The Ivy: Rivals (24 page)

“Don’t worry,” Vanessa reassured her. “We’ll figure out how to deal with the sleeping arrangements when we’re in the air!”

“What is this ‘sleeping’ that the two of you speak of? There is no sleeping
pendant les vacances de printemps
!”

“Okay, Meems,” Vanessa said. Then she muttered in Callie’s ear: “We’ll see what she has to say about that when we have to drag her out of bed and onto the plane tomorrow.”

Callie laughed. “Bye, Mimi!” she called. “Don’t stay out too late!”

Then, handcuff-in-handcuff, they made their way to the club’s front door.

There was just one problem.

Alexis Thorndike stood at the end of the foyer, blocking their exit.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked with mock disappointment.

“We’re . . .” Suddenly Callie found herself momentarily blinded by a flash of silver from Lexi’s chest.

It was a necklace. Callie’s necklace. Except that Callie’s necklace was still exactly where it should be: safe and secure around her neck.

Then it was as if everything was happening in flashes.

FLASH: “What a beautiful necklace,” Lexi had said on Valentine’s Day right here at the Pudding, with an odd look in her eye, like she had a secret. “Really, it’s stunning.”

FLASH: At brunch when Lexi had said, again with that
I-know-a-secret
expression, “At least a book is a lot more
personal
than some
generic
item of jewelry.”

FLASH: The same spark of silver on Clint’s bedside table that Callie had assumed, from far away, must be her necklace, only to find that . . .

FLASH: Yesterday afternoon it had been in its Tiffany box on her bureau all along. . . .

Generic item of jewelry . . . What a beautiful necklace . . . The bedside table . . . I’ll come over tonight around 8 p.m. . . . The bedside table . . .
Lexi, staring into her eyes wearing the same necklace now, triumphant . . .

“Oh. My. God.”

Spring Break

Chapter Fourteen
Spring Breakup

Spring Break To-DON’T Pack Checklist

Brought to you by the editors at
FM
Magazine

•
SUNSCREEN
: You’ve been borderline albino all year long, and this is your one chance to rectify it. . . . Plus, we think the only
protection
you’ll need on whatever desert island is of a slightly different nature (wink-wink, nudge-nudge).

•
CLOTHING
: Pack only your skimpiest fare, as tropical temperatures will be spiking over 80 degrees daily, while the nights have potential to get even steamier.

•
DIGNITY
: What happens on the island, stays on the island (but possibly also ends up on Facebook—so maybe don’t go
too
crazy).

•
YOUR RELATIONSHIP
: Spring break is the prime time for a transient one-night (if not one-hour) fling, so leave all that drama (and possibly the person, too!) on the mainland.

•
HOMEWORK
: Seriously, people, do we even need to put this one on here?

•
ANY READING MATERIAL THAT IS NOT A WEEKLY GOSSIP MAG
: Because you can finish the last 4,299 pages of Marcel Proust’s
A la recherche du temps perdu
when we return to campus and thus avoid exorbitant airline heavy-baggage fees.

•
YOUR SMARTPHONE
: No, Twitter will not break nor will the planets collide if you miss a few days of telling us, in 140 characters or less, what you had for breakfast.

•
EXTRA BAGGAGE/STRESS OF ANY KIND
. . .

. . . because it’s time to sit back, relax, and
HAVE FUN!!! HAPPY SPRING BREAK!!!

“T
hat was the most awkward plane ride of my entire life, and I have traveled on
beaucoup, beaucoup d’avions et jets privés,
” Mimi announced, letting her bags slump off her shoulders.

“Even
I
can’t remember exactly who is mad at whom,” Vanessa exclaimed, “and I could tell you the entire plot for every season of
Days of Our Lives
in what my mother calls ‘excruciating detail.’”

“Let’s just get unpacked and get to the pool,” Callie muttered from underneath the large hat and even larger oversized sunglasses that her roommates had lent her. Then she wheeled her luggage over to where Mimi’s and Vanessa’s were piled on the stone floor of what had to be the most adorable accommodations on the entire island of Vieques: Villa Whale.

Granted, the island was barely four miles wide, but still, with its nautical-themed white and blue furnishings and decorative wooden whales adorning the walls, the villa was completely picturesque: remote from the towering main resort building that loomed behind it. The living room’s entire far wall consisted of nothing more than two huge sliding glass doors, which looked out on an enormous pool—more like a small lake, actually—and beyond that, the beach, where pale blue waves lapped gently on untouched white sands.

Callie inhaled a deep, fresh, and slightly salty-smelling breath, feeling more relaxed already. Never mind the other villas also dotted around the pool, separated from them by only a few sparse palm trees and the hammocks here and there suspended between the trunks. Never mind, in particular, Villa Seashell, where she had originally planned to stay with Clint. And never mind that, according to OK, Gregory and Alessandra also had transferred out to Villa Sandcastle at the last minute, while Lexi had transferred in.

“Oi!” OK cried, bursting into the living room with Matt at his heels. Callie grinned at Matt, who had buckled to his mother’s pressure over Parents Weekend when, after learning that both OK and Gregory were going to Puerto Rico, she insisted that spring break was “a pivotal aspect of the college experience” and that she and his father would treat. “Which one’s our room, love?” OK continued, coming over to Mimi and squeezing her sides.

“
Your
room
est là
,” she said, wiggling away and pointing to the smallest of the three bedrooms, which contained two twin beds.
“Avec lui,”
she added, gesturing at Matt. “
Je suis très désolé, mais
you are the last to arrive and so you must eat the smelly egg, as one might say in America.” Then, turning, she lugged her bags into the largest bedroom—the one with a single enormous, king-size bed—and pulled the door shut behind her.

Callie and Vanessa glanced at each other, and then across the living room at Matt and OK. Everyone froze for a single moment before Vanessa and Callie screamed and made a mad dash with their luggage for the next largest bedroom (the one with two double beds), beating out the boys by a fraction of a second.

“No fair. Can’t you see how big and tall and strong we are—”

OK’s cries of outrage were silenced when Vanessa slammed the door. Giggling and copying Callie, she flung herself backward onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, they sighed.

“Hey,” Callie said a minute later, rolling onto her side and propping her chin up on one elbow. “If you don’t mind my asking . . . why exactly did you decide to break up with Tyler?”

“Solidarity, babe,” Vanessa said shortly, leaping up and flinging open her suitcase.

“
No,
” Callie remarked, watching her toss several colorful bikinis onto the bed. “Really?”

Vanessa laughed. “Not exactly . . . although the reason we started fighting on the way to the airport was because he refused to answer when I asked if he knew anything about the . . . ah . . . you-know-what situation involving you-know-who and, uh, yeah . . .” She wrinkled her nose, flinching at the expression on Callie’s face. “Sorry,” Vanessa muttered. “Here, hold this for a sec,” she added, tossing a gold lamé bathing-suit-like contraption onto Callie’s lap.

“What . . . is this?” Callie inquired, holding it up. “A . . . bathing suit?”

“Of course,” Vanessa snapped, “You just can’t get it wet is all.”

“Oh,” said Callie, setting it aside and walking over to her own suitcase to retrieve her single black bikini. (Yes, she owned more than one, but her mother had laughed almost to the point of tears when she had tried to pack all seven for college—insisting that Callie stick her hand inside the freezer before pulling up the Cambridge weather forecast.)

Vanessa slipped into one of her many suits and sighed. “If you really wanna know,” she said, “the reason I broke up with Tyler is because I ran out of feather dusters.” Pausing, she frowned. “Meaning—”

“Actually, I think I already know,” said Callie, pulling on a pair of shorts over her bikini. “Hot pink, about
yay
long, and a very clever excuse not to spend the night because the room was too filthy, am I right?”

“Yep,” said Vanessa. “That about sums it up!”

Callie came over and sat next to her on the bed. “He wasn’t the one?”

Vanessa shrugged.

“He couldn’t stop hinting at how big the king-size beds are over in Villa Seashell?”

“Exactly!” said Vanessa, clapping a hand on Callie’s knee. “Besides, spring break isn’t the time for a boyfriend! It’s a time for romance, and adventure, and random encounters with the non-English-speaking cabana boys. . . . Though, a word to the wise: if you are going to end it with someone at the airport, do it on the
arriving
, rather than the
departing
side, i.e., before you embark on a multi-hour plane ride.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Callie said, slapping her disguise—
ahem,
hat and sunglasses—back on. “Now let’s get our newly single butts to the pool!”

“That’s the spirit,” Vanessa chirped, pleased that Callie appeared to have internalized her lecture on changing their mind sets from Depressed and Dumped to Single and Fabulous. “Oh, Mimi!” she cried as she and Callie strolled out into the living room.

“To the pool?” Mimi asked, lifting an enormous stack of trashy magazines.

“To the pool!” Vanessa cried. And then, arm in arm, they slipped through the sliding glass doors, making their way to some lounge chairs near the ocean and (what a coincidence!) far, far away from Villa Seashell, in search of scandals (Mimi), sexy cabana boys (Vanessa), and solitude (Callie).

After several hours of sunning followed by a light, late dinner at one of the resort’s three restaurants (so late in fact that the restaurant had been nearly empty—imagine that!), the girls, along with Matt and OK, were making their way to the one bar within walking distance of the resort: “Vick’s Beach Bar & Nightclub.” Apparently Vick’s compensated for being the only nightlife option available by rotating through various themes: Sports Night, Karaoke, Trivia, Dance Club, Discotheque, and so forth.

Tonight happened to be—much to Callie’s chagrin as they trudged through the sand and then up the rickety wooden staircase to where the bar stood on a stone outcropping jutting over the beach and suspended high above the water—Tiki night. The Caribbean theme evoked memories of Calypso: the first big party she had attended at Harvard, which also happened to be the first night she had met Clint.

“Now, remember,” said Vanessa as they stood outside the building’s front doors, flanked by palm trees and two flaming tiki torches, “single and fabulous. Repeat it with me now:
single
. . . and
fabulous
.”

“Single and fabulous,” Callie muttered, wondering if Vanessa had considered a career as a motivational speaker.

Mimi rolled her eyes. “More like
sober
and
frustrated
,” she amended, grabbing Matt and OK and pushing through the doors. Callie glanced behind her down the staircase from whence they’d come, but before she could open her mouth to explain how she was
really very jet-lagged
and
not in a party mood
, Vanessa grabbed her and cried: “Oh, no you don’t!” before yanking her into the bar.

Callie recognized the faces of many of her fellow classmates clustered among the locals and other vacationers on the crowded dance floor lined with sand. Outside, more people stood on a large wraparound deck overlooking the water, the huge yellow moon looming low above the waves.

“See?” Vanessa cried over the sound of reggaeton, a popular form of Latin dance music. “Not so bad, right?”

Callie shrugged, her eyes flicking over the couples dancing closely or laughing in larger groups, tropical drinks in hand. OK and Matt had already latched on to a gaggle of young girls who looked like locals and who seemed to be greatly impressed by their considerable heights. One extremely fresh-faced girl appeared to have taken a particular liking to Matt, hanging on his every word.

“Let’s go grab some drinks and then hit the dance flo— Oh.” Vanessa stopped suddenly, wheeling Callie in the opposite direction. “Changed my mind!” she cried hurriedly.

“Wha—”

“Piña coladas have so many calories,” Vanessa interrupted her. “Why don’t we just go outside instead?” Now her roommate was practically pushing Callie toward the back balcony.

“Vanessa,” she started, “what is going—”

Oh. One of the couples who had looked particularly intimate over in a dark corner on the other side of the room, and who some, in fact, might describe as
glued
together—particularly at the lips and hips—suddenly grew recognizable as Callie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Alexis Thorndike. Soon to be rechristened Thorndike-
Weber,
from the way Clint was kissing her, pressed up against the wall like there was no tomorrow. Actually, make that: no five minutes from now.

Callie barely felt Vanessa’s hand on her shoulder while her roommate murmured something about stepping outside. It was one thing to know—to realize as she left the Pudding the night of Leather & Lace—that Clint had lied to her: that Lexi
had
been in his room, and had left her necklace behind. But it was quite another to have the hitherto unconfirmed suspicions shoved suddenly in front of her face—in front of nearly everyone she knew from school, no less.

Callie . . . Callie . . .
Vanessa’s cries seemed to echo from some faraway place. Absentmindedly Callie swatted away the hand beckoning her to move and continued to stare: as if the longer she stared, the more what was unfolding in front of her might start to make sense.

Yet, no matter how hard she squinted or tilted her head, nothing made sense anymore. Clint insisting he was over Lexi. Lexi behaving with such reckless abandon in public. Was it the tropical climate? Or had their reunion always been bound to happen, written in the cards dealt their freshman year: predestined, unavoidable, fated? Maybe Lexi had known all along and merely acted to expedite the inevitable: forcing Callie to stay away from Clint and then break up with him, promising that their relationship was no more than a “fling,” that Clint was completely wrong for her, and that Lexi was sparing her the pain of finding that out the “hard way.”

Was he ever really mine? Callie wondered. Did she even know him at all—this person pressed up against her mortal enemy?

All of sudden she could no longer breathe. Doubled over at the waist, she let Vanessa lead her outside. Then, rushing to the railing, Callie leaned over the wood, hyperventilating. A breeze billowed off the ocean and dark waves tossed against the sand, but Callie failed to notice, her vision now completely blurred.

“Is she okay?” a male voice called, coming closer, followed by footsteps and the smell of tobacco.

“Gregory, I really think we should mind our own business—”

That had to be Alessandra, trailing at his heels, but Callie didn’t bother to look: leaning over the railing and dry heaving despite being stone-cold sober.

“What’s wrong?” the voice—Gregory’s—repeated. Quiet, insistent.

“It’s that jerk-faced a-hole,” Vanessa muttered in reply. “He’s inside . . . with Lexi,” she added, patting Callie on the back.

“With Lexi
what
?” Gregory demanded.

“Gregory!” Alessandra’s voice was higher now and louder. “This isn’t any of our—”

“Procreating.” Vanessa snorted ruefully. “Or practically, anyway. Oh—jeez—I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,” she murmured, realizing she’d sent Callie collapsing into a fresh gale of sobs. “Look, I’m not really sure your being here is help—”

“Where?” Gregory’s voice had gone low and dangerous. “Inside? Now?
In front of her
?”

“Gregory, what are you—”

“Wait!” Vanessa interrupted Alessandra, whose hands Gregory had just thrown off his retreating back. “They’re not together anymore; they br— Shit. Shit!” she yelled. Clearly he hadn’t heard a word, already inside and halfway across the dance floor.

Pulling herself together, Callie turned just in time to see Alessandra running after him, cursing under her breath. “What—”

Vanessa spread one hand over her eyes and groaned. “I think we may be in for Mad Hatter’s: Spring Break edition.”

“What!” Callie cried, wiping her cheeks.

“Come on,” Vanessa said warily, grabbing Callie’s hand and pulling her back inside.

Total chaos appeared to have broken loose:

The music had stopped.

A large circle had formed around the dance floor.

Gregory stood in one corner, struggling against the restraining grips of Matt, OK, and another freshman guy. Blood gushed from his lip, but he appeared not to notice, fighting for his freedom so he could presumably take another crack at Clint.

Tyler stood in front of Clint in the opposite corner, one palm planted firmly against his chest, the other gripping his shoulder. He was whispering fiercely at Clint, who had one hand clapped over his left eye and kept shaking his head and pointing at Gregory.