The Ivy: Rivals (21 page)

But, as far as Clint seemed to be concerned, she no longer existed.

Nevertheless, she continued hopping anxiously from one foot to the other, her thoughts racing, when suddenly Tyler raised his megaphone and yelled the final name:

“VANESSA VON VORHEES!” he boomed.

Everyone stayed completely silent while Tyler stepped forward to administer the honors personally.

Then, as if in slow motion, everyone started to scream: erupting into a chaotic mass of hugging, shouting, jumping, dancing, and drinking. Squealing and shaking, Vanessa hugged everyone in sight: first Tyler and then Clint, followed by OK, Mimi, and—

“Oh, what the hell?” Vanessa said, smiling at Callie and then embracing her.

“You made it!” Callie cried, holding Vanessa tight. Beaming, they broke away and Vanessa grabbed the bottle out of Tyler’s hands, taking a swig and crying “To ME!” before passing it to Callie.

“To you!” Callie agreed, taking a sip and then handing it to Mimi.

Maybe I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, she thought as she and Vanessa hugged again, but maybe I have something even better: maybe, just maybe, she had her best friend back.

Chapter Twelve
Parents Weekend, Part II:
The Final 24 Hours

PHILLIP A. BENEDICT, DEAN OF HARVARD COLLEGE,
CORDIALLY INVITES THE CLASS OF 2014
*
AND THEIR PARENTS
*
TO JOIN HIM FOR DINNER IN ANNENBERG HALL
ON SATURDAY, THE 19
^TH
OF MARCH, AT 6 P.M.

Hour Thirty-six (T Minus 18 Hours until Parental Departure): In which, after a day of attending various lectures and seminars, the students and visiting family members gather for dinner in Annenberg Hall.

C
allie had awoken the following morning feeling sleepy, but also cautiously optimistic. As if the weather could read her mood, the sun was shining down on campus for what felt like the first time in months, melting small patches of snow. She and her father had attended several of the special seminars put on for Parents Weekend, including one hosted by her Econ professor, and then spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Harvard Square. Her dad seemed to be having a great time and had even promised to wear the Harvard sweatshirt she’d purchased for him at the COOP “at least once” back home in California.

Now they were on their way to the Undergraduate Dean’s dinner in Annenberg. The dining hall staff had arranged the scuffed brown tables banquet-style: complete with white tablecloths, flowers, and candles. Outfitted in white shirts and black slacks, they stood ready to bring each course to the table (contrary to the usual buffet mode of service). Seating, subject to RSVP, had been assigned according to dormitory and entryway, so the residents of Wigglesworth, entryway C, floor two, plus parents would be sitting together—whether they liked it or not.

“
Whew-whee
,” Callie’s dad whistled, locating the place card that read
Callie Andrews + One Guest
. “This school sure is fancy.”

“It’s not
always
like this,” Callie protested as Matt sat down across the table to their left, followed by his parents.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “They’re just trying to impress you: normally they feed us dog food.”

“Matty!” said his mom, looking scandalized. “You don’t mean it!”

“Of course not, Mom.” He chuckled, catching Callie’s eye. “Sometimes there’s cat food, too.” Mrs. Robinson—of sock-label-sewing, care-package-sending fame (contents ranging from strawberry bubble bath to condoms)—actually reminded Callie a lot of her own mom, so she both liked her immediately but understood completely when certain utterances resulted in Matt’s total mortification.

Glancing down, she read the place card to her right:
Vanessa Von Vorhees + One Guest
.

Callie, who hadn’t had a chance to really talk to Vanessa since last night’s festivities, wondered if she were about to meet the man or the missus. Given that Vanessa had often referenced her dad’s tendency to work late back when she and Callie were friends, it seemed far more likely that if only one parent were coming, it would be the much-maligned “Housewife who made the cast of the
Real Desperate
look like ‘amateurs.’”

Oh no. Callie had been so busy worrying about who would be sitting next to her that she had neglected to read the name card upside-down and opposite her: Gregory pulled out the chair directly across from her and sat down with an empty seat on either side of him, presumably for his parents.

“Hello,” said her father, standing. “I don’t believe we’ve met. . . .”

“Gregory Bolton, Professor Andrews, sir,” said Gregory, reaching to grip his hand.

“Oh, please, call me Thomas,” Callie’s dad said, sitting. “Are you a friend of Matthew’s?”

“Yes,” said Gregory. “We live together, along with that guy,” he said, pointing down the table to where Adam was sitting with his parents across from Dana and her parents, “and that tall, ugly one up there,” he concluded, gesturing at OK.

OK’s head snapped up and he made a fist, pounding it against his palm. Then he turned back to Mimi’s mother and continued speaking in abysmal French: “En-Chant-Tay, Mad-eh-moselle. Je vou-drai, er, introduce-ay? Ah vous de mon parents, ici la . . .”

It was a sign of sheer stress that Mimi wasn’t laughing hysterically while he blathered on.

“You must be Callie,” a voice cooed before a woman—who had to be Vanessa’s mother—bent and grabbed her shoulders. “Well, go on: stand up and give me a hug!” she exclaimed. Callie complied, shooting Vanessa a questioning glance while her mother continued, “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you—Vee just goes on and on about her ‘bestie from California’ whenever I can get her on the phone!” Vanessa, her eyes wide, shook her head slowly and held up her hands.

“And you must be Mr. Andrews,” Vanessa’s mom said, shaking hands with Callie’s father after she’d finally released his daughter. “I’m Linda Von Vorhees.”

“It’s
Dr.
Andrews, Mom,” Vanessa muttered, sinking into her seat.

“It’s Thomas,” Callie’s dad insisted.

“And you must call me Linda,” she said. “A doctor, did you say?” she added, leaning over Callie as they sat. Vanessa stared straight ahead.

“Er, professional math geek, actually,” Thomas Andrews replied, seeming to look more the part when he realized that he had the full attention of an attractive woman. (It didn’t happen very often, not because he wasn’t handsome in that absentminded, Russell-Crowe-in-
A-Beautiful-Mind
-minus-the-schizophrenia sort of way, but because it was such a rare occasion that he actually left the classroom.) Attractive, though not beautiful (like Mimi’s mother, who was currently gabbing to OK’s parents about Renee’s upcoming nuptials), was the right word for Linda Von Vorhees. She had Vanessa’s reddish blond hair (or at least the same highlights and stylist), a similar penchant for colorful designer clothing, and though smaller than Vanessa, she seemed less “anorexic” than her daughter had once described.

“He teaches mathematics at UCLA,” Callie supplied in response to Mrs. Von Vorhees’s confused expression.

“A college professor: how intriguing!” she cooed. “I didn’t finish college myself—ran off with Vee’s father when I was twenty-one and never looked back, what a mistake
that
was—but I’ve always wished . . .” She smiled.

“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” Thomas said cavalierly. Callie cringed, wondering if this were flirting, how she might go about confirming it as such, and if affirmative, if there was any way that it could be stopped.

From across the table Gregory caught her eye.

“. . . Hi,” she said.

“Hey.”

“Where are your parents?” she asked him while Vanessa turned and introduced herself to OK’s father. (“If he’s really a prince . . . does that make you a king?”)

“Should be here any minute,” he replied.

Overhearing, Mrs. Von Vorhees said, “You must be the Boltons’ boy, Gregory! I’m on the Committee for the Children with your mother.”

“Stepmother,” he corrected.

“Yes, of course. So you live right across the hall from the girls?” she asked, eyeing him in a way that proved that even women twice his age weren’t entirely immune to his charms.

“That is correct,” he affirmed.

“And you two”—she nodded at her daughter—“never?”

“Mom!” Vanessa shrieked.

Gregory smiled graciously. “I think most people eventually find that dating within the dormitory is ill-advised,” he said, avoiding Callie’s eyes.

Her father smiled. “That seems very wise of you, Gregory. Speaking of dating,” he added, turning to Callie. “Your mother phoned again this morning to insist that I ‘interrogate’ you—yes, that’s the word she used—about that Clifford . . . or Clifton. . . .”

“Clint,” said Callie, frowning into her lap.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “It’s a shame that he was too busy to join us at some point this weekend. Your mother will be extremely disappointed that I didn’t figure out how to get a picture for her on the phone camera. Camera phone? It’s one of these buttons here she showed me. . . .” he muttered, fiddling with his cell.

“That one there,” Callie said with a small smile.

“Vanessa!” her mother exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me that Callie has a new boyfriend! Or wait now, Clint, is that the same one from last semester . . . ?” she asked. Then, addressing Callie’s father, she added, “I like to stay updated on all the gossip, and since Vanessa and Callie are practically inseparable, I feel like I already know her—almost as if she were one of my own!”

Callie tried to return Mrs. Von Vorhees’s affectionate smile, wondering if she had any idea how much of her information was hopelessly out of date.

Her dad nodded politely. “I’m not sure about staying updated on the gossip,” he said, “but I do like to know exactly who thinks he can date my daughter and live to tell about it,” he finished, clapping a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

“Daddy!” she cried.

Gregory smirked.

“I just wanted to meet the guy for five minutes so I could put a healthy amount of fear in his heart,” Professor Andrews said with a laugh. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Not at all,” Gregory answered, laughing with him.

“So, tell us all about him, then!” Mrs. Von Vorhees pressed Callie, leaning in. “What’s he like? Where is he right now? Is it casual or have you two started discussing your future?”

“Well . . .” said Callie, glancing at Gregory, who looked like he wanted to hear about it just as much as she wanted to talk about it. “His name is Clint, he’s a junior, he’s about
this
tall, he’s from Virginia—”

“Yes, but what’s he
like
?” Mrs. Von Vorhees asked. “What kind of things does he like to do?”

“Uh . . .” Callie drew a blank. They had been dating for months now—if they were still dating, that is—how could she not know the answer to these questions? “Well, he likes government—”

“He
likes
government? What does that mean?” Vanessa’s mom interrupted.

“Oh, ha,” said Callie. “I mean, he
studies
government. I’m not sure if he likes government in terms of his political stance—”

“A Republican?” her father demanded.

“I believe his mother prefers the term ‘moderate with conservative leanings’?” Callie said, squinting. “And, um, he’s on the squash team with Gregory so he definitely likes squash—”

“Really?” said her dad. “Well, then tell me, Gregory: what’s your opinion of this Clint character?”

Gregory shrugged. “I guess if I ever had a daughter and she had to date someone, he wouldn’t be the worst choice.”

Oh, gee, thanks for the ringing endorsement.

“He has been busy lately,” Gregory added, “otherwise I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

“So, what do you study, Gregory?” her father asked as the dining hall staff brought out their entrées.

“Economics,” he said, “though I’m seriously considering switching to applied mathematics. I’m kind of . . .” He furrowed his brow, as if searching for the right word. “
Disillusioned
with the current state of the financial services industry.”

Dr. Andrews nodded. “I can certainly see why. Just today Callie and Matthew’s econ professor gave a lecture on white-collar crime and the fine line between ethical business practices and malpractice.”

Gregory nodded, pretending—probably—to listen closely in a rare display of politeness.

“A little soft on the complex mathematics side,” Dr. Andrews continued, “but still quite relevant as we’re continuing to see a proliferation of insider trading, Ponzi schemes, offshore tax evasion, short selling . . . Why, with the lack of regulation when it comes to hedge funds and private equities, it’s easy to understand how, even with perfectly legal business practices, some people get in over their heads.”

“Mmm,” said Gregory, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Callie tried to send him a telepathic apology for her dad’s tendency to lecture both in and out of the classroom. It was part of the reason she’d had such an advantage growing up, but it was also part of the reason that other people sometimes got bored.

Like Mrs. Von Vorhees, for example, who was employing the good old smile and nod tactic of conversation, though she had perked up at the terms
equity
and
hedge funds
. While she most likely couldn’t explain the difference between a hedge fund and her garden shrubbery, she did seem to know that the one with
fund
at the end of it involved men in suits and lots of money.

“If I’m not mistaken, didn’t your father leave Goldman to start his own, ah, hedge fund?” she asked Gregory politely.

Gregory, who had been midway through a sip of water, began to choke.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Von Vorhees as he turned red. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, I’m fine. Water—just went—down—the wrong pipe.”

“Your father . . .” Dr. Andrews began thoughtfully, “is he
the
Bolton who cofounded Bolton and Stamford Enterprises?”

Gregory nodded, glancing uncomfortably at his phone. He’s probably sick of always hearing about his famous dad, Callie thought suddenly. Where is
the
Mr. Bolton, anyway?

“Oh, that’s
right
,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said, failing to notice his discomfort. “I remember my husband saying that your father invented some entirely new type of trading algorithm— Algorithm? Is that the right word?”

Gregory shrugged.

“Well, we’ll just have to ask him when he gets here! Which will be sometime soon, I hope,” she added as a waiter took her dish away. “He’s missed almost the entire dinner!”

Frowning, Gregory checked his phone again. “I’m not sure what the holdup is. . . . Work, probably.”

Mrs. Von Vorhees nodded. “Oh, certainly. A man like your father must work all the time. Never home, just like Vee’s!” she said. “Sweetheart,” she added quietly while a waiter set a large slice of chocolate cake in front of Vanessa and she prepared to take an enormous bite, “I thought you said you were skipping desserts these days?”

Vanessa dropped her fork abruptly. “Right,” she muttered.

“So, Callie, tell me,” Mrs. Von Vorhees said when her father had turned, along with Gregory, to join the Robinsons’ conversation. “What’s your secret? How
do
you stay so deliciously thin?”