Scandal

by Lauren Kunze

  “We won!” Callie screamed, leaping into Gregory’s arms.

  “She confessed?” he murmured, twirling Callie through the air once before breaking away, glancing pointedly at Alessandra.

  “She did,” said Grace, offering him her hand. “Thanks for hanging around out here and filling me in.”

  “Absolutely,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ll see you…around?” he added to Alessandra, who looked exhausted and eager to leave.

  “Probably not at the Pudding,” she said ruefully. “Until tomorrow?” she added to Grace.

  “University Hall at nine o’clock sharp,” said Grace, turning in the direction of her upperclassman house.

  “I’ll be there,” Alessandra confirmed for Callie’s benefit before walking away, too.

  “So,” said Gregory, turning back to Callie, “what now?”

  “I was thinking of heading back to Wigglesworth,” she said, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do—you know, on studying? Like, for finals?”

  “That’s funny,” he said. “So do I.”

  “You do?” said Callie. “What a coincidence.”

  “Come to think of it,” he said, taking her hand effortlessly and starting to walk, “I imagine your econ grade has suffered drastically during my absence. And how are you surviving Literary Theory now that you no longer have my notes to copy?”

  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

  * * *

  Dear 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

  * * *

  “Where 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.

  “I quit, too,” said Gregory, popping a potato chip into his mouth. “No more money for dues.”

  “I’ll spot you, mate,” said OK, clapping a hand on Gregory’s shoulder. He’d been acting considerably less moody following the return of his ‘top mate.’ However, even Gregory had proved so far unsuccessful at determining the identity of OK’s secret lover, who, according to Matt, was the only logical explanation for OK’s recent mercurial temperament.

  “Yeah, you guys can’t quit!” said Vanessa while Adam and Dana—rather audaciously—sipped Coke from one can using two straws, and OK returned to sharing Mimi’s copy of Tatler. Vanessa lowered her voice. “Especially not after what happened last night!”

  “Ce qui s’est passé?” Mimi demanded, lowering the tabloid. Even Matt momentarily stopped chewing his hamburger.

  “Lexi was going around telling everyone who would listen that because she’s starting a new magazine over the summer and going to be applying for jobs next year on top of running FM, she’ll hardly have time for the Pudding anymore. She’s also up for president of her Final Club, the Bee, in the fall so she said she might even be forced to choose between the two—though, according to her, ‘Obviously the Bee is so much more prestigious than the Pudding’—or at the very least resign as one of the members of the Pudding’s board!”

  “Oh,” said Mimi, yawning. “That.”

  “But that’s not all,” Vanessa insisted. “Later after Lexi left, I overheard Clint thanking Tyler for ‘letting her go so gracefully’ and Tyler thanking Clint for ‘coming to him with what he knew’!” Vanessa eyed them, one after another, clearly disappointed for lack of a bigger reaction. Finally Vanessa turned to Callie. “You’re not even a little bit upset that she didn’t get tossed out kicking and screaming? I mean, after what she did to you?”

  Callie shrugged. “Not really. I expected something like what you described might happen after Lexi came clean to the Administrative Board and Alessandra quit the Pudding and got put on academic probation for a year. Although I am surprised that, from the sound of it, Clint is the one who turned her in to Tyler.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Vanessa whispered suddenly, pointing at the nearest grill. Clint and Tyler stood in line waiting for food.

  Alexis Thorndike was nowhere to be seen.

  Spotting Callie and Gregory, Clint nodded cordially, raising his hand.

  Callie waved back, smiling at Tyler. “We did date them,” Callie reminded Vanessa. “And I actually really like Tyler.”

  “So, ladies,” Tyler called, coming over while Clint finished filling his plate, “any special plans this summer?”

  “Callie just so happens to have recently landed a very prestigious internship in New York City,” Vanessa announced.

  “Really?” Tyler asked her. “That’s awesome!”

  “Yep,” said Callie. “I got a phone call from someone who works in hiring at The New Yorker two days ago. One of their editorial interns backed out at the last minute and, after seeing my story in the Harvard Advocate, they asked me if I’d like to fill her spot!”

  “What spot?” asked Clint, joining Tyler.

  Gregory’s arm tightened around Callie’s shoulders. She smiled, resting a hand on his knee.

&
nbsp; “Callie got a job after writing a story based on my life, my mantras, and my teachings,” said Vanessa. “It’s in the Advocate. You should read—asap. It’s probably going to win, like, a lot of awards. And did I mention that it’s mostly about me?”

  Callie thought she heard Mimi snickering behind her magazine. “It’s not really a job,” Callie explained. “I’m interning at The New Yorker, and I’m sure it will be mostly fetching coffee or doing other peoples’ research. And of course they’re not actually paying me—though I will have a living stipend and housing in the dorms at NYU.”

  She looked at Gregory, who had already declared his intention of sharing said dorm room while he figured out what he wanted to do now that he’d lost interest in finance.

  “And you’re, uh, still planning to intern for Governor Hamilton in Washington, DC?” Callie asked Clint.

  “Yes,” he said, looking somewhat grim. Callie neither asked—nor cared to ask—about his status with Lexi.

  “Hope they have good squash courts down in DC,” said Gregory. “Because I’ll be coming for your spot next year.”

  Clint laughed. “I will keep that in mind if I’m ever having trouble staying motivated.”

  “Well,” said Tyler, “we’d better go find a place to sit before this food gets cold and the band comes on. See you all next year?”

  “Yep,” everyone chorused. “Have a good summer!”

  “Callie,” said Vanessa, rounding on her immediately. “How are you ever going to ‘see Tyler next year’ if you don’t stay in the Pudding!”

  “Oh no!” Callie pretended to look horrified. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

  Vanessa sighed. “Lexi’s gone. As in ‘Ding dong, the witch is dead—’”

  “Watch your language!” Dana snapped.

  “Meaning,” Vanessa continued, “that we have the opportunity to finally change the club! Make it a better place! Run for the board and get rid of the Punch Book and everything else like it forever!”