The Ivy: Secrets (13 page)

Gregory laughed. “You’re not the first person to wonder why or if game theory is actually useful,” he said. “Some economists assert that it can be used to describe or predict how populations will behave—but, like you say, there are counterarguments—while others think that equilibria prescribe how we ought to behave. But that falls apart at times, too, as in the case of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, when . . . ?”

“‘Sometimes two people don’t cooperate even if it’s in their best interests to do so,’” Callie recited. “I remember that one because it’s my favorite,” she said, setting her pen down and stretching.

Gregory smirked. “Glad we cleared that up. I’m sure there’s going to be a test question on ‘what is your personal favorite fundamental problem with game theory and why?’”

She wasn’t sure if he was teasing or ridiculing—or both—but she smiled anyway. “It’s one of the only strategies or solutions or whatever that takes actual human motives into account. People don’t just ‘play games’ to ‘maximize utility’—there are other factors involved. Plus, it’s so poetic: two prisoners alone in their interrogation rooms. If neither talks, both go free, but the threat of the other’s betrayal inevitably drives both of them to crack—every—single—time.”

“Maybe you
should
major in English,” Gregory said.

Her head snapped up in his direction, but she quickly saw he didn’t mean it unkindly. “Maybe I will!”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be good at whatever you decide to do.” He hesitated for a moment, staring at the papers in front of him. “Except drawing.”

“Or economics,” she added ruefully. “How come you’re so good at this stuff, anyway?”

“My dad worked on Wall Street for a long time and now he has his own hedge fund, so I kind of just grew up knowing it.” Gregory shrugged. “You’re not terrible. You’ll pass the test,” he said, stating it like it was a fact. “You
are
good with the numbers; it’s the real-world applications that seem to trip you up.”

“So what am I? Some autistic mathematician who’s good in theory but bad in practice and doomed to be poor forever?”

“You forgot to include the term
‘
reasonably attractive’ in between ‘autistic’ and ‘mathematician.’ But otherwise, yes, that sounds fairly accurate.”

Blushing, she giggled. “Oh . . . why is it so hard to stay mad at you?”

“Maybe because I just spent the last two hours of my life saving yours . . . though it could be because you saw me in a towel?”

“Hey!” she cried, picking up the nearest stack of papers and hurling it at him.

“Hey yourself!” he retorted, reaching in to tickle her sides. Laughing uncontrollably, she grabbed a pillow off the couch and started whacking him on the head. He let her get away with it twice before he grabbed the pillow in one hand and her wrists in the other, slowly lowering them back to her sides. Her resistance and her laughter faded abruptly as he looked at her, his hand steady on her wrists, their faces only a few inches apart—

“
What
is going on out here? Why are you being so
loud
?” a voice grumbled from the doorway to Adam’s room. Gregory dropped Callie’s hands immediately.

“Dana—” Callie gasped, reaching to gather her papers off the floor. “We were just studying.”

“Studying? Harrrumff,” Dana snorted. “Gregory, your phone,” she added as it started to ring.

“I should take this,” he said, checking the caller ID. “Hey!” He stood and walked over to the window. “How are you?”

Callie ran her fingers through her hair and tried to smile at Dana. But even with all the notes, textbooks, and pens, Dana did not seem convinced.

“Good, just studying for exams . . . Lexi? Yeah, she’s great.” Gregory said to whoever was on the other line.

Callie’s fingers froze. She cocked her head, straining to hear every word without making it obvious that she was listening.

“Limericks, and then I took her to lunch just the other day. . . . Yes, she said to send you her love as well.”

Quickly Callie began to gather her papers and shove them between the pages of her textbook. Gregory looked over. “
You leaving?
” he mouthed, covering the receiver with one hand.

She nodded.

He looked like he might be about to say something else, but the person on the other line must have still been talking because he said, “What? Yes, I’m listening.” He watched Callie gather her things. “Actually, now’s not the best time. But I’ll see you over the break?”

Callie shook her head, motioning that he should continue his conversation.

“Actually, I was already planning to drop Lex in Connecticut when I drive down next week so we can get together then,” he said. “Perfect. I’ll tell her you said so.”

Callie had reached the door. Without looking back at him, she pulled it shut behind her.

F
RIENDSHIP
10A

http://www.harvardfml.com

For all those beautiful Harvard moments where you just want to throw your hands up and say,
FML.

“A
re you ready?” Matt asked. He and Callie were in Annenberg waiting to bus their breakfast trays.

“Uh-huh, yep, totally, ready-set-go,” Callie rattled off, her foot tapping up and down. Maybe that fifth cup of coffee had been a bad idea after all. Then again, if she hadn’t stayed up all night studying in Lamont, her answer might have been more along the lines of:
Non-uh, maybe a little bit but really no-not-at-all.
But she
had
stayed up and she
was
ready. Sort of. And if she wasn’t, at least—

“It’ll all be over soon,” Matt said, reading her mind. “Just three hours and fifteen minutes of economics and pain and then . . . we’re free.”

“COMP,” Callie reminded him, shoving her tray full of only partially eaten food onto the conveyer belt.

“Shhh,” said Matt, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking her toward the dining hall’s exit. “Don’t think about that now.”

They left Annenberg and headed down the cement walkway toward the Science Center, where, in lecture hall C at 9:15—exactly fifteen minutes from now—their Economics 10a exam was slated to begin.

“I feel sick,” Callie muttered as they stepped through the double glass doors of the building.

“Bathrooms are downstairs if you need to puke,” Matt replied, looking a little nauseous himself.

Perversely Callie wondered if Vanessa was already down there undoing the damage—real or imaginary—done by all the stress eating she’d been doing lately, if the empty wrappers littering the floor of the common room were any indication. No, thought Callie, suddenly remembering that Vanessa had been absent at breakfast. Maybe she had the right idea in skipping it, Callie mused, her stomach rolling over when they entered lecture hall C. The walls were a bright, almost mockingly cheerful green. The room itself was a huge amphitheater with seating for at least five hundred rising high above the small patch of floor in front of the blackboard. A proctor stood down there now: she was old and wrinkled, a dragon lady guarding the exams.

Following Matt’s example, Callie took a seat in the back, clasping and unclasping her hands to keep from tapping them on her desk chair. “We’re too early,” she said, glaring at Matt for no good reason.

“Would you rather be too late?” he shot back.

“QUIET PLEASE!” the proctor croaked. Slowly she stood up and walked over to the blackboard. The chalk scratched as she dragged it to form the words
NO TALKING IN THE EXAM ROOM.

Callie’s foot bounced up and down as the room filled with students. She recognized many of the other first-years and even waved to a few, but Vanessa—not that she had any reason to be checking—had yet to arrive.

“Did you see Vanessa on your way out this morning?” Callie asked Matt, leaning in to whisper.

“No,” he said. “Didn’t you?”

“No.” Callie shook her head. “Library all night, remember?”

“Right,” said Matt, looking around. “Well, there are still a couple of minutes left. . . .”

“Right,” Callie agreed. “Nothing to worry about.” But in the meantime her foot had begun to tap just a little bit faster.

“If students could please settle down in their seats,” said the proctor, speaking into a microphone, “I can start reading the rules.”

Callie turned around anxiously in her desk chair.

“Rule Number One: no talking.”

Callie looked up at the clock.

“Rule Number Two: there must be at least one empty seat between you and the person next to you.”

Leaning forward, Callie scanned the room, searching for that telltale flash of strawberry blond.

“Rule Number Three: when I say ‘pencils down,’ you stop writing.”

Vanessa was nowhere to be seen. Callie pulled out her phone and drafted a text:
SOS—WHERE ARE YOU? EXAM STARTS IN THREE MINUTES!

“Rules Number Four, Five, and Six: No gum. No cell phones. No bathroom breaks except one at a time and with my permission.”

“What should I do?” Callie hissed at Matt. A teaching fellow who was patrolling the aisles coughed pointedly, indicating that Callie should put away her phone. The screen was still dishearteningly blank.

“About what?” Matt asked, digging in his book bag for an extra pen.

“About Vanessa!”

“She really isn’t here yet?” He was finally starting to look concerned.

“Rule Number Seven: if you leave without a pass once the exam has started, you will not be readmitted to the room.”

Shit, thought Callie. Shit, shit, shit. She didn’t know where Vanessa was, but she certainly wasn’t here.

“Rule Number Eight: no calculators.”

“I have to go,” Callie said, standing without stopping to think.

“What?” cried Matt. “Wait!”

But she had already jumped over his feet. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder, apologizing as she nearly tripped over two other students in her race for the aisle. “Explain what happened if I don’t make it—”

And then she was off, bursting out of lecture hall C, through the double glass doors, and into the cold, sprinting for all she was worth.

She traversed the Yard in what had to be a record ninety seconds, gasping as she leaped up the stairs in Wigglesworth entryway C three at a time. Exploding into their common room she screamed, “VANESSA!” Then, racing toward the door decorated with the giant Marilyn Monroe poster, she flung it open.

Vanessa was in bed and fast asleep: her signature Princess eye mask blocking the light, a pair of hot pink earplugs stopping any sounds. “Vanessa!” Callie cried, shaking her. “Wake up!”

“Wha . . .” Vanessa groaned, swatting Callie and rolling over.

“VANESSA, WAKE UP!” Callie screamed, pulling an ear-plug out of her ear.

Vanessa sat up straight and yanked off the eye mask. “Callie,
what
the
fu
—”

Registering the expression on Callie’s face, she stopped talking.

“Oh my god!” she cried, her eyes going wide. Her lower lip trembled. “What time—”

“Late. It’s about to start. Here,” said Callie, grabbing the first pair of stretchy pants her fingers touched in Vanessa’s dresser drawer and tossing them to her.

“How—is there—can we still make it?” Vanessa stammered.

“Yes. Now stop talking and get dressed,” said Callie, pulling out socks and a sweater and shoving them into Vanessa’s hands. “Pens?” she asked while Vanessa yanked the sweater on—over her silky negligee—and pulled the pants up under it.

“My desk—second drawer,” Vanessa cried. “Shit! My iPhone. It didn’t go off—”

“Let’s go,” Callie cut her off, sticking the pens in her pocket.

Vanessa stood frozen, staring at the bottom of her closet. “I . . . what shoes . . .?”

Callie turned to her in disbelief when, looking down, she realized that every pair of shoes in Vanessa’s closet had at least a two-inch heel. “Here,” said Callie, kicking off her dirty Converses. Barefoot, she ran into her bedroom and jammed her feet into her running shoes, trying to ignore the clock on her nightstand, which read 9:17.

“Thanks,” Vanessa whispered, still moving slowly as if in a trance.

“No time—come on,” Callie said, grabbing her hand and pulling her out the door.

Red-faced and panting, they arrived outside the Science Center. Callie ushered Vanessa inside. Jogging up the ramp, they reached the entrance to lecture hall C.

Both doors were sealed shut, and a TF sat on a folding chair in front of them, blocking any entry.

“Sorry we’re late,” Callie gasped between breaths. Vanessa, her face tomato red, had yet to regain her powers of speech.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, lowering his magazine. “But you know the rules: I can’t let you in.”

“What!” Callie shrieked. “We’re like three minutes late! They probably haven’t even started passing out the exam yet!”

“Rules are rules.” He shrugged. “And you’re four minutes late,” he added after checking his watch.

“Please,” Vanessa managed to sputter, tears streaming from her eyes. “S’all—my—fault.”

“I really am sorry, but we can’t make any exceptions—even for freshmen,” he said, since their age was clearly obvious. “The university does not accept any excuses for missing an exam unless you are gravely ill and have a doctor’s note from UHS. You’ll have to appeal to the administrative board next semester. Hopefully, they’ll let you make it up sometime over the summer. Otherwise . . . well, you won’t be the first to fail Ec 10, and you won’t be the last either.”

“That’s—completely—ridiculous!” Vanessa choked out. “We’re here now. Let. Us. In!”

He shook his head, turning, infuriatingly, back to his magazine.

“Do you”—Vanessa began as Callie placed a restraining hand on her arm—“have
any
idea”—Callie tugged Vanessa’s arm—“who my father—”

“We’re going now!” Callie interrupted. “Straight to the registrar’s office. We’ll see what they have to say about this.”

“Good idea,” muttered the TF, now thoroughly engrossed in his magazine.

Vanessa’s feet stayed planted on the ground. “Callie—what—no! What are y—”

“Shhh,” hissed Callie, dragging Vanessa toward the exit. “We are
going
to the
Registrar’s Office
,” she called loudly, aiming the words over her shoulder.

“This is insane!” Vanessa exclaimed as soon as they were outside. “What a dick! He can’t—we can’t just—you know the registrar won’t do anything—”

“I know,” said Callie, her eyes bright. “That’s why we’re not really going to the registrar.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” said Callie, starting to circle back around the Science Center. “Come on,” she added, motioning that Vanessa should follow. Soon they stood facing the back entrance. Callie pushed open the door, and they slipped inside.

Vanessa hesitated. “Where are we—”

Callie clapped a hand over her mouth and placed an index finger over her own lips. Quietly they walked down the hall and turned left into an empty corridor. Callie stopped walking. “Aha,” she said.

Vanessa’s eyes were wide. “You’re not seriously thinking about—”

“Uh-huh.” Callie nodded absentmindedly, flicking open the little glass door nestled at shoulder height in the wall.

“Callie, I don’t think this is a good idea—”

But before Vanessa could finish her sentence—and she could change her mind—Callie
yanked
the small red lever as hard as she could.

BREEEP, BREEEP, BREEEP,
the fire alarm shrieked.
BREEEP, BREEEP, BREEEP.
Lights started flashing in the halls.

“RUN!” Callie yelled, grabbing Vanessa’s hand and dashing down the hall. “Other way!” she cried as Vanessa started to turn left. They sprinted down the hall and burst out through the back door. “Stop!” Callie hissed in a strangled whisper, flattening herself against the side wall. “Okay, come on,” she said after a beat, ducking and creeping forward under the cover of some bushes that lined the wall. When they were almost to the front of the building, Callie held up her hand, motioning that they should stop. From where they were, they could see the courtyard in front of the Science Center starting to fill with students. Frantic TFs were issuing instructions, crying in vain that the students should remain silent and refrain from discussing the test.

A proctor from a different exam had gotten hold of a megaphone. “Please stand still and do not speak,” he boomed. “We have reason to believe that this was a false alarm, but they are checking the building now to be sure. Barring any fire, the exams will resume momentarily.”

Almost as soon as he stopped speaking, the alarm ceased.

“Should we go—” Vanessa started, pointing toward the crowd.

“No.” Callie shook her head. “Back this way,” she said. “Now,” she added, seeing Vanessa’s hesitant expression. Reentering through the back door, they headed for the stairs. Callie glanced over her shoulder—there were a few people traversing the halls, but nobody paid them any attention—and then she and Vanessa took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom Callie paused. “This way,” she said, deciding. Vanessa, too shell-shocked for words, numbly followed. They weaved through another long narrow hallway until Callie found what she was looking for: a door, the same bright green color as the walls of lecture hall C. Ignoring the sign that said
FACULTY ENTRANCE ONLY
, Callie pushed it open and peered inside.