by Lauren Kunze
Callie closed her eyes. “Speaking of sneaky,” she said after a beat, “shouldn’t you be getting back to Clint? I think we both know what happens when he’s left unsupervised among so many eager freshman girls.”
The effect was instantaneous: Lexi’s smile melted, her eyes frosting over with a far more familiar glare. Her hand, which had been hovering near the doorknob, froze. To leave now would only validate Callie’s implication: once a cheater, always a cheater.
Callie held Lexi’s gaze, refusing to break the silence.
DudududuDU, du du du DU du du DU—
The sound of Callie’s ringtone blasted through the air. Lexi, who stood closer to the sink, extended her arm as if to reach for the phone, the word Restricted lighting its screen. Callie dove to intercept her: watching in horror as their hands collided and the phone toppled and then fell with a resounding plop—straight into the toilet.
“Sorry,” said Lexi, looking anything but as Callie stared down at her phone, which was bobbing like the last rotten apple in a barrel. The waterlogged screen appeared to have frozen, doomed to forever register that final, mysterious, incoming call. Callie bit back tears, knowing it could be a full month until she could afford a replacement.
Turning on her way out of the bathroom, Lexi offered one final sympathetic, simpering smile. “This just really isn’t your year.”
THREE
Going Once, Going
Twice…Sold!
“But you have to go!” Vanessa screamed through the wall between bedrooms in Wigglesworth suite C 24.
“WHY?” Callie yelled back.
“Because I signed us up as volunteers a month ago!” Vanessa shouted. “And because…”
“Parce que it will be très amusant,” Mimi cried from where she was sitting in the common room on the couch next to Dana, her head gleefully Ping-Ponging back and forth between the two bedrooms.
“Yes, it will be fun,” Vanessa insisted, mistaking the French word for funny. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll meet someone new and he’ll sweep you off your feet by making the highest bid and—”
“Someone new,” Callie started, stalking out of her bedroom wearing soccer shorts and a sports bra, “is the absolute last thing I need right now.”
“Well, then do it because…” Vanessa’s mouth hung open from where she stood in the doorway to her bedroom. “Because…”
“Because it’s for charity?” Dana folded her arms.
“Yes!” Vanessa cried. “Yes, thank you, Dana. Do it for the penguins, Callie. The penguins.”
Callie stared at her. “What penguins? What?”
“You know, the penguins, with their little feet stuck in those plastic things from around my Diet Cokes that you’re always yelling about,” Vanessa fired back. “And the oil spills, and the otters, and their little paws—” She paused to do what appeared to be an otter imitation, raising her hands to her mouth like paws and widening her eyes. “And because of the hole in the ozone layer, which, if you don’t allow yourself to be auctioned for just one little date tonight, is going to get bigger, and bigger, and bigger—”
“Okay!” Callie cried. “I’ll go—so long as you promise to STOP—TALKING!”
“Deal,” said Vanessa, bounding into her bedroom and returning with a dress. “Now put this on.”
“Ugghh,” Callie groaned. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Disappearing into her room, she threw on the dress.
“Because you love me,” Vanessa called from her bedroom, where she was strapping on her high heels. “And because deep down you know I’m always right.”
“Ear, ear,” Mimi cheered, clapping her hands as both girls reappeared in the common room clad in cocktail attire.
“Don’t think you’re exempt from attending tonight either,” Vanessa snapped at Mimi. “Just because you’re not an auctionee doesn’t mean you can’t come and show us your support.”
Mimi grinned. “I would not miss it for all the spices in India.”
“Hear, hear,” Dana muttered, stretching and rising to her feet. “We both promised to bid on OK,” she explained in response to Vanessa’s questioning look. “He wants us to form a ‘ring’ and collude to drive the price up as high as possible. It’s for charity,” she added at Callie’s raised eyebrows.
Mimi chuckled wickedly. “More like he is worried that no one will be bidding on him at all,” she supplied.
“Oh, great,” said Callie, “yet another reason why—”
“Don’t start!” Vanessa cried, grabbing Callie’s hand and dragging her to the door. “Let’s go—all of you—now!” And so they followed her, off to what was sure to be—or so Callie assumed—the latest installment in her weekly dose of humiliation.
A wooden stage had been erected in the upstairs lounge at the Hong Kong restaurant, Harvard Square’s only equivalent of an underground nightclub, where the greasy Chinese food on the first floor served as the perfect 2 A.M. antidote to an evening of dancing and scorpion bowls. Tyler Green, Vanessa’s on-again, off-again boyfriend (current status = “NEVER-again,” according to Vanessa, meaning they’d probably be making out by the end of the night), stood center stage fiddling with a microphone as the auctionees trickled in “dressed to impress.” Most were fellow freshmen, Callie noted, who like her had “volunteered” (i.e., had been strongly “encouraged” as the newer members of the club to participate in an age-old tradition that “in absolutely no way constituted hazing” regardless of whether or not they already had a significant other because it was for “such a good cause”).
“Testing, one-two-three.” Tyler spoke into the microphone, tapping the surface. “Good, it works,” he muttered. “Looks like we’re all here,” he added, addressing the room. “Thank you for coming a few minutes early so we could go over the protocol. Essentially, feel free to mingle with the crowd once they arrive, but remember that you are being auctioned for a date, and so please, keep it classy.” He cleared his throat. “No one wants to buy a nice date package with a picnic for two and a swan boat ride in Boston Commons and then see their date grinding with randos on the dance floor five minutes later, capiche?”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Control freak,” she muttered. Callie elbowed her in the ribs.
“When I call your name,” Tyler continued, “you will join me, the MC, on stage. Then I’ll describe the particular date up for auction, as well as listing some of the fun, flirty, and colorful details we asked all of you to submit.”
“What?” Callie said sharply, turning to Vanessa.
“No worries, girlfriend,” Vanessa sassed. “I took care of all that for you.”
Before Callie could respond that nothing could be more worrisome, Mimi materialized and handed her a drink. “Courtesy of his royal highness,” she explained, nodding to where OK sat at the bar talking intently with Dana. No doubt he was reminding her of her promise to bid on him. Callie grimaced, taking a big gulp of her fruity-tasting beverage. Mimi winked. Meanwhile Vanessa returned to glaring at Tyler.
“Well, that just about covers it!” Tyler finished. A line of students had started to form behind the red velvet rope blocking the entrance to the lounge. “Thank you all for participating, and please remember that however high or low, those bids aren’t really for you; they’re for charity!”
Right, thought Callie, exhaling as Tyler unhooked the rope and the room flooded with her fellow classmates, clad in cocktail attire and gossiping openly about the auctionees. Callie recognized Tom, a reporter from FM magazine, standing next to Marcus who, equipped with his camera, had already started snapping candids. It’s not for me; it’s for charity. It’s not for—crap! She ducked behind Vanessa—out of sight of Clint, who had just appeared with Alexis on his arm. Several seconds later Matt walked into the room, followed by Grace Lee. A date or Crimson business?
Crimson business, Callie decided, sneaking a quick wave at Matt before turning away to avoid catching Grace’s eye.
“WELCOME, ladies and gentl
emen,” Tyler boomed suddenly, “to the thirty-fifth annual Charity Date Auction, brought to you by the members of the Hasty Pudding social club! Thank you for joining us this evening. We’ve put together some wonderful date packages for you all with some of your favorite underclassmen! For those new faces out there who don’t know the drill: if you see something you like”—Tyler winked—“raise your hand, and when I point to you, yell out your bid. Bidding will start at the face-value cost of each individual date package, but there are no upper limits from there! So open those wallets, grab a drink, and get ready to have some fun!”
The crowd cheered. Callie swallowed. The whole school was there, or at least what felt like it, ready to witness her sell for approximately zero dollars and zero cents.
“So now, without further ado, allow me to introduce our very first auctionee, hailing all the way from sunny California…”
Frack. Callie gripped Vanessa’s hand. Please don’t tell me that he’s calling us in alphabetical ord—
“Callieeeeee Annnnndrews!” Tyler yelled.
Callie barely heard the applause over the thundering sound of her pulse in her ears.
“Go on,” Vanessa urged, giving her a gentle shove.
Callie’s legs trembled in her heels as she mounted the stage. Turning, she faced the crowd, keeping her eyes trained on a neon Bud Light sign mounted on the far wall.
Glancing at her, Tyler covered the microphone. “Smile,” he whispered, offering her one in return.
Callie nodded, exposing her teeth. Hopefully it didn’t look like a grimace.
“Callie is a freshman planning to concentrate in English literature,” Tyler began. “When she isn’t studying, she’s usually blogging about how much she loves her roommates or cru—cruising?—yes, cruising for books—er, books is in quotes—at the front desk in Lamont Library. She’s traveled to all seven continents and, extremely coordinated, can last for seven minutes in some of the most complicated positions in yoga. Finally, while she holds a high school title of state champion in soccer, her true passions include competitive fly-fishing, competitive pie eating, and competitive figure skating.”
I’ll kill you, Callie thought, shooting a death-glare at Vanessa. Vanessa shrugged, struggling not to appear amused. Tyler continued, detailing the dinner-and-a-movie date package up for auction, but Callie stayed intent on Vanessa, willing her roommate to hear her interior monologue, which went along the lines of: Fly-fishing? Competitive Pie Eating? EXTREMELY COORDINATED?
Vanessa held up her hands and next to her, Mimi beamed, giving Callie two thumbs-up.
“So,” Tyler finally finished, “the bidding for this package starts at sixty dollars. Do I hear sixty? Only sixty dollars for dinner and a movie and the priceless company of the lovely Ms. Andrews…Anyone?”
Callie closed her eyes. Worst fear = realized. Despite the hustle and bustle from the excited crowd, not a single person had raised his hand. Even Matt and OK stayed silent: the former probably prevented by the presence of his crush and the latter, his status as an auctionee.
“Come on now, guys,” Tyler said. “Don’t be shy. All it takes is one look at her to know that sixty dollars is a real steal—wha—er—ah, yes, and it seems we have our first bidder?”
Callie’s eyes flew open, just in time to see a suspended arm being yanked down by the girl standing next to its owner.
Alexis Thorndike, looking far more murderous than Callie had only moments earlier, maintained her viselike grip on Clint’s arm, muttering furiously. “Er…” Tyler faltered, watching his roommate turn to address his girlfriend.
Callie felt her cheeks flush scarlet. The only thing that could possibly be worse than no bid at all was a pity bid from your ex, who apparently still felt guilty for screwing you over.
Clint lowered his hand, shaking his head at Tyler.
Scratch that: a retracted pity bid was definitely worse.
Tyler made a face at Callie. He had never, as he’d once confided in her, liked Alexis, and even though to call his relationship with Vanessa “rocky” would be putting it lightly, he and Callie had always gotten along.
“Uh, right.” Tyler cleared his throat. “Just to clarify, if you’d like to bid simply raise your hand and I will call on you…. So let’s try this again. The bidding starts at sixty dollars, just sixty dollars…. Ah yes, you sir, there, on the left,” he pointed.
“One hundred dollars,” said the boy, lowering his hand. It was Bryan Jacobs, Callie’s old classmate from West Hollywood High, now a junior in the same Final Club, the Fly, as Tyler and Clint.
“ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS!” cried Tyler, speaking quickly, one eye still trained on his roommate. “Going-once-going-twice-and-SOLD! And what a way to start the night!” he boomed over the crowd’s applause.
Callie tried to smile at Bryan, but her face felt frozen. Fortunately her legs took over with only one mission in mind: exit stage right.
Vanessa’s outstretched arms were waiting. Callie lacked the energy to brush them off. “You did great,” Vanessa reassured her. Callie scoffed but allowed her roommate to lead her to where Dana and Mimi were waiting, seated now on stools around a small table near the bar at the back of the crowd. Mimi conjured up another drink while Dana nodded at Callie. “I had no idea you were such a seasoned world traveler,” she said.
“I’m not,” Callie muttered, rounding on Vanessa. “Seven continents!? Why—”
“Because fun facts are supposed to be funny! And greatly exaggerated!” Vanessa insisted. “Trust me. This is not my first rodeo.”
“Ceci n’est pas her first bachelorette auction,” said Mimi, appearing delighted to be translating for once.
Callie folded her arms. “Thank god it’s only Bryan,” she murmured, smiling weakly at him across the room. “Otherwise I might have had to learn how to fly-fish or, heaven forbid, become balanced enough to do yoga!”
“Speaking of dates,” said Vanessa, “how crazy was that when Clint—”
“BOLTON?” Tyler’s magnified voice rang across the room.
Callie spun around so fast that she tumbled off her stool. Steadying herself against the table, she searched the crowd—
“Gregory Bol—Oh,” Tyler stopped himself, crossing a name off the list. “That’s right. He’s not…here.” Callie heard him mutter into the microphone.
“And speaking of balancing,” Vanessa picked up without missing a beat, ushering Callie back onto the stool, “you need to take a serious chill pill.”
Mimi started rifling through her purse. “I believe I have a Valium or at the very least a Xanax playing seek and hide in here somewhere….”
Dana shook her head. “I’m sure if he could be here, he would have bid on you,” she said, placing a hand on Callie’s wrist as Tyler called the next auctionee’s name.
“Not like he could afford it!” Vanessa exclaimed.
“Vanessa!” Dana snapped.
“What?” Vanessa was indignant. “I’m just saying that if anything, Gregory’s the one who needs charity now—”
“That’s enough!” Callie commanded, tilting her head pointedly at the group of FM reporters congregating nearby. Fortunately Alessandra stood out of earshot, readying for her onstage debut, where she would no doubt fetch a gazillion and ten dollars for charity.
“Sorry,” Vanessa muttered, chewing her lip. “I guess I was being a little loud.”
“Smile!” Marcus Taylor cried, stepping forward from the FM crew and brandishing his camera. There was a blinding flash, followed by the deafening roar of applause as “the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” i.e., “MISS ALESSANDRA CONSTANTINE!” took the stage. Callie blinked, fairly certain her face was going to look deformed in that photo.
“So what’d it feel like to be the first auctionee?” asked a girl Callie recognized as one of Lexi’s evil FM spider monkeys, joining Marcus and pulling out a notepad.
“Uh,” said Callie, struggling to tune out the fierce bidding war brewing among several men in th
e audience. “Somewhat objectifying?” she offered, thinking of Grace, who in the days before her probation probably would have loved to get a quote condemning the auction.
“Going once…going twice…and SOLD! For a record breaking—so far—amount, especially given that she’s taken.” Tyler beamed at Alessandra, who smiled back.
“No further comments,” Callie announced loudly. A gazillion and ten dollars wasn’t too far off. “That’s right,” she added to Mimi, who had just placed another drink in front of her. “Keep ’em coming. Bottoms up,” she muttered, spying Lexi and Clint, who appeared to have made up, in the corner. Well done, Sweater Vest. You two deserve each other, Callie thought bitterly. So you can take your charity bid and shove it up your—
“Bryan!” Callie shrieked, leaping to her feet and hugging the boy who had just approached. “My hero,” she intoned, stepping back but keeping her hands on his water-polo-and-swim-team-enhanced shoulders.
“Excellent,” Marcus encouraged them, the bulb in his camera flashing. “Now one more, for the cheap seats in the back!”
Callie rolled her eyes and moved closer to Bryan, who threw a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said quietly when the camera had stopped flashing, frowning at the lingering FM reporters.
“For what?” asked Bryan with a sportsmanlike grin.
“For being the one and only person to bid on me,” Callie replied.
“It was my pleasure,” said Bryan. “Anything for a good cause, right?”
“Exactly,” Vanessa chimed in, flipping her strawberry blond locks. “Won’t you join us?”
“Sure,” he said, pulling up a stool.
Callie smiled. Some of Vanessa’s mannerisms vaguely reminded Callie of her best friend, Jessica, whom Bryan had briefly dated back in high school. He’s all yours, Callie attempted to will her roommate.
Unfortunately Vanessa seemed to have the exact same thought in mind as far as Callie and Bryan were concerned: singing Callie’s praises in between stopping to giggle at some of the other auctionees “fun flirty facts,” ranging from “her fourth-grade science project inspired CERN’s Large Hadron Collider” to “he starred as a backup dancer in a Lady Gaga video.”