The Ivy: Rivals (17 page)

“Powering through” looked an awful lot like taking a break to eat, talk, flirt and—
seriously?
—ding a pencil at Lexi across the desk. “Miss you already” sounded pretty hollow for someone already excusing himself from saying good-bye, and “Love you” might as well have been the last in what amounted to a string of multiple lies.

“Everything okay over there?” the student behind the circulation desk suddenly called.

“No,” Callie muttered, leaping back from the window. Turning, she skidded across the marble floor, flying past the security guard as quickly as possible and bursting out into the cold. Darkness had descended since she’d entered the library, and she almost tripped several times as she tore down the vast stone steps.

“No,” she murmured again to no one in particular as she ran home to Wigglesworth. Everything is
not
okay.

Chapter Ten
How to Lose a Guy in Ten
Days
Minutes

Ten Ways to Ruin a Relationship: A List of High-Risk Relationship Behavior.

1.
Checking a significant other’s accounts (and getting caught).
That includes bank accounts, cell phone records, e-mail, Facebook, and any other private venue involving a device and a password. Some couples these days share passwords as a way to foster intimacy. Well, good for them, but unless you are one of those or you have explicit permission from your loved one, resist the urge to snoop! Or, if you can’t, at the very least: don’t get caught.

2.
Cheating on a significant other (and getting caught).
Duh! This one’s kind of a no-brainer, though in today’s world it can be hard to know where you stand when it comes to being exclusive, when terms like “dating” or “hooking up” or even “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” are all sliding signifiers. Just remember that if you do decide to cheat, being discovered in the moment isn’t the only way to get caught. Once the act is done, it’s only a matter of time: the truth will always get out, be it through the grapevine or your infiltrated inbox.

3.
Saying “I love you” either too soon or at the wrong moment.
Sometimes it just slips out. But especially on dates 1–3, lock your lips and hold in that L-bomb unless you want to come off as needy, codependent, or just plain nuts. Note that the wrong moment, like when you’re in coitus or the middle of a fight, can prove equally detrimental.

4.
Not saying “I love you” back.
This is the corollary to High-Risk Behavior Number 3 and is equally important to handle properly. Of course, don’t say it if you don’t mean it, but find a more artful way to do so than with a scream, a “Thank you,” or, my personal favorite, “I love me, too.”

5.
Too much/too little space.
Do I really have to explain this one? Okay, fine. If you can’t stay more than two inches away from each other most of the time in public: you have a problem. If you must stay two inches away from each other at all times in private: you also have a problem. Seek professional help.

6.
Ex-Obsession or Ex-Stalking.
Both afflictions prove fatal to even the strongest relationships. Do not open the Ex file unless absolutely necessary. But, if you have to, do so directly: do not be tempted to take a roundabout way just because you and the ex are at the same school, possibly in some of the same classes. Stalking: bad. Not stalking: good. Simple.

7.
Jealousy, the green-eyed monster.
This is related to High-Risk Behavior Number 6 when said behavior spins out of control to the extent that you become jealous of your boyfriend/girlfriend’s friends, extracurriculars, classes, or anything that takes away from “us” time. If you find yourself feeling jealous of inanimate objects (problem sets, footballs, handkerchiefs), seek help immediately. And try to remember Shakespeare’s
Othello
: there’s a reason why everybody in that play ends up dead by Act V.

8.
Deciding to go abroad.
End it now before you waste a semester on Skype only to break up when he/she returns. If you think he/she is The One, as Beyoncé said: “If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it.” Well, listen to the diva! Lock it up, down, sideways; put a ring on it, whatever. Just do it before that Italian Stallion from Florence sweeps her onto his moped and she’s gone forever . . .
Baci
and
abbracci
.

9.
Upperclassman dating a freshman and vice versa.
Some say Confucius’s rule is “half your age plus seven,” but even ancient Chinese philosophers sometimes make mistakes. You never should’ve gone here in the first place: it’s High-Risk Territory already. The relationship is doomed! So stick to
my
rule of consecutive grades (
n
+ 1), though nothing beats (
n
+ 0).

10.
Taking Math 55.
This also turns out to be a deal-breaker. You won’t be able to go out. You won’t be able to shower. You won’t be able to get excited by anything other than numbers. You will, in essence, be dating Math 55. It will be your one true love; there will be no room for anybody else.

If you can’t stay together for the kids, then at least stay together for Spring Break,

Alexis Thorndike, Advice Columnist

Fifteen Minutes
Magazine

Harvard University’s Authority on Campus Life since 1873

“I
must admit that, given the title’s connotations, I had been hoping for a more religious perspective on
Atonement
,” Dana said to Callie as they wandered out of the Harvard bookstore. “But, nevertheless, thank you for bringing me to hear the author speak.”

Callie smiled. “He was so awesome, wasn’t he?” It was Saturday afternoon and they had just attended Ian McEwan’s reading and subsequent book talk, tickets courtesy of Gregory, who was probably on the road back from Princeton with Clint and the rest of the squash team at this very moment.

“Also please thank Clint for the tickets,” Dana said, unaware of the tickets’ true origins. “That was an extremely thoughtful gift given how much you like the author: especially because he was unable to attend.”

“Right,” Callie said. “I’ll tell him tonight just as soon as he gets home.”

In reality, Callie had no idea what she was going to say when she saw Clint. She had been dreading his return since he’d departed on Thursday afternoon following his midterm with no more than a phone call to say good-bye, which she had screened before throwing her phone into her sock drawer and heading to the gym. Nine grueling treadmill miles later, she still didn’t know what to do about his Lexi-related lies.

Was this the first time that he’d been dishonest or simply the first time he got caught? What else was he hiding? And what was Lexi’s part in all of this? Did she still want him back, or was she plotting something much more—

“WATCH OUT!” Dana screamed, throwing an arm in front of Callie just before she accidentally walked into oncoming traffic.

“Holy crap,” Callie said breathlessly, turning white and gripping Dana’s arm to stabilize herself. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dana said stiffly. “Is everything all right?” she added when the light had turned and they started across the street.

“I’m just . . . preoccupied, I guess,” Callie muttered.

“Well, snap out of it!” Dana commanded as they walked through Dexter Gate. “Before you get yourself killed and wind up inspiring Mr. McEwan’s next novel.”

As the author had said himself during the talk, his nickname was “Ian Macabre” for a reason. The narrative in his novels always stemmed from some central disaster, like, for example, a car accident. No argument here that getting smashed to bits on Massachusetts Ave. would be a bad way to go, Callie thought, though the truth was that in a way, when she had seen Clint and Lexi in the library, a part of her felt like it had already been smashed.

A couple of hours later Callie could procrastinate no longer. She had cleaned the entire common room—including that shady-looking spill in the back of their refrigerator that had been there since October—and done several loads of laundry, including one for Mimi and one for Matt, both of whom had given her a funny look when she volunteered. The time had come to confront Clint. He ought to be arriving home at Adams House any minute now.

And so, after dawdling through the streets, Callie found herself outside the door to his suite, mustering the courage to knock. Taking a deep breath, she tapped on the door.

No one answered, but she was pretty sure she could hear movement on the other side.

She knocked louder.

Still no answer, but now she was certain she heard footsteps and what sounded like singing, sort of.

“Hellooo . . .” she called, pushing the door open a crack.

Inside, she spotted Tyler—wearing nothing but boxers—dancing around the common room barefoot with a hot pink feather duster in his hands and headphones in his ears. As he danced and dusted the mantel with his back to her, he sang softly: “I’m too sexy for my oxford . . . too sexy for my polo . . . So sexy, it hurts. And I’m too sexy for The Fly . . . too sexy for The Fly, The Phoenix, and The Spee.”

“Uh—Tyler?” Callie called.

Still, he did not hear, leaning forward to use the feather duster as a microphone: “And I’m too sexy for The Pudding . . . too sexy for The Pudding the way I’m disco dancing. I’m the President, you know what I mean. And I do my little turn on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk . . .”

“Tyler?”

“I’m too sexy for Harvard—”

“TYLER!”

“Callie!” he cried, wheeling around and yanking off the headphones. Quickly he moved the feather duster in front of his crotch. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I . . . um, thirty seconds? What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” he said, grabbing his T-shirt off the couch and pulling it over his head.

There were only two reasons anyone ever cleaned in college:

1) When you were avoiding confronting your boyfriend about lying about spending time with his ex; and

2) When you were suffering from severe sexual frustration.

In Tyler’s case Callie assumed it was the latter.

“Vanessa gave me
this
,” he explained, waving the duster. “She told me that she wasn’t going to spend the night anymore unless the room is cleaner.”

Apparently, though there were only two reasons to clean, there were infinitely creative ways to avoid having sex—an art Vanessa seemed to have mastered.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Vanessa, actually,” said Callie, recalling their non-conversation through the bathroom door. “She seemed pretty upset the other day. Did you two have a fight or something?”

“That’s funny,” said Tyler, setting down the duster, “because I was going to ask you the same question!”

“So you have no idea what’s wrong, then?”

“Not a clue,” he confirmed. “I’d been hoping you could tell me or that you two were having one of
your
fights again.”

Callie sighed. “And you’re
sure
that you didn’t . . .
do
anything?”

“Trust me,” he said, “I haven’t done
anything
. At all. That’s why we’re about to have the cleanest common room in the greater Boston area,” he concluded, tackling the top of the TV with the duster. “Clint’s not home yet, but he should be any minute if you want to wait.”

“Great,” she said, feeling flooded, once again, with dread. “I’ll just be in his room, then.”

“Cool,” said Tyler, grabbing his iPod and lifting the headphones. “Just make sure you shut the door so I can practice ma’ moves in private!”

Callie had been sitting at Clint’s desk for less than a minute when, bored, she turned on his computer. Pulling up a browser, she punched in the web address for Gmail. Five seconds later the page had auto-redirected: straight into Clint’s account.

Leaping out of the chair, she ran to the other side of the room and stared at the wall. The computer still buzzed faintly from atop the desk, beckoning her. Taking a deep breath, she muttered: “Just sit down, and log out.” Easy as the click of a button. Just as easy as the click of another button—which would open any message in the account.

Exhaling, she walked back to the desk. Sitting, she averted her eyes from the screen, maneuvering the cursor into the upper corner in the general region of THE RIGHT THING TO DO, aka the log-out button.

That’s right
, she heard Dana’s voice say suddenly in the back of her head.
Just log out and wait for him to come home like you planned.

Es-tu stupide?
a disembodied Mimi chimed in.
He has given you an open invitation by lying!

Two wrongs don’t make a right
, Dana warned.

Do it now—before he returns!
cried Mimi.

Shut up! she almost said out loud, steeling herself to click the button.

You’re such a hypocrite.
Vanessa’s voice laughed inside her mind.
Or did you already forget everything you said to Gregory in the library?

Callie shook her head again—violently this time. All these voices could mean only one thing: she was definitely going crazy. Exhaling, she grabbed the lid of the laptop to slam it shut—

Still
, the imaginary Vanessa suddenly whispered,
if it were me, I’d want to know the truth.

Callie scrunched her eyelids closed. Then, slowly, she opened just one eye. I’ll only look at the subject headings and the senders, she vowed. After all, “in plain sight” was fair game according to none other than the Constitution of the United States of America.

Better be fast, though: somehow, she didn’t think Clint would take too kindly to the argument that she hadn’t violated any of his Fourth Amendment rights. . . .

There were an alarmingly high number of e-mails from
Alexis Vivienne Thorndike
, like, one, two, three, four, five,
six
, in just the past few weeks, but most of the subject headings seemed fairly benign. Well, all except for two of them:

INBOX [Archive]
[Report Spam]
[Delete]

What I told you in the Library
was highly troubling, as was
RE: We need to talk
. She had to read them both. Immediately.

No!
the voice of Dana cried as Callie’s hand hovered over the keyboard.
Don’t do it.

Do it but do not get caught,
Mimi amended.

Clint’s e-mails are none of your business,
Vanessa reasoned.
But if he’s been lying to you about something—that is your business.

“Quite right, Imaginary Vanessa,” Callie muttered, scrolling back down to
RE: We need to talk.
Click, click.

That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me, computer?
What
did they “need” to talk about? And had Lexi come over
here
, to his bedroom, on Tuesday night? Desperation welled within her. Returning to his inbox, she scrolled up to
What I told you in the Library
. Taking a deep breath, she clicked.

For an e-mail titled
What I told you in the Library
, it certainly didn’t give much away about what had actually been said. Was Lexi making up lies about her? Of
course
she was trying to “intentionally interfere” with the relationship: that had been her plan since day one when she told Callie to stay away from Clint—or else. Given Lexi’s insistence that she was telling the truth, and that she would “never invent anything” (Ha! What
wouldn’t
she invent was more like it), it sounded like Clint might have accused her of lying and come to Callie’s defense. Did he buy all this “new me” bullshit? What was
really
going on between the exes?