by Lauren Kunze
Much shuffling of papers and scraping of chairs could be heard as the members of the board stood and started gathering their things.
Alexis was the first one out of the room, brushing past Gregory without a word.
After the last faculty member had left, Gregory double-checked the hall and then quickly shut the door. Crossing over to where she still stood, leaning against the table and clutching the Insider installment, he cupped her face in his hands.
He looked too good to be real. His cheeks were flushed; his dark brown hair tousled as if he’d just taken the stairs up to University Hall two at time. Or as if she’d just run her fingers through it. Those blue eyes sparked like an electric current as they held her gaze, refusing to let go; that tiny crescent-moon-shaped scar stood out white against the line of his jaw, right below his lips.
A full thirty seconds passed as he continued just to stare at her, his smile gradually expanding into a delirious grin.
It was almost enough to make a girl forget all of the terrible things he’d done.
And then he kissed her.
She was melting. The hand that held the article fell limply to her side. Nothing mattered anymore—not the hearing, or his absence, or even that he had been behind the entire mess to begin with. As long as he kept kissing her, she could go on giving in to the impossible fantasy: that in spite of everything, it would all work out in the end.
Breaking away, Gregory started to laugh. “Hi,” he said eventually, still laughing—presumably at her inability to speak.
“Hi?” she echoed, finally finding her voice and pushing him away. “‘Hi’? Is that all you have to say—AFTER EVERYTHING?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, instantly somber. He reached for her hands, but before he could grab the article, she yanked it out of reach.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, dropping his arms in alarm.
“What’s the matter?” she cried. “Are you KIDDING ME? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But it’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“Of course you had a choice!” said Callie. “You didn’t have to do any of it! You do realize that I almost got expelled today?”
“Yes, I do.” He stared at her with a funny look on his face. “I got your letter. And clearly you got mine. So then why…?”
“You got my letter?” she blurted.
“Yes.” He continued to watch her closely. “I never stopped checking the PO Box.”
How dare he look like he was the one who’d been hurt in all of this? “Well, obviously,” she said, her fists clenching around the article, “things have changed since then.”
“What do you mean, ‘things have changed’?” he demanded. “Are you saying that you are with that Bryan guy now—”
“I was never with Bryan!” she exploded. “In fact, if you knew how many hours—entire nights, even—I wasted thinking about you”—she flushed, silently cursing her phrasing before continuing—“wondering when you were coming back, why you didn’t bother to leave me with more than a Post-it note, how you still seemed to have a girlfriend—”
“I said I was sorry!” he bellowed. “The Post-it—the way I left—that I believed the rumors—that I ever gave up trying to contact you—I apologize for all of it! What more do you want?”
“I want to know why,” she said after a beat, her voice deadly quiet. “Why did you do it?”
Exhaling angrily, Gregory ran a hand through his hair. “Look,” he started. “By the time I realized the potential ramifications of what I’d done—it was already too late anyway. And then the paper went to press and I had to leave before I had a chance to explain. Again—I’m sorry Callie, okay? I’m sorry. I never thought anyone was going to get hurt. And, in the end, I think I’m the only one who really lost anything—”
“What do you mean you’re the only one who really lost anything?” Callie practically screamed. “How can you act like what you did doesn’t affect me? I almost lost everything—my position, my—”
“Wow,” Gregory interrupted. His expression had turned to stone. “You’re the last person I thought I’d hear that from. Who knew that the trust fund—and the position—meant so much to you?”
“What,” said Callie through gritted teeth, “does your stupid trust fund have to do with the fact that you framed me, cost me my position at the paper, and might still get me kicked out of school?”
“What are you—you don’t think…Oh no—you do! You think I’m the one who…wrote the Insider articles?” His eyes twinkled, almost like he was amused.
Callie’s head was spinning. “Yes,” she said, though she felt far from certain now, “and I have proof.” She held up the article. “Last night I found this at the bottom of your trash.”
“What is it?” asked Gregory, reaching for it.
“The unpublished draft of an article that you wrote,” snapped Callie, refusing to yield the piece of paper, “but never had a chance to publish like the rest of the Insider installments that you posted using my log-in name and password.”
“I see,” said Gregory. “And you say you found that in my…oh. Yes. That makes sense.”
Callie watched—stunned and infuriated as he, once again, began to laugh. Doubling over, he grabbed his side, saying in between gasps, “If that’s the only reason you’re upset right now—then everything—us—we—are going to be—okay!”
“How is everything possibly going to be okay?” Callie cried, hopelessly confused. “I’m about to be expelled!” Either he was more evil than Lexi—hence the laughter—or Callie had seriously missed something. “Are you prepared to tell the judicial board that you’re the Ivy Insider?”
“No,” said Gregory, straightening and wiping his eyes. “I’m not.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to tell them it was me,” he continued, “because I didn’t write that or any of the articles.”
“But…” Callie sputtered as he seized her hands, still grinning like this was the best day of his life. “If you didn’t write them—then who did?”
Alessandra was waiting in the common room of C 23 by the time they returned, having responded immediately to Gregory’s text. Her face fell when she saw Callie walk in after him, her arms frozen in midair. “You’re back,” she said after a beat, continuing on course as if to give him a hug.
He held up his hand to stop her. “Alessandra,” he said, “I owe you an apology. Because my father’s lawyers have had me on lockdown, I was unable to do what I should have done, in person, long before I left.” He took a breath. “It’s over,” he said on the exhale. “I think you already knew that, but I’m sorry just the same that it got dragged out under the circumstances.”
Alessandra seemed less surprised and more hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar, avoiding Callie’s eyes.
“Now I believe it’s your turn to apologize,” he said, “to Callie.”
“Why should I apologize to her?” Alessandra demanded, looking half-indignant, half-afraid.
“How about for framing me and trying to have me expelled?” asked Callie. “Or lying to make me believe that Gregory had called you? Or pretending to be nice to me and Matt so that you could steal my password when I helped you set up your account on the first day of COMP?”
“I—you…” Alessandra appeared stricken. “Can’t—prove anything…”
“Actually, Alessandra, we can,” said Gregory. “I can’t believe I never gave a second thought to the way you were pumping me for information after every Pudding event. I assumed it must have been because you wanted to belong so badly or were genuinely interested in how I’d spent my day. But that wasn’t the real reason, was it?” he asked. “Just like you never really cared about me either.”
“I do care about you!” Alessandra cried, bursting into tears. “I completely fell for you! I wasn’t supposed to, but I did!”
Gregory seemed stunned into silence. Callie couldn’t help but wonder exactly how many
teary love confessions he’d endured in his eighteen years. No doubt this wasn’t the first.
Practically sobbing now, Alessandra sank onto the couch. Eventually Gregory sat down next to her, keeping about a foot of space between them. Callie stayed where she was by the door, regretting that her mission for a quick confession had somehow landed her smack in the middle of a nasty breakup.
But not all of Alessandra’s tears were for Gregory. “I didn’t know,” she managed between cries, “that you were—could have been—expelled!”
Callie stared at her. “Yes…you did!” she declared, suddenly remembering something. “That’s why you told me—at the Spee—that I should enjoy my time here while I still could!”
Alessandra shook her head. “Didn’t know—at first—when I agreed…” She let out a wail. “She made me!”
“Who made you?” Callie asked. “What? Are you saying that somebody else was involved?”
Alessandra continued to shake her head, dissolving into hysterics.
Callie looked at Gregory. Wordlessly he got up and went to the bathroom, returning momentarily with a box of Kleenex.
“Alessandra,” he said, handing her several tissues, “we need you to calm down.”
“Yes—stop crying,” said Callie. “Please.” Alessandra’s tears were only making Callie feel sorry for her and feeling sorry for the girl who had gone to such great lengths to ruin her life was, in turn, only making her more furious.
They waited in silence while Alessandra tried to get a hold of herself. She seemed to go through at least half of the tissues before the steady stream of water leaking from her eyes gradually slowed to a drip.
Callie came and perched on the other couch opposite Alessandra and Gregory. “Why me?” she asked quietly.
“It wasn’t personal,” Alessandra murmured. “Not at first, anyway. I needed someone who was in the Pudding and had access to the Crimson just in case…well, something like this happened.”
“And you saw an easy way to learn my password on the first day of COMP by pretending to be late and then asking for my help getting set up on the computers?” Callie prompted.
“I was late that day,” Alessandra replied. “You typing in your password right in front of me was just luck—or stupidity, depending on how you look at it.”
Callie bristled. “So when exactly did you decide that instead of just impersonating me you would try to have me expelled, too?”
“It was never…a decision,” said Alessandra. “When I started writing the articles, I didn’t think that I would get caught, meaning that you would never get in trouble. I actually did like you, that is until I found out that you’d lied to my face about—” She blushed. No point in stating the obvious, since he was currently sitting next to her.
Callie glanced at him, wondering if she would ever go to such insane lengths—like trying to have someone expelled—just to eliminate the competition. Immediately answering no would be a lot easier if he would just stop smiling every time he caught her staring.
“Why target the Pudding?” asked Callie, shaking herself. “Maybe you didn’t have anything against me in the beginning, but it seems like you definitely had it out for the club.”
Alessandra scoffed. “If you read the articles, then you should know why.”
“I’m well aware of the negative aspects of the social clubs on campus,” said Callie. “And in a lot of ways, I agree with your objections: to elitism, exclusivity, or choosing members based on superficial reasons like looks or wealth or athletic ability or private jet ownership or whatever. But that’s a stereotype, too, and it doesn’t apply to everyone in the Pudding or a Final Club.” Callie narrowed her eyes. “Why do I get the feeling like you’re avoiding my question?”
Alessandra pursed her lips.
“Fine,” said Callie, leaning back and folding her arms. “Save it for when it’s time to explain everything to the Ad Board tomorrow morning.”
Alessandra’s panicked expression returned in an instant. “I can’t go,” she whispered.
“You can and you will,” said Callie. “One way or another, they need to know the truth, and I think it’d be better if they hear it from you rather than Gregory, who can confirm that you’ve been using him for information all semester and that you threw away that unpublished draft in his…bedroom”—Callie flinched—“while studying one Sunday afternoon.”
Alessandra was shaking her head.
“And,” Callie pressed on, “if that’s still not enough, I can call Matt, who was there that day at the Crimson when my computer at the front of the offices suddenly logged me out—right after you arrived and said hello and then went to work in the back of the offices and at the same time that the Insider article about the Freshman Fifteen party at the Pudding was posted.”
“What if they vote to have me expelled?” Alessandra asked in a tiny voice.
Callie frowned. “I guess you should’ve thought of that before you published the last article.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” asked Callie.
Alessandra clapped her hands over her mouth. She looked terrified.
“What is it?” Callie demanded. “What are you not telling us?”
The tears had started to flow again. “I’m not the one who—can’t tell you or—” Alessandra broke down, burying her face in a handful of Kleenex.
“What can’t you tell us?” asked Gregory, in a voice that could have coaxed honey from a bear or the corset from Queen Victoria.
Alessandra blew her nose loudly, still shaking her head.
Callie leaned forward suddenly. “Gregory—I know you were the source for all the Pudding articles, but what did you tell her about Gatsby? Did you see her after you left early, or were you texting her while it was happening?”
Gregory thought for a minute. “No,” he eventually said. “She told me she had to work late that night. I didn’t see her until the next day when she came over to study and edit her pieces for COMP. And the only person I communicated with over the phone at that party was…my dad. I’d caught him using my trust fund. And I’d guessed what he was up to. So I confronted him—and that’s when you walked in. Or fell in, I should say.”
Callie nodded slowly, racking her brain. A memory seemed to be struggling to surface, like a voice calling to her through the fog on the other side of a soccer field. “I remember wondering why you didn’t bring Alessandra as your date for the evening. But you were busy helping Clint carry in the champagne, so I asked Lexi where she was instead. And she said—” Callie gasped. “She said that ‘Alessandra had Crimson business that night’!” Callie turned to Alessandra. “How did she know? How did she know that you would be there?”
“Don’t.” Alessandra’s voice was muffled through the tissues. “Please…”
But there was no stopping now. “How did you get the password to HPPunch dot com? Gregory: is there any way she could have found it by going through your bedroom or your phone?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “I never wrote it down anywhere. In fact, I never even logged in to the site.”
Callie nodded again, flooded with that half-satisfying, half-dreadful feeling: she’d been right all along. (Well, half right, in any event.) “It wasn’t your idea to write the last Ivy Insider article, was it, Alessandra?” she stated flatly. “It was Lexi’s.”
Alessandra let out a wail. “She blackmailed me!”
Gregory looked at Callie, stunned. Even Callie felt her jaw drop a fraction of an inch, for hearing it out loud was a lot different than suspecting the entire time.
“She caught me in the act!” Alessandra continued, “and was going to turn me in and expose me to the club!” She raised her head, her face splotchy and red. “But then, when she found out I’d been using your username and password, she said she had a better idea.”
“Of course,” Callie muttered. “How could she pass up an opportunity to take down me and Grace in one fell swoop?”
&n
bsp; Alessandra nodded. She seemed finally to be all cried out. “At first she just wanted you kicked out of the Pudding. That’s why she called the cops on her own party for the Freshman Fifteen—so the members would later think you did it. But then…like you said, she saw an opportunity and she couldn’t resist.”
“She knew Grace would publish the Punch Book unedited, didn’t she?” asked Callie, marveling at Lexi’s mastery in spite of herself.
Alessandra nodded. “And she convinced me that you deserved to take the fall because you were a serial boyfriend stealer and were still after…you know…even though you were with Clint.” Alessandra swallowed. Gregory sat perfectly still.
“But I didn’t realize until later that you could be expelled—I swear,” said Alessandra. “And when I found out what had happened a few weeks after the Ad Board first called you in, I went to her and told her I couldn’t go through with it.” Alessandra clasped her hands together and stared at her fingers. “That’s when she explicitly threatened me. Turns out, she recorded our conversation in which I confessed to being the Insider and saved it to a flash drive. If I tried to tell the Ad Board that you didn’t do it, I would go down instead.”
Callie gaped. “But didn’t you have similar proof of her involvement? Text messages? E-mails? Anything?”
“She’s too smart for that.” Alessandra sighed. “Even her texts from Gatsby giving me the blow by blow for that unpublished article just sound like updates from a friend who subbed in as my…boyfriend’s plus-one for the night.”
“But—” Callie sputtered. “But what about the final article?”
“She didn’t write it.” Alessandra shook her head. “She just gave me her password and told me what to do. I had my reservations, but…”
“But you did it because…” Callie said slowly, “you were mad at me?”
“Not just that.” Alessandra hesitated. “I also did it because I was mad…at the Pudding.”