Scandal

by Lauren Kunze

  Before she could cry out again, Matt had climbed onto a stone bench, his head towering several feet above the crowd. Callie cringed as he raised the megaphone to his lips.

  “GRACE,” he boomed. “GRACE LEE!”

  The protesters paused, all eyes on Matt.

  “I LOVE YOU, GRACE LEE!” he shouted into the megaphone, sounding almost drunk on his own adrenaline. “I’ve loved you since the moment you first yelled at me during COMP, and if you would just agree to go on one date with me, it would make me the happiest freshman that ever walked this campus!”

  Callie could hardly bear to watch as Grace slowly lowered her sign.

  The crowd drew silent. Grace grabbed a megaphone from a girl standing near her and yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Robinson? Get down from there!”

  Some of the protesters cheered and others laughed, while a few appeared sympathetically dismayed. No one, however, looked worse than Matt, whose face had gone a nasty shade of gray. Tossing the megaphone back to the boy he had borrowed it from, he jumped off the bench and started walking rapidly in the direction of Wigglesworth.

  Quickly weaving her way through the crowd, Callie followed him.

  “And what are the rest of you doing standing around and staring?” she heard Grace bark, still speaking into the megaphone. “Are we here to gawk, or are we here to save Latin?”

  “Salvum Latinae!” several people cheered, waving their signs. “Protestatione curriculum mutationes!”

  Callie had almost caught up to Matt when she heard someone call her name. “Andrews! Robinson! Just a minute, please.” As usual, that authoritative voice was impossible to disobey. “I’m flattered, Robinson,” the former managing editor continued bluntly as they turned to face her, “but I’m also gay.”

  “Gay?” Matt repeated, his mouth hanging open.

  “Yes,” said Grace. “As in I like girls, not boys.”

  Callie stared at the trunk of the nearest tree. On the (long) list of her life’s all-time Most Awkward Moments, this had definitely just skyrocketed up into the top five, eclipsing that time she dropped a box of underwear in front of Gregory on the first day of school and then flashed the entire freshman class when she slipped in the dining hall a few days later.

  Matt continued to gape. Grace watched him, waiting for a reaction. The silence lingered until Callie couldn’t take it anymore. “Thank you for, uh, choosing to confide in us,” she blurted, struggling to remember the contents of the “Coming Out” section of an LGBT pamphlet passed out on Diversity Day back in high school. “We, um, appreciate how difficult this must have been for you,” she continued, forcing herself to meet Grace’s eyes, “but we want you to know that we fully support you and…your lifestyle choices.”

  To her great surprise, Grace started to laugh. “Don’t tell me you thought this was my first time coming out!” she roared, throwing her head back. “And to you two, of all people!”

  Callie glanced at Matt, who still appeared dumbfounded.

  Grace wiped her eyes. “Ah,” she sighed when she had regained her composure. “Sorry. I’ve been out for over a year—two years to my closest friends—and so I just assumed that by now everybody knew.”

  “Well, clearly not everybody,” said Callie, almost cracking a smile. She poked Matt in the ribs.

  He jumped, looking like a lovelorn puppy torn between embarrassment and relief. “Are you…sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Grace replied, patting him on the arm. “Otherwise, I’m quite sure I would have accepted your invitation. Though maybe next time you ask a woman for a date, you should consider doing so in a less dramatic fashion. I am, after all, still your…boss.”

  The last word hung in the air, technically no longer true.

  Callie stared at the pavement.

  “I will take that under advisement,” Matt murmured, his features finally relaxing. “And, er, Grace,” he said, glancing between her and Callie. “There’s something you should know. Callie didn’t write those Insider articles.”

  “Then who did?” Grace asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Callie. “But I strongly suspect that Alexis Thorndike is involved.”

  Matt grimaced. “That’s just one theory. But we don’t really have any evidence—”

  “Yet,” Callie interjected.

  “And I for one,” Matt pressed on, “am having difficulty believing that any one person could be so…well, evil. I mean, blackmailing and boyfriend stealing are one thing, but trying to ruin careers and get people expelled?”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate her if I were you,” said Grace. “I believe she is capable of all that and more. But the question isn’t whether or not she would do it. The question is did she do it and, if so, how to prove it.”

  Callie stared at her. If there was one person in the world who hated Lexi more than Callie did, it was Grace, though the reason why remained a mystery. Callie knew they had roomed together their freshman year and that Lexi had transferred to a different dorm around the same time that the Crimson had cut her from their first semester of COMP. Grace, obviously, had made it through and gone on to become managing editor, but even though Lexi rose quickly in the ranks at FM magazine, the relationship between the two girls had remained, to quote Marcus Taylor, “one hair pull away from a cat fight to the death.”

  “So you’ll help me, then?” Callie asked. She waited, holding her breath.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you believe me,” Callie said softly.

  Grace sighed. “I believe…that there is more going on here than meets the eye. And I also believe that as long as Lexi continues to run the Crimson, the integrity of the paper is at risk.”

  “If we could find a way to prove that she’s behind the Insider articles,” said Callie, “then maybe you could get your old job back.”

  Grace frowned. “You know, my position at the paper isn’t the only job I lost because of this. Dean Benedict called the New York Times last week and they’ve since rescinded their offer for a summer internship.”

  “Oh my god,” Callie said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry. I feel so…” Responsible wasn’t the right word, since she wasn’t. Still, she felt terrible.

  “Don’t apologize,” said Grace. “At least not if you’re innocent.”

  “Grace,” said Callie, meeting her eyes, “I swear to you that I didn’t do it—I am not the Ivy Insider. But I will do everything I can to help clear our names.”

  “By finding something on Lexi?”

  Callie nodded.

  “Okay, I’m in,” said Grace. “We’ll do everything we can at the Crimson to discover the identity of the Insider and see that Lexi doesn’t last long as managing editor—right, Robinson?”

  Matt shuffled his feet, appearing uncomfortable; perhaps because he didn’t think they should be focusing all of their investigative efforts on Lexi, though maybe because he had just learned that his crush liked girls. “Sure,” he said resignedly.

  “Good,” said Grace as students started to flood the yard. The clock above Memorial Church struck three. “I should get back to the protest,” she continued, nodding toward the Science Center. “Robinson, I’ll see you tomorrow. And I’ll call you,” she said to Callie, “if I find anything worth reporting.”

  “Great,” said Callie. “I’ll do the same. Shall we?” she added, turning to Matt.

  Glumly he nodded, and they began to walk back to Wigglesworth.

  “At least now you know,” Callie said after a beat, placing a hand on his forearm.

  “I guess,” said Matt. “But unfortunately knowing didn’t just magically make my feelings disappear.”

  “Fair enough,” said Callie, scanning her key against the lock for entryway C.

  “But you’re right,” he conceded as they walked up the stairs. “It is good to know that it’s not personal—not really. I mean, it’s not me she doesn’t like; it’s just my…man parts.”

&n
bsp; “Man parts?” Callie repeated with a giggle, turning the doorknob to C 24.

  “Fine,” said Matt loudly as she pushed open the door. “My penis!”

  “What?” snapped Dana, looking up sharply from where she sat reading on the couch.

  “Je crois qu’il a dit ‘mon pénis,” Mimi deadpanned from the overstuffed armchair.

  “Callie!” Vanessa cried, bursting out of her bedroom. “There’s somebody here to see you!” She grinned.

  “Huh?” said Callie.

  “Oui, oui,” called Mimi, also smiling. “Someone is waiting in your bedroom.”

  Callie’s heart practically stopped. She stared at the door. Could it be? Was he back?

  “Who?” Matt asked, from where he stood in the doorway.

  “C’est une surprise,” Mimi insisted, wagging her finger.

  “Go ahead and look,” Dana urged.

  Slowly Callie crossed the common room, her heart now threatening to leap out of her rib cage. Hardly daring to breathe, she reached for the door. It creaked open.

  The person sprawled across her bed sat up, wearing a mischievous grin. “Hey there, good looking. Did ya miss me?”

  SIX

  East Meets West

  * * *

  >> Gossip >> HOT TOPICS >> Spotted! A space for readers to report any strange or suspicious sightings >> Gregory Bolton

  MANHATTAN, NY—

  I live in a high-rise where 2nd Avenue meets E 85th Street, and a young man matching Bolton’s exact description (but hiding out under a hat and sunglasses) has been going into the Gracie Station post office at the same time every Friday. Wonder who he could be writing to—and if the SEC knows about his secret PO box.

  —Concerned Upper East Sider

  Spotted! Yes, I love this section! I go to NYU and last week I saw (swear to god) Gregory Bolton in a super shady store downtown buying a “burner” (disposable) cell phone. (Don’t ask why I was there!) I guess he’s got as good a reason as any to place untraceable calls from blocked phone numbers—then again, so do most drug dealers.

  —NYU Student “Snoop”er

  I’ve seen Gregory entering and exiting the Bolton’s old Park Avenue penthouse (supposedly on sale later this month) several times recently. (I nanny for a family that lives in the neighborhood.) What I have not seen is the string of accompanying entourages on his arm. Yeah, yeah, I know that he supposedly has a “serious girlfriend,” but I haven’t seen any women going in or out of the premises. (Incidentally, I’m starting to believe the rumors that stepmother, Trisha, has fled to the Caymans with all the purses and shoes she could carry.) What’s the matter Gregory? Too blue to keep up your womanizing ways? Or did that hot little Harvard number dump you when she realized exactly how broke you really are now?

  —The Park Avenue Help

  Bolton sat next to me on a bench in Central Park just three days ago and proceeded to read an article on his iPad…about himself. It was like catching someone checking himself out in the mirror, only better. Was almost tempted to go home and Google the so-called “Harvard Society Pages” just to read the full article on what looked like a charity auction…for him. Who knew Ivy Leaguers had such a sense of humor?

  —Dog walker & Harvard H8er

  This update coming to you live from the Harvard campus, where I’ve overheard several students claiming to have “spotted” Gregory Bolton at various Cambridge locales over the past few days. Why all the supposed sightings? Probably because pre–punch season has started: when the elite all-male final clubs extend social invitations to a few select freshmen considered “high priority” punches. Gregory Bolton used to be at the top of every club’s list and most likely received invites to some of spring’s most exclusive pre-punch events, including the Phoenix Caribbean Party and the Spee’s infamous “Eurotrash”—but naturally those were sent out before #BoltonBankruptcyGate. Do the invitations still stand? And were those students just hallucinating, or will this rager-filled weekend actually inspire the younger Bolton to stage his return to campus….

  —Ivy Insider Admirer

  * * *

  EUROTRASH

  (noun)

  1.

  A human subphylum characterized by its

  apparent affluence, worldliness, social

  affectation, and addiction to fashion

  2.

  The best dance party of the year

  Brought to you by The Spee Club

  Friday @ 76 Mt. Auburn St.

  10 p.m. until you can’t dance anymore

  Featuring DJs Zhang & Shifty

  Costumes Mandatory

  R.S.V.P. to add +1s to the list

  “JESSICA!” Callie screamed, her tiny flicker of disappointment fading fast.

  Not Gregory.

  But just as good, if not better.

  “BESTIE!” Jessica screamed back, hugging her and jumping up and down.

  After several more seconds of squealing, Callie finally recovered herself. “How did you…?”

  “I helped her coordinate, thank you very much,” Vanessa called from the common room.

  “That’s right,” said Jessica, smiling broadly. “I Facebooked Vanessa and then she gave me your class schedule and agreed to let me into the building so I could surprise you!”

  “Amazing,” said Callie, grinning from ear to ear. “You guys are the best,” she continued, pulling Jessica into the common room and then into a three-way hug with Vanessa. “Just the best!”

  “Et moi et Dana?” Mimi demanded, indignant.

  “You guys are also the best,” Callie amended, grabbing Mimi and Dana by their hands and then heaving them up into the hug.

  “Okay, okay, enough, enough!” Dana cried a few seconds later from where she was squished into the center of the embrace. “I have a lot more reading to do!”

  Breaking away in a huff, Dana returned to the couch and spread her huge textbook across her knees. Mimi flung herself onto the armchair, her knees kicked up over one side, and continued reading the current issue of the humor magazine distributed by the Harvard Lampoon, a social organization to which they suspected she now belonged, though she technically wasn’t supposed to talk about it.

  Catching Callie’s eye, Jessica smiled. Jessica didn’t have to say anything in order for Callie to read her mind: They’re all exactly as you described.

  “Ahem-hem.” Matt cleared his throat, still hovering awkwardly near the door.

  “You must be Matt,” said Jessica, walking over to shake his hand. Glancing over her shoulder at the girls she mouthed, “Cute!” before turning back to him. “I hear great things.”

  “Uh…” Matt stammered, somewhat dumbstruck. Back home in California people had often mistaken Callie and Jessica for sisters, Jessica being the longer-haired, blue-eyed and still—thanks to the miraculous weather at Stanford—tanner of the two. “Nice to wonderful things about meeting you, too,” he blurted. “Uh—I should—get…” he mumbled, backing out into the hall.

  Callie smiled. “Will we be seeing you at the party later tonight?”

  “Oh yes, will we?” Jessica echoed, her blue eyes wide.

  “Er—sure,” said Matt to Callie’s surprise. The Spee, one of Harvard’s eight all-male Final Clubs, was hosting “Eurotrash,” its craziest party of the year, later that evening. Matt, much like Grace and, for that matter, the Ivy Insider, normally had serious moral qualms about Harvard’s elite(ist) secret societies. But apparently tonight he was willing to make an exception. “I’ll tell OK that I…changed my mind. Nice to, uh, meet—already said that. I’ll be seeing you—all of you—later!” He pulled the door shut behind him.

  “Ugh,” Vanessa groaned, rolling her eyes at Jessica. “Welcome to Nerdsville. Population: Matt.”

  Jessica laughed. “No way,” she said, shaking her head. “If you want to see a real nerd you need to stop by my Tech Start-up Seminar back at Stanford. We’ve got geeks that make Mark Zuckerberg look like Justin Timberlake!”

  “You reall
y think he’s cute?” asked Callie.

  “Sure,” said Jessica. “But, as you well know, I’m holding out for someone else.”

  “Oooh,” said Vanessa. “Who?”

  “OK!”

  “OK?” Mimi repeated, peering at Jessica over the top of the Harvard Lampoon. “As in our neighbor, not an affirmative American exclamation?”

  “Correct,” said Jessica. “Unless—I mean—I’m not trying to step on any toes here, so if he’s already spoken for…”

  “Non, non, non,” said Mimi. “It is nothing except that we are suspecting he is already involved with someone else. Mais l’affaire est un secret.”

  “A secret lover?” asked Jessica.

  “Oui.” Mimi nodded. “We do not know who she is, but we are suspicious it is quite grave.”

  “You mean…serious?” suggested Callie.

  “Oui, oui,” said Mimi, returning to her magazine.

  “Not to worry,” said Vanessa, brandishing the invitation to “Eurotrash.” “Much more hotness awaits us at the party tonight!”

  “Awesome,” said Jessica. “I can’t wait. Whaddya wanna do in the meantime, Calamazoo?” she said, turning to Callie.

  “Walk around Harvard Square and grab some tea or fro-yo?”

  “Coolness,” said Jessica. “Is there a good kombucha spot around here?”

  “Kom-what-a?” asked Mimi.

  “It’s a type of fermented tea,” Jessica explained.

  “Fermented?” said Dana. “As in alcoholic?”

  “No,” said Jessica. “More like yeast and bacteria and all kinds of other fabulous acids and antioxidants that detoxify your body and energize your mind.”

  “Oh no,” said Callie, “it’s happened!” Rushing to Jessica, she grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake. “You’ve been brainwashed by the Northern California yogalates pod people! And drinking the kombucha Kool-Aid!”