours truly,” Vanessa explained. “You guys are in there, too, ‘Mini’ and ‘Davina.’” She giggled, grabbing the magazine from Callie. “But mostly me. I’m going to be
famous
!”

“Not so fast,” said Gregory, lifting the magazine high above Vanessa’s head. “I think this first printing belongs with its rightful owner.”

“Thank y—” Callie started, yelping as she watched Gregory tuck it into his back pocket. “Hey!” she cried, sliding her arms around his waist in an attempt to retrieve the magazine. He grabbed her wrists, holding them close to his chest and staring down at her, overcome with silent laughter.

“
Ahem
.” Matt cleared his throat loudly. “Isn’t it time that we were on our way…to the, uh, library?”

“Huh?” asked OK.

“Oh,
riiight
.” Vanessa nodded. “I completely forgot about how we all agreed to spend
the entire afternoon
studying in the library.”

“What?” said OK. “When did that happen?”

Shaking her head, Mimi started pushing him toward the door.
“But I don’t have any books!” he cried.

“Dana and I have got you covered,” said Adam, making his way for the door.

“Excellent idea, Matthew,” Dana agreed, grabbing her textbooks off the coffee table.

“But,” OK sputtered, resisting Mimi’s shoves, “you can’t possibly expect Callie and Gregory to want to study at a time like this—”

“They—are not—invited,” Matt said very slowly, arching his eyebrows.

“Wh—oh!” OK grinned. “I get it.”

“
Tu prenait une éternité
,” Mimi muttered.

“Might I suggest,” said Dana as the others filed out into the hall, “that you
do
join us at the library—if not today then perhaps tomorrow? If you don’t pass economics, Callie, then all of this will have been for nothing, and Gregory, I can’t imagine how far behind—”

“Actually,” said Gregory, “I watched all the lectures online and my lawyer contacted my professors, who sent along my assignments. And since there wasn’t much else to do…” He grinned at Callie.

“Still,” said Dana. “Reading period is nearly halfway over and—”

“Dana, I apologize but I’m going to have to cut you off,” he said, taking Callie’s hands, “because whether you leave or not, I cannot last a single second longer without”—he looked at Callie—“doing”—he leaned in—“this.”

Their lips met, and neither one noticed as a very disgruntled Dana pulled the door shut behind her, leaving them alone at last.

FIFTEEN

Yardfest

D
ear Soon-to-be Sophomores:

Here’s a little SAT vocab word you may or may not remember:
sophomoric
, meaning “pretentious but juvenile” or “conceited and overconfident of knowledge but poorly informed and immature.” Of course it also means “of, relating to, or characteristic of a
sophomore
.”

Goodness—was a better word ever invented?

No need to stress too much about the “poorly informed part” (after all, this advice columnist will still be here next year to try to cure your incurable immaturity) or even the inevitable “sophomore slump” (an expression that refers to the depression and academic apathy of second-year students after an often unforgettable freshman year). Why? Because first it’s time for summer!

FIVE TIPS FOR A STRESS-FREE SUMMER

Don’t stress too much about your internship.
People, it’s called
unpaid
“work” for a reason. Junior year is when you’re supposed to start obsessing about the big old J-O-B problem lurking postcollege, but for now just try to enjoy dipping your toe into the professional world. Try to explore whatever (hopefully new) city you’ve found yourself inhabiting, and try to learn something in addition to what your new boss likes in his or her coffee.

Don’t stress too much about your relationship.
Whether you and your honey are meant to be (even though he applied to and accepted that j-o-b on the opposite end of the country) or decide, like many do, to take a break during the steamy summer months, try to remember that regardless, he or she will always be here when you get back. And in the meantime…tennis instructors, anyone?

Do stress about your emotional and physical well-being.
Harvard is
hard
. Now more than ever, you need to relax, rejuvenate, and refresh before buckling down over the next three years. Join a gym. Meditate. Let that zombie skin tone brave the light of day. See what the inside of a spa looks like for the first time. Try electroshock therapy or whatever else you can do to eliminate the necessity for real therapy later in life. (Though nothing wrong with a little old-fashioned Talking Cure right now if necessary: you can always bill it to health services!)

Don’t stress about your grades or other disappointments (major disasters?) of the year.
Guess what? You still have six more semesters of grades—at the very least!—to spend endless sleepless nights agonizing over, just as I doubt all of life’s major disasters are behind you. So move on and buck up because I can guarantee that later you will look back on your time as a freshman as one of the happiest, healthiest, most carefree, fun, and exciting years of your life.

Do take advantage of the final days of school.
Even if you haven’t left the library in weeks—oops, too soon!—you’d have to be blind
and
have a sensory processing disorder not to realize that summer, insofar as the weather, is already upon us. So go out and get some ice cream. Run barefoot through the grass in Harvard Yard. Learn to throw a ball—of any kind—so Dad will finally stop calling you his little NerdDork. Go to Yardfest: everyone will be there, along with food, sunshine, and live
music—plus, it’s free. And finally, tell your friends and roommates—or that special someone—that you love them, even if you think you already do it every day.

Until next year,

Alexis Thorndike, Advice Columnist

Fifteen Minutes
Magazine

Harvard University’s Authority on Campus Life since 1873

“W
here
were
you guys last night?” Vanessa demanded of Callie and Gregory, setting down her half-eaten hot dog. “You missed the last Pudding party of our freshman year!”

“I quit, remember?” said Callie. All three, along with Matt, Mimi, Dana, Adam, and OK, were sitting on the grass in the middle of Harvard Yard next to a giant tree with a tire swing hanging from its branches. Nearly the entire student body surrounded them. Exam period had finally ended, meaning that it was time for Harvard’s last organized event of the year: Yardfest, a huge outdoor barbecue followed by a live concert on the stage that had been erected on the steps of Memorial Church.