The Ivy

by Lauren Kunze

  Thursday (evening)–Sunday (mid-afternoon): Drink, Eat (if time), Drink some more, Binge Drink, Party like a Rock Star, Party like a Senior, Make Out with a Senior, Try not to Puke on a Senior, Sleep (14 hour minimum) . . .

  (There’s a reason they call us extreme.)

  Welcome to college,

  Alexis

  Hi, my name is Callie. I’m from California and uh . . . let’s see . . . I played soccer in high school, I drive a 1967 red Mustang convertible, and I’ve never been arrested.”

  “Thank you, Callie,” said the senior sitting at the head of the circle, leading the new residents of Wigglesworth Dormitory, entryways A–F, in a rousing game of “Two Truths and a Lie.”

  “Now, which do you guys think is the lie?” he prodded.

  “Soccer?” Gregory asked in a bored voice from the other side of the circle. “When you have so much trouble staying on your feet?” Callie glared. He was sitting next to Matt, alongside what must have been their other two roommates, Adam and Okechuwuku. One of these guys was a tiny white man; the other, a huge black man. In the spirit of being a color-blind narrator: it was impossible to guess which was which.

  “You don’t look like the type who knows how to drive a stick shift!” another boy, from entryway B, called.

  “Do too!” Callie insisted. “But I don’t actually drive a Mustang. You got me.”

  “Great, wonderful,” the senior said. “Now next up we have . . .”

  Callie turned to look at Mimi, who was seated directly to her right.

  Mimi had fallen asleep.

  “next up we have . . .” the senior repeated louder.

  Callie nudged Mimi.

  “Qu’est-ce que tu f— Oh!” said Mimi, blinking rapidly. “What are we doing?” she whispered at Callie.

  “Just say your name, then two truths and a lie,” Callie whispered back.

  “Hi, my name is Mimi, and I’m an al—Ah, ha-ha,” Mimi gave a nervous giggle as she looked around the room. “Pardon, je veux dire: Hi, my name is Mimi and . . . my two truths are . . . I have been kicked out of two boarding schools in the past four years, and I speak five languages. And my lie is I have a tiny tattoo sur mon pied.”

  The senior at the front of the room stared as Vanessa and Callie started to snicker. Mimi shrugged and closed her eyes once more.

  “All right . . . thank you, Mimi,” the senior said, looking put out.

  Callie tucked her hands behind her knees, locking them together in an effort not to be rude even though she was dying to check her cell. It had been three days, and still no word from Evan.

  “Next?” said the senior, turning to Dana. Dana looked up from the pad of paper on which she had been furiously scribbling notes, almost like there was going to be a test later.

  “Dana Gray. Goose Creek, South Carolina. And I’m really not comfortable with lying.”

  Vanessa’s hands flew to her face in an attempt to stifle an embarrassing whoop of laughter, and it was all Callie could do not to break down herself as the senior leaned in to peer at Dana, no doubt searching for some indication that she was kidding.

  “You know, I’m not sure that you guys quite understand how to play this game. Why don’t I go ahead and take my turn, show you how it’s done?”

  “By all means, enlighten us,” Gregory said, smirking.

  “Hi, my name is Charlie Sloane, I’m from Auburn, Massachusetts, and in case you were wondering, I’m your prefect: that guy you call when you get into trouble and need someone to get you out of it. Not that you guys will be getting into any trouble,” he added, his eyes traveling around the circle from Callie, who had cracked and pulled out her phone, over to Mimi, who had started to snore. Dana nodded emphatically.

  “Wait a second,” the ebony-skinned boy sitting to Matt’s left (Okechuwuku, Callie guessed) leaned in and addressed his roommates in a BBC British accent. “Which part of that was the lie?” He looked genuinely confused.

  Vanessa started to laugh again. Charlie Sloane, prefect, turned bright red. “No, uh, sorry—I was just explaining my job. Anyway, my name is Charlie Sloane, I’m a senior in Mather House, I study mechanical engineering, and . . . and . . . Oh, never mind. Why don’t we just call it quits? After all, you guys have a whole year to get to know each other, right?”

  “Right,” said Vanessa, standing quickly.

  “Now, hang on just a second. Before you leave, I have some very important literature that I need to pass out,” he said, handing them each a pamphlet as they stood up to stretch. “My contact information is on page three: please don’t hesitate to get in touch with any questions you have or advice you might need.

  “Seriously, guys,” he continued as they began to file out of the room. “Freshman year can be tough. It’s all right to ask for help when you need it. And it’s also okay to have some fun!

  “Not too much fun!” he added nervously as he watched Mimi slip the leaflet he’d just handed her on the university’s Drug and Alcohol Policy into a nearby trash can. “And don’t forget: our ‘Practice Sex Semin’—I mean, our ‘Practice Sex Safely’ Seminar starts tomorrow at 4 P.M.!”

  “Whaa-AT?” Dana cried as they headed for the stairs, wailing like a police siren in response to the word sex. No doubt tomorrow would be her first foray into the world of awkward educational videos.

  What’s another name for students who undergo Abstinence Only sex “education” programs? Callie thought. Oh, that’s right: parents.

  “Well, Dana,” Vanessa began, interrupting Callie’s thoughts. “Tomorrow you are going to learn that, contrary to popular belief down in Goose Creek, babies do not actually come from the stork. . . .”

  Callie frowned. Dana may be naive, she thought, but she’s not dumb. . . .

  They had reached the room. With the recent addition of a futon couch and a big overstuffed armchair, it was beginning to look more like a common room, less like a disaster zone. Mimi, Callie, and Vanessa settled onto the couch, but Dana headed straight for her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  “So what’s next for us today?” Mimi asked Callie, stifling a yawn.

  “The Activities Fair!” Vanessa shouted before Callie could open her orientation packet. For some reason Vanessa seemed abnormally anxious to please—but only when it came to Mimi.

  “What’s it like, having an ambassador for a dad?” she had asked Mimi on the morning after move-in day, when they were all sitting together in the common room getting to know one another for the first time.

  “Meh,” said Mimi.

  “I mean . . . you must get to hang out with famous people, like, all the time!”

  “Yeah . . .” said Mimi.

  “No need to be humble. I saw that picture of you in Hello magazine at the beach in Monaco with Andrea and Charlotte Casiraghi. Tell me, are they really as gorgeous in real life?”

  “They are trolls.”

  Despite her apparent background as some sort of European tabloid sensation, Mimi had given Callie the distinct impression that she was weary of the limelight.

  In contrast, Vanessa couldn’t wait for her opportunity to shine. “We have to be careful what we wear this afternoon,” she was saying, “because the Activities Fair will be our first chance to really show ourselv—” Pause. “I mean, our first chance to really scope out the competit—” Pause.

  “You mean to say that the Activities Fair is our first chance to meet new people, no?” asked Mimi, rolling her eyes.

  “Exactly,” said Vanessa, grinning. She twirled a finger through her curls. “Think of all the gorgeous upperclassman guys who will be standing out there in the middle of the Yard, asking us to join the crew team. . . .”

  “You’re planning to join the crew team?” Callie asked, shooting Vanessa a suspicious glance. The girl looked like she had never thrown a ball in her entire life, let alone rowed a boat.

  “Lord, no, not me—though my mom would be thrilled to hear I was getting some exercise. She’s always trying to drag me to
the gym, but the one time I actually went, she spent the whole hour sitting in the steam room drinking cucumber water and gossiping with her friends. . . .”

  Trailing off, Vanessa made a face and looked at her lap, pinching her love handles absentmindedly. “People always say I got my father’s brain and my mother’s hips,” she continued, forcing a smile. “Thanks a lot, Mom, but do these come with a return receipt?”

  As Callie and Mimi laughed, Vanessa glanced down at her watch. “Oh my god, would you look at the time?” she yelped, leaping to her feet. “Why didn’t anybody tell me that it’s already a quarter to two?” Then she sprinted toward her room wailing something about “how can I possibly?” and “only fifteen minutes!” Callie and Mimi exchanged a look.

  “So, planning to sign up for any—what do you Americans call them?—‘extracurricular activities’?” Mimi asked.

  “Yeah,” said Callie, leaning back. “I think I’d like to write for a journal or a magazine. I was really serious about soccer in high school, but I tore my ACL at the end of last season and my doctor says I need a break. What about you?”

  “Well,” said Mimi, wiggling in her seat as if personal questions made her physically uncomfortable, “I used to play tennis during secondary school, but it was always Renee who . . .” she paused, frowning.

  Callie tried to smile encouragingly.

  “She was top twenty at Wimbledon when she was only sixteen,” Mimi offered as though that explained everything. “They all said she was ‘the youngest star in the past fifteen years.’”

  “So that means that you couldn’t play anymore . . . ?”

  “No,” said Mimi, frowning again. “Well, actually, yes. I mean, what is the point to really trying when anything I can do, she can do better?”

  At that moment Vanessa erupted from her bedroom and began sauntering down the hallway like it was a catwalk, pausing to strike a pose in front of their new full-length mirror.

  Towering imperiously in her four-inch heels, she turned to Callie as if her roommate were a charity case on a makeover show and lectured: “The only time it is appropriate to wear flip-flops is when you’re trying to avoid contracting foot diseases in a public shower.”

  Callie stuck out her feet and wiggled her toes. Her flip-flops looked just fine to her: convenient, affordable, the perfect polyurethane blend of rubber and foam.

  Mimi slipped away to change. Vanessa magnanimously called, “Here, try these,” tossing a pair of Tory Burch flats in Callie’s direction. Callie made no move to catch them. They landed next to her on the couch.

  Vanessa didn’t notice. “Your earrings,” the lecture continued as she slipped on a pair of gold hoops, “should always complement your purse,” she instructed, gesturing toward a matching clutch.

  “Marc Jacobs is a staple,” Vanessa explained, twirling to show off her purple jumper. “And last but not least,” she concluded, slapping a pair of Prada sunglasses onto her head, “always wear sunscreen.”

  “It’s not even that sunny today!” Callie cried. Vanessa looked cute, but as Mimi might say, C’est ci too much!

  “Callie dear,” Vanessa retorted, “the sun never sets on cool.” She paused. “So, what are you going to wear?”

  “Uhm . . .” Callie stared down at her jeans and simple cotton T-shirt. “This?”

  “You’re kidding. No, you’re not kidding,” Vanessa corrected herself. “Callie, you can take back a lot of things in this world, but you can never take back a first impression. Now, hurry up and change so we can leave before Lady Madonna sees us!”

  Callie felt stupid following Vanessa’s advice but wondered if there wasn’t a little something to it. After all, who knows who a girl might run into at the Activities Fair?

  A wave of guilt washed over her as Gregory’s face swam through her imagination. “Asshole,” she muttered quietly, hoping that if she said it every time she inadvertently pictured his face then eventually, like Pavlov’s dog, she would come to associate one with the other. “Asshole, asshole, asshole,” she breathed. Then, satisfied, she glanced at her phone.

  No missed calls. Well, how on earth could she expect her mind not to wander when she hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in . . . one, two, and now three and a half days. Maybe the brothers had locked him in a dungeon. Or while cleaning a fungus-ridden toilet, he had accidentally fallen in.

  WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!, she texted as she traded her jeans for a green camouflage-print skirt. She put on lip gloss—cherry ChapStick counts, right?—gave her hair an extra brush, and returned to the common room, where Vanessa was ready and waiting.

  Vanessa jumped up immediately. “Come on!” she ordered. “Mimi already snuck out without us!”

  Callie hesitated, standing outside Dana’s door. “Maybe we should—”

  “No time!” Vanessa interrupted, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the room. “Let’s hit the road!”

  It was Indian summer in Cambridge, and the air felt warm as they stepped outside. Harvard Yard: an architect could draw your eye to buildings that had been erected as early as the eighteenth century; a botanist might describe the majesty of the trees and tell you exactly which week the yellowy green leaves would fade into the crimson golds of fall; and an annoying Crimson Key Society tour guide could tell you all about the amusing quirks of the student body—how they run naked and screaming across the winding walkways right before their final exams, and believe that it’s vital to have sex in Widener Library and pee on the foot of the John Harvard statue before they graduate.

  But that’s all wash. To the average Harvard freshman (oxymoron—ha!), every musty old brick building looks like every other musty old brick building, every tree the same as its neighbor, and every confusing pathway just another opportunity to get utterly and completely lost.

  “I thought you said you knew where we were going!” Vanessa cried, halting in front of a large statue of a man with a big golden foot. Some Japanese tourists were snapping pictures and rubbing the foot for good luck. Hey, isn’t that the same foot that your annoying tour guide told you . . . Oooh, bad idea.

  “Did I?” asked Callie, raising her eyebrows. It was entirely possible she had proclaimed as much without thinking.

  “Excuse me, you there!” Vanessa called suddenly, and Callie’s stomach plummeted as she watched her detain a tall, handsome upperclassman.

  Biting her lip, Callie tried to shrink into the ground, reminded powerfully of the month Jessica had taken “revenge” on her for spending too much time with Evan by stopping every guy that crossed their path and demanding, Excuse me, but have you met my friend Callie Andrews? She’s a cheerleader, and she can do the splits!

  “We were wondering,” Vanessa pressed on sweetly, flirting like a pro, “if you could point us in the direction of the Activities Fair? We’re only freshmen, and my friend Callie Andrews here has gotten us very, very lost.”

  Callie smiled ruefully.

  To her surprise the handsome stranger smiled back, breaking into an enormous grin when she met his eyes. His shaggy, light brown hair ruffled in the early autumn breeze.

  “Not to worry, Callie Andrews and friend,” he said, speaking only to Callie. His voice had a slightly southern lilt: relaxed and charming, just like his smile.

  “It’s Vanessa,” Vanessa said.

  “Vanessa,” he repeated. “It just so happens that I’m heading there right now, and it would be my pleasure to escort you . . . both.”

  Vanessa beamed and started chattering away as they began to walk. Callie kept silent, stealing a sidelong glance at their escort and noticing how when he smiled, tiny crinkles formed around the corners of his eyes.

  “I was in Wigglesworth when I was a freshman, too,” he explained while Vanessa nodded eagerly. “You’re really lucky, you know,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at Callie. “They say it’s the best freshman dorm on campus.”

  Callie blushed.

  “You should have seen her the other day,” Vanessa said.
“She was just too cute! Jumping around asking everyone if ‘Wigglesworth’ didn’t sound just like it was straight out of Harry Potter!”

  Callie’s eyes narrowed, and she waited for the upperclassman to look at her like she was an overgrown eleven-year-old. Instead, if possible, his smile grew even wider. “I love Harry Potter.”

  I love you, too. I mean . . . “I love it, too!” Callie cried.

  “Hmm.” Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe the two of you should get together and read it sometime. . . .”

  Callie froze. Keep feet planted on ground, she instructed herself.

  “I’d love to . . .” the upperclassman started.

  You would?

  “. . . but unfortunately my girlfriend gets very jealous.”

  Girlfriend? What girlfriend! Oh, Callie realized. Jealous? she wondered. Did that mean he viewed Vanessa’s proposal as a date rather than an unpaid baby-sitting venture or—

  “Too bad.” Vanessa interrupted her thoughts. “Well, thanks for walking us over!” she added, at which point Callie realized they had arrived. Hundreds of booths and swarms of students were everywhere, and giant Welcome banners flanked the Yard.

  “No problem,” he said. “I’d stay and show you two around, but they need me over at the squash booth. You should stop by later—you know, if you’re interested in signing up for the sport.” Then with a wave he was gone.

  “Holy moly, what a fox!” Vanessa exclaimed all too audibly at his retreating back.

  “Vanessa . . .” said Callie.

  “And that voice! I wonder where he’s—”

  “Vanessa!”

  “What? He, like, totally loved you!”

  “No he didn’t. He—”

  “He totally wants to geek out with you and have babies named, like, Harry, Ron, and Hermione!”

  “Does not!” Callie shrieked. “Hey wait—I thought you said Harry Potter is for kids.”

  Vanessa shrugged. “I dabble. Anyway, I cannot believe that I forgot to ask his name. No worries, though; we’ll find him on Facebook. Until then I shall call him . . . Foxy McFoxerson.”

  “You. Are. Too. Much,” Callie said, laughing in spite of herself.