The Ivy: Rivals

by Lauren Kunze

  “Of course you’re not,” Grace said, standing. “And I only created FlyBy to offer multiple perspectives on the social side of campus in order to dilute the highly questionable advice and opinions that flow from the corrupt hands of a tiny self-congratulating subset.”

  “So you’re not trying to, like . . .” Callie glanced over her shoulder to where the teddy bear still hung, crucified, on the bulletin board. “. . . destroy the magazine or anything, are you?”

  Grace stared at her for a full count of three and then erupted into laughter. “Jesus, Andrews, would you look at your face?” she asked. “Remember, I’m not the one with a drawer full of other peoples’ secrets locked away in my desk.” She laughed again. “Although it is true that there’s no telling what will happen to FM once FlyBy takes off.” She paused, appearing to consider it. “One thing I can say for certain is that from a personal standpoint, I would have no problem seeing a shakedown in the leadership upstairs.”

  Callie cracked a smile. “That would be something. . . .” she conceded. She pictured Lexi dethroned (from her ergonomic office chair) and forced into exile (i.e., to go live in the quad), allowed to drink only tap water and use only gym-regulation shampoo and obligated to take public transportation to class. A tiny shiver of fear ran through her for entertaining the very thoughts, and she quickly pushed them out of her mind. Her strategy this semester involved lying low and staying as far away from Lexi as possible. So if a showdown was brewing between FM and FlyBy, or between Lexi and Grace, Callie refused to be caught in the middle.

  “If it’s all right with you, I have to run,” she said, standing. “I’ve got a brunch to get to that started ten minutes ago.”

  “Ah,” said Grace with a nod. “For the Pudding, isn’t that right?”

  “Yep,” said Callie.

  “Makes sense,” Grace replied. “Run along, then. I look forward to reading your next installment.”

  Callie stopped just before the door. “On the recent renovations to the men’s soccer facilities?”

  “Right,” said Grace, nodding again in that oddly exaggerated way. “On the recent renovations in the men’s soccer facilities.”

  “Good afternoon, and welcome to the Harvard Club of Boston. Please follow me to the main clubhouse dining room,” the maitre d’ said, leading the way up an enormous staircase carpeted in plush, crimson velvet.

  Callie looked at Mimi, her eyes wide. “Mimosas, mimosas,” Mimi said by way of encouragement. “Mimosas without bottom—”

  “Bottomless,” Callie hissed as they made their way up the stairs.

  “Watch who you call bottomless; there is not a lot of junk dans ton trunk either,” Mimi muttered back, smacking Callie on the rear.

  Callie shrieked but quickly suppressed her giggles a moment later for they had arrived. With its hanging chandeliers and bay windows draped with thick red curtains to match the Oriental rug and cushiony lining on the ornate wooden chairs, the main dining room was everything that Callie had come to expect from the Harvard Brand. It was also fairly empty for a Sunday, and a little noise went a long way.

  Alexis Thorndike, who had been placed by some twisted hand of fate (otherwise known as Tyler) in the same brunch group as Callie, didn’t even turn to bother with the You’re-late-and-perpetually-inappropriate look Anne was giving them now. The two junior girls were seated around a table near the window with four spring punches, including Vanessa, a girl called Penelope whom Callie recognized from the slide show, and another named Sydney whom she’d met at the first event, and, last but certainly not least, Alessandra. The latter sat between Anne and Lexi like she was their favorite little sister. Callie and Mimi, who had missed the limousine due to Crimson and Lampoon duties respectively, took the empty chairs on either side of Vanessa, completing the punch-member alternating order.

  “Quick, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” Vanessa muttered. She grabbed a glass pitcher full of orange juice and champagne and filled Mimi’s glass. “The limo had an open bar so—”

  The rest of her sentence was rendered wholly irrelevant when Anne let forth the most delicate, ladylike burp—but it was still a burp—that Callie had ever heard, followed by quite possibly the oddest thing ever to come out of Alexis Thorndike’s mouth, second only to “Callie, you’re my best friend”: a giggle.

  “Mmm! Excuse me,” Anne said, slightly mortified. Then, patting the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she drew herself up and, with a look of immense dignity, explained: “In Tokyo the Japanese consider it customary to drink during a business dinner and are reluctant to do dealings with those who abstain. Why? Because they assume that if a person refuses alcohol, it means they have something to hide: some ugly character flaw that would surface if their inhibitions were at bay. And so we must drink during punch brunches, too, to determine if we shall fare well in friendship and in club business. Kanpai,” she finished, raising her glass.

  “Yes,” Lexi agreed, “and cheers to Japanese Pop Culture, one of the easier core classes offered at this school and for which we have a study guide on file at the club.”

  Penelope and Sydney looked suitably impressed, while Vanessa nodded in a very all-knowing, slightly off-putting way and Alessandra gave a tiny shrug as if to say, Study guides are merely the concern of people who are actually interested in studying.

  Mimi glanced at Callie, her gray eyes wide, and then downed her mimosa in a single gulp. “Un autre, s’il vous plaît,” she said, waving her hand at Vanessa. The corners of her mouth twitched. “And please do not go forgetting my fellow member and your fellow roommate Caliente, who is also very thirsty.”

  Vanessa rolled her eyes but filled Callie’s glass as well. Leaning back, Callie took a sip, beginning to enjoy herself.

  It was short-lived. A waitress arrived and Anne ordered appetizers and entrees for the table, urging their server to “keep the champagne coming.” With a sinking sensation, Callie remembered a little tidbit from the pre-punch meeting that she had otherwise conveniently managed to block out of her head: We expect you—unofficially, of course—to treat the punches to lunch from your personal accounts, Anne had said. So it was done for you, and so you shall do for them. . . .

  Callie wondered if she would be able to pick up enough extra shifts at Lamont to cover her portion of the meal. Biting her lip, she exhaled and then downed a giant gulp of her mimosa. Perhaps Anne would consider some kind of an installment plan—if it was even worth the humiliation to ask.

  A voice in the back of her head that sounded uncannily like Grace’s whispered, “The social clubs offer limited to no financial aid options, making it nearly impossible for students from more disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds to join.”

  Callie took another sip and tried to appear something other than bored to tears while Penelope told a harrowing tale from her boarding school days.

  “. . . and that was the day when my life really changed,” Penelope was finishing. “Finally I realized: I don’t like Gucci—unless it’s Gucci Premiere haute couture.”

  “That is just so spot on,” Anne agreed. “You know, I really wish we had spent more time together when I was still at Deerfield.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Vanessa jumped in. “The other day in Armani—”

  “Speaking of wishes,” Lexi interceded, “Alessandra, I do wish I could persuade you away from the Crimson and into joining FM. As I’m sure Callie can tell you, we have much more fun.”

  Callie almost choked on a walnut from her pear and endive salad. Lexi smiled sweetly at her while she took a huge sip of water.

  “But Callie’s COMPing the Crimson with me,” Alessandra said slowly. “She helped me get set up on my very first day.” Alessandra beamed at her. Callie, still short of breath, could only nod in return.

  “Yes, well, most unfortunately Callie was cut from my magazine in the final round—to my great disappointment, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Lexi said.

  Callie spit the remainder of he
r mimosa back into her glass; luckily no one seemed to notice, save for Vanessa, who kicked her under the table. Frowning, Callie was about to kick her back when Vanessa shot a Don’t-you-ruin-this-for-me look in her direction.

  “I fancied myself as something of a mentor to her,” Lexi breezed on, “but now she’s gone over to the dark side, to that dreadful Grace. You’ll see soon, dear,” she added to Alessandra.

  “She is super intense,” Alessandra agreed.

  “I think she’s brilliant,” Callie blurted.

  “Perhaps,” Lexi conceded without missing a beat, “but there is a reason why they call her the femi-nazi. She basically hates everything that any reasonable person would consider ‘fun’ on this campus. That’s why her little FlyBy project will, regrettably, struggle to retain a readership and ultimately fail, because she just doesn’t know how to give the readers what they want: glamour, entertainment, and excellent—if I do say so myself—advice.”

  “A lot of people seem to be talking about that Ivy Insider thing,” Vanessa piped up.

  Lexi smiled serenely. “A mere fluke on an otherwise uninteresting site,” she said, waving her hand. “Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if Grace were writing it herself. It sounds exactly like her: ‘Social clubs are the root of all evil; they must be destroyed.’ But allow me to let you all in on a little secret.”

  Everyone at the table leaned forward.

  “The beautiful thing about people like Grace is that one day, they always go too far. Even if they appear to be a nuisance or seem to be getting in your way, you don’t have to lift a single finger because ultimately, they will always be their own undoing.”

  A strange hush seemed to have fallen across the room, and Callie felt the same shiver of fear that she’d experienced earlier in the Crimson. But then Lexi’s expression brightened and she said cheerily, “Enough talk of silly rivalries! Especially when what we really want is to hear more about all of you!”

  Sydney and Penelope exchanged a nervous glance.

  “Yes,” Anne agreed. “We already know where you’re from, what subjects you’re studying, and what you like to do for fun. . . . Why not tell us something a little juicier—something embarrassing?”

  “Or something that you’ve never told anyone else before,” Lexi added, nodding enthusiastically.

  Everyone stayed silent. Even the two girls who were undergoing The Lexi Experience for the first time were smart enough not to spill.

  Anne’s attempt to force—ahem—facilitate bonding reminded Callie of the first week of school when her entryway’s prefect Charlie Sloane had made them play a game called Two Truths and Lie in an attempt to get everyone better acquainted. She cleared her throat. “We could, uh, play a game?”

  “A game?” said Anne.

  “Yeah, like, uh . . .” She looked at Mimi and Vanessa.

  “Well, there’s the classic Fuck-Chuck-Marry,” Vanessa dove in, “or Would You Rather, or—ooh—I know, how about we play Never Have I Ever!”

  “Never have I ever . . . what?” asked Mimi.

  “It’s very simple,” Vanessa explained. “Everybody holds up five fingers,” she said, raising her palm above her half-eaten eggs Benedict, “and then each girl goes around the circle and says something that she’s never done before, and if you have done the thing she says, you have to put a finger down—and drink!”

  “The last girl left standing wins,” Anne added.

  “Or loses,” Alessandra offered with a sultry wink, “depending on how you see it.”

  “Penelope, why don’t you start us off,” said Lexi, who, skeptical at first, had warmed to the idea.

  “Okay,” said Penelope, setting down her fork. “Here’s an easy one that ought to knock most, if not all of you, back by a finger. Never have I ever had sex.”

  Six fingers went down amidst an exchange of smiles and knowing nods. The only two girls left with all five remaining were Penelope and—

  “Really, Vanessa?” asked Anne. “You and Tyler haven’t . . . ?”

  Vanessa, her cheeks slightly pink, shook her head.

  Lexi smirked. “Take it from someone older, Vanessa, when I say that you can’t expect him to wait forever. He is a guy, after all, and this is college, not high school, so the rules—”

  “Actually, you can expect him to wait forever,” Callie interrupted. “Forever or until you’re ready, whichever one comes first.” And you can always come and talk to me about it if it’s bothering you, she added silently, wishing she could say it out loud. Vanessa, however, did not look particularly grateful for the intervention; Callie faltered, staring at the tablecloth.

  “Ah, well, in your case,” Lexi addressed Callie, “caution and taking everything in that arena very, very slowly are certainly advisable.” She turned to the others: “I don’t know if you had the opportunity to read recently about Callie’s little on-screen adventures—”

  “Don’t worry, Lex,” Callie blurted before she could stop to think, “Clint and I aren’t planning anything with a camera any time soon.”

  If someone in the downstairs lounge had dropped a cuff link, they all would have been able to hear it.

  “NEVER HAVE I EVER,” Mimi boomed suddenly. “Er, Jamais je n’ai jamais . . . Oh, je sais: Never have I ever stolen juste un peu de cocaïne from une strip-teaseuse in Ibiza!”

  “What?” said Callie.

  “Why are you drinking?” asked Vanessa.

  “Because I just remembered,” said Mimi, “that I have.”

  Vanessa shook her head. “My turn! Never have I ever . . .” She shot a sidelong glance at Callie. “Never have I ever hooked up with my best friend’s crush.”

  Thanks a lot, dude, thought Callie, putting down another finger and taking a sip of her drink. Penelope had lowered a finger, too. So had Alessandra.

  “In high school,” Alessandra volunteered, “when people are petty about that sort of thing. As if I could possibly control the fact that he was never interested in her.” She shrugged.

  “Women are always complaining about men treating them like objects,” Penelope chimed in, “but then we turn around and try to lay claim to ones we barely even know, as if we could call dibs.” She laughed.

  “I think there’s something to be said for loyalty,” Lexi said, silencing Penelope’s laughter. “Why throw away a friendship for someone who is almost certainly not your soul mate? Men,” she continued, lifting her glass, “are a dime a dozen, but best friends are forever.” She beamed at Anne and they clinked their glasses, the rest of the table soon following suit.

  “It’s your turn,” Vanessa said, nudging Callie.

  “Right,” said Callie. She glanced down at her nearly empty plate. “Never have I ever dined and dashed.” Never have I ever even considered it—until today, she thought miserably. Mimi and Anne both put a finger down. “Also high school,” Anne offered apologetically. “On a dare.”

  Their waitress appeared and began to clear the plates.

  Sydney shifted in her chair. “Never have I ever gotten a grade below an A minus,” she said.

  There was a collective groan, and everyone put a finger down. Callie could practically see Lexi and Anne mentally writing wet blanket under Sydney’s name on HPpunch.com.

  “My turn?” Lexi asked as Anne signaled for the bill. Looking around the table, she took stock of the situation, noting who had the least number of fingers remaining. “Never have I ever hooked up with Gregory Bolton,” she said finally with a mischievous glance at Alessandra.

  Alessandra inhaled sharply. “What?” she whispered, staring, along with everyone else, at Callie’s index finger, which she had unthinkingly lowered.

  Crap crap double crap, thought Callie, clenching and unclenching her fist in an attempt to make it appear that random finger spasms were something that happened to her all the time.

  Lexi narrowed her eyes at Callie. “When did that happen?”

  No such luck.

  “Freshman week, during le ‘cam
p Harvard,’” Mimi quickly lied.

  Callie held her breath, waiting for Vanessa to contradict Mimi’s story. Vanessa, however, just sipped her water silently.

  “It was a silly mistake,” Callie said. “The same one that the rest of our dorm and half the school also m— Oh . . . sorry,” she said, grimacing at Alessandra. Lexi stared at her hard from across the table.

  “I understand he has quite a reputation,” Alessandra said, chewing on her lip.

  “Pay no attention to them,” Lexi said, placing a hand on Alessandra’s back, “or to what anyone else has to say about Gregory. I’ve been friends with his cousin since he was in diapers, and in all that time I’ve never known him to go out with anyone more than once. Well, maybe twice, but that usually only meant that he forgot about the first time. He’s different with you.”

  “He liiikes you,” Anne said, elongating the i in a singsongy voice. Then she handed the waitress her credit card. Callie breathed an enormous sigh. All she had to worry about now was dodging Anne until she had the money to cover her portion of the bill: something that she unfortunately already had experience doing when her club dues had been late last semester. Speaking of which, she still had no idea who had mysteriously paid that hefty price. . . .

  “Maybe he more than likes you,” Lexi suggested, snapping Callie out of her reverie.

  “Maybe . . .” Alessandra said slowly. “It’s hard to tell. Things were very casual and irregular at first. You know, mostly he called only late at night or—”

  “Didn’t you read my article about never answering the phone after midnight?” Lexi interrupted with an expression of mock horror on her face.

  “I did!” Vanessa cried. “It was totally genius. I also used your five simple steps to trick him out of the bedroom and into the restaurant on Tyler, and they worked like a—”

  “Great,” Lexi cut her off. “That’s really great, Vanessa. Alessandra, you were saying?”

  Alessandra smiled. “Something changed right around the time this semester started. He calls at more appropriate hours now. We go on actual dates. Last Sunday he asked if I wanted to get breakfast, and then he asked if I wanted to ‘give being exclusive a try’—just like that!”