The Ivy: Rivals (16 page)

“I don’t know,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“I thought that you knew everything,” she said, watching him take a bite of his sandwich.

“I do,” he said. “With a few very rare exceptions.”

“Ha!” she cried before popping a section of the orange into her mouth. Narrowing her eyes, she considered him while she chewed. “Clint said that I get
grumpy
when I’m hungry?”

“More or less,” said Gregory. “What he really told me is that you need to be fed every four hours on the dot or else you turn into a gremlin.”

Callie gasped. “He did
not
,” she cried, throwing part of her orange peel at him.

“Maybe not,” he said, catching it, “but I could tell that’s what he was thinking.”

“You take that back,” she said, brandishing the rest of her orange peel, “or I’ll—”

“Um, excuse me?” A girl hovered a few feet away, holding a book.

“Don’t mind him,” Callie said to her, glaring at Gregory and setting down the orange so she could scan and stamp the book.

When the girl had gone, he asked, “So, how do you like working here?”

“Why?” she said. “Are you thinking about applying for a job?”

“Maybe,” he said with a look on his face like that would be
just
hilarious.

Oh yes, Gregory,
so
hilarious that some people actually have to work to pay for things! “Why are you here?” she demanded suddenly, angry that she had allowed him yet another opportunity to mock her.

“I already told you,” he said. “Clint asked me to drop off your lunch.”

“Yes, ‘drop off,’ exactly,” she said. “But why are you
still
here? I mean
here
here, not in the library here.”

Gregory frowned, starting to stand. “I’ll go.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said quietly.

He stared at her for a moment. “I guess I thought maybe we could . . . give the whole friends thing a try,” he said finally.

She searched his face for the telltale signs that he was making another joke at her expense. But he seemed actually to mean it. “If you’re serious . . .” she started, “then I think that I would like that.”

“I am serious,” he said, sitting back down. “As serious as Tommy is about Ruth,” he added, waving his copy of
Never Let Me Go
.

“Tommy is in love with Kathy,” Callie cried, “not Ruth!”

Gregory looked equally scandalized. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet!”

“Whoops,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth.

He laughed and then sighed. “I guess that was obvious from the beginning. How many more chapters do I have to go through before he realizes that Ruth is all wrong for him?”

“I’m not saying,” she insisted. “Wouldn’t want to ruin it!”

They were silent for a moment or two, chewing their food. “So,” said Gregory eventually, “things with Clint seem to be going well.”

“They are,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t that what friends do—talk about each other’s, ah, relationships?”

“Sure.” Callie cracked a smile. “So, how is your ‘relationship’ going, then?”

“Fine,” he said. “Actually,” he added, considering her, “I could use a female perspective on something.”

“Okay,” she said. “Shoot.”

“Alessandra and I seem to be having some . . . well, trust issues.”

“What is it that makes you feel like you can’t trust her?” Callie asked.

“It’s more the other way around,” he admitted.

“Ah. I see,” said Callie, lowering her sandwich. “Well, can you think of anything that you might have done that contributed to her feeling this way?” Other than, you know, the fact that you’re you, she added silently. No need to destabilize the new friendship now when they were only five minutes in.

“No,” he said “I don’t think so.” He paused. “Well . . .”

“Yes?” Callie prompted.

“The other day I caught her going through my phone.”

“What?” said Callie. “That’s totally not cool!”

“I know,” he agreed, “but the thing is, she found something. Well, it was nothing really, just some old texts.”

“To another girl?” Callie asked, grateful for the hundredth time that she had chosen Clint.

“Kind of. Not exactly. See I forgot to delete some old drafts from a long time ago—stuff I never even actually sent.”

“How long ago?” asked Callie. “Before or after you got together?”

“Before,” he said. “In November.”

“Well, she can’t be mad about things that happened before you even met her; that’s crazy!” said Callie. “I mean, not
crazy
,” she corrected quickly, “just kind of irrational.”

“That’s what I said,” he agreed.

“Unless . . .” Callie started. “What did these messages say exactly?” Her forehead wrinkled: she tried to picture a sexting situation gone awry. Then she shook her head, trying
not
to picture it. “And who were you planning to send them to?” she added, wondering if that “who” were plural and if Alessandra had uncovered details of the threesome or something even more sordid.
Ew.
“And why didn’t you end up sending them?”

“That’s not important,” he muttered, waving his hand and accidentally knocking over his empty water bottle. “Just tell me,” he said, righting it, “as a girl, what you would want me to do to fix it. Please.”

“I guess I would start by saying that it’s not okay to go through your phone or otherwise violate your privacy but that it’s perfectly normal for everyone to feel a little jealous sometimes, and that you would be happy to let her look at your phone or whatever else, if and only
if
she asks your permission first, because you have nothing to hide . . . if that’s the truth.”

“It’s true now,” he said with a mischievous smile, “because I erased everything.”

“In the long term,” Callie continued, ignoring him, “things could be a bit trickier. Trust is often something that has to be earned, particularly if you—if
one
—has a track record. . . . Or maybe she already has trust issues for reasons that aren’t your fault, like an evil ex-boyfriend from high school or, um, whatever.” Callie crumpled her napkin. “Either way, having a candid conversation and getting everything—well, ah,
mostly
everything—out in the open can’t hurt. And if all else fails, you can always shower her with gifts—that’s what Vanessa would probably tell you to do, and who knows, maybe on some girls that type of thing works.” She paused to scan several books that a boy had just dropped on the counter.

“I don’t suppose you and Clint ever had to deal with anything like this,” Gregory mused after the boy had gone.

“Well, you know, we have minor issues every now and then just like any other couple. . . .”

“Yeah,” said Gregory, “he did mention that you get jealous of Lexi sometimes.”

“Jealous?”
Callie repeated incredulously. “He
said
that? I’m not
jealous
of her; I just don’t like her! No offense,” she added. “I know you two are friends.”

“None taken. I can definitely understand why you’d have a problem with her.”

Callie’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just the whole . . .
saga
of their relationship. From what he’s said to me about it—and what she’s said—it sounds like the whole thing was pretty intense.”

“You mean the constant breaking-up and getting-back-together parts?”

“Sure.”

Eugh.
Callie cringed, not wanting to think about it anymore. “Hey!” she said suddenly. “How come you didn’t ask Lexi about your Alessandra problem?”

“I did ask her a few hours ago on our way to class. She said she’d give me some advice right after I made sure Alessandra planned to join the Pudding.”

Callie laughed. “That sounds exactly like her. Wait. She’s in your econ class, too?”

“Yeah,” said Gregory. “Why?”

“Oh. No reason,” Callie said quickly. She had known that Lexi was in Clint’s government class, but couldn’t remember him mentioning anything about econ, too. “Anyway,” she said, “I would never go through Clint’s phone, but even if I did, I’m positive that I wouldn’t find anything sketchy.”

“Of course not,” Gregory agreed. “Because he’s perfect.”

She studied his face, but it seemed devoid of irony. “Yeah, he kind of is,” she said with a smile. “So . . .”

“Time to get started?” Gregory finished for her, lifting
Of Grammatology
. Groaning, she nodded.

He settled back in his chair and propped his feet up on the half-open bottom drawer of her desk. Together they read silently, stopping every once in a while to commiserate over a particularly “abstruse” Derrida quote or laugh after reading certain sections out loud. The time flew, and before Callie knew it, the clock read 5:55.

“Hey,” said one of her coworkers, wheeling a reshelving cart up behind her desk. “Do you think you could run these over to Widener?” he asked, pointing to a box of books. “They ended up in circulation here by mistake.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’m off in a few minutes anyway; I can take them on my way home.”

“Great,” he said, wheeling the now empty cart away. “Thanks.”

“So I guess you’re headed out, then?” Gregory asked.

“Yep,” she said, standing to stretch.

“I’m going to stay and finish this,” he said, pointing to
Never Let Me Go.

“Enjoy,” she said, gathering her things. “See you in class tomorrow?”

“Sure. That looks heavy,” he added, watching her lift the box of books. “Want me to help you carry it over?”

“That’s okay, I’ve had worse,” she said, remembering the days not too long ago when she used to deliver Lexi’s premium Norwegian bottled water to her room in Kirkland House, along with her dry cleaning and anything else she happened to want that week.

“Right,” he said. “Well, at least if you drop it you’ll be spilling books not underwear.”

Friendship? Maybe. End of Teasing about the Underwear Incident from Move-in Day? Never.

“You suck!” she called over her shoulder.

“Don’t trip,” he said, smirking as he returned to his book.

“These were accidentally returned to Lamont,” Callie said to the student manning Widener Library’s circulation desk, hefting the box of books onto the counter.

“Thanks,” said the student.

“Have a good night!” Callie called, turning to leave. Spying a water fountain in the corner of the room, she stopped to take a drink. Straightening, she glanced through the huge glass window that looked down into one of the library’s more secluded reading rooms. She took two steps away before doing a double take: Clint sat studying with his head bent over his books at one of the tables below, and directly across from him was—

Wait—
What?

It couldn’t be—

But it was.

Alexis.

Vivienne.

Thorndike.

Pulling out her phone, Callie drafted a text:

H
EY, HOW’S THE STUDYING GOING?

Peering back down at the table and confirming that Clint and Lexi were its only occupants, she clicked Send. Then she watched Clint pull out his phone a moment later. Another moment and her phone buzzed in response:

G
REAT!

Great? “Great” did not begin to explain what he was doing here, alone, with
her
.

Feeling a bit like a creepy stalker, she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Then, she stared back down at the reading room. Lexi had stood suddenly and was making her way to the exit, leaving Clint alone at the table. Callie thought for a few seconds and then texted him again.

I
T
’
S NOT TOO DISTRACTING WHAT
WITH ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE IN
YOUR STUDY GROUP
?

Her foot tapped while she waited for his response, feeling a mixture of guilt (for what could quite possibly be considered entrapment), and a strong sense of foreboding. Her phone twitched in her hand. Briefly she closed her eyes. Then, opening them, she read:

N
OPE
! I
T
’
S JUST ME AND A COUPLE
OF GUYS FROM CLASS OVER HERE AT
W
IDENER, AND WE
’
RE BEING VERY
PRODUCTIVE
:)

Callie sucked in her breath. Her nose almost up against the glass, she willed several students of the male persuasion to materialize miraculously at Clint’s table. No matter how hard she prayed, though, there was nothing else down there except Clint, a couple of pencils and pens, and two sets of Government textbooks.

Her feet felt weighted to the floor, her fingers heavy with dread, as she drafted one last text.

D
O YOU THINK YOU
’
LL HAVE TIME TO
GRAB DINNER LATER
? M
Y SHIFT AT
L
AMONT JUST ENDED.

Picking up his phone, Clint read the message on the screen, but before he could respond, Lexi returned to the table. She carried two large to-go containers from the Widener Library Café. He set down his phone and said something to her, smiling and shutting his books. Frozen, Callie watched them converse for a full minute and a half until he finally remembered his phone.

Moments later she had her response.

S
ORRY, BUT
I
THINK WE
’
RE JUST
GOING TO TRY TO POWER THROUGH
.
I’
LL SEE YOU ON
S
ATURDAY NIGHT
AS SOON AS WE GET BACK FROM
P
RINCETON, THOUGH, IF
I
DON
’
T
GET A CHANCE TO SAY GOOD-BYE
AFTER THE TEST
. M
ISS YOU ALREADY
. . . L
OVE YOU
!