by Lauren Kunze
“I’m leaving,” she said, standing up and feeling miserable at the prospect of returning to Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter and the odd smacking sounds of inexperienced kissing drifting from Dana’s enclave of romance.
“What?” asked Gregory, turning so abruptly that Vanessa’s head fell off his shoulder. “And leave me here to pine for you, heartbroken and alone?” He leaned over the couch, reaching his arms out dramatically as if he were trying to pull her back.
Callie struggled to suppress a smile. “It’s not you guys—it’s me. I’m just not feeling it. . . .”
“No, no, no,” said Gregory, shaking his head. “I know it’s been said that not every girl can come during her first time, but every girl always comes with me.” Mimi and OK started to laugh, and even Matt looked up from his notepad on which he’d been scribbling. Callie did her best to look stern. The truth was, in spite of everything, his words had sparked a tiny fire in the region a few inches below her belly button—a flame that not even Vanessa’s sleepy, pouty expression had the power to extinguish.
Even when they were almost entirely pupils, Gregory’s eyes still made her feel like she was Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole—especially when they took on that grave expression. “But seriously, Callie,” he said, “you should have piped up earlier. There are definitely other ways that we can make it work.”
“Other positions we can try,” OK chimed in.
“Oh no—” said Matt, biting the edge of his pen. “You guys aren’t planning to—”
“HOT BOX THE BATHROOM!” OK and Gregory yelled simultaneously.
“Again,” Matt finished feebly. “Last time it smelled in there for days.”
“Which would actually be an improvement to its usual smell,” Mimi said delicately, “if I might weigh in on the matter.”
“Dibs on the Jacuzzi!” OK cried, leaping to his feet. “Care to take a bath, my dear?” he added, turning toward Mimi.
“Veto!” cried Gregory. Standing behind Callie, he placed his hands on her waist and guided her toward the bathroom. “Caliente and I reserved it weeks ago. Bad luck, buddy.”
“Oh, shut up, both of you,” said Mimi, walking into the bathroom. She slammed both the windows shut, ripped back the shower curtain, and turned the water on hot. OK, Callie, and Gregory piled in behind her, and Gregory closed the door. Matt stayed on the couch, engrossed in his poetry, and Vanessa had actually fallen asleep sometime between the words positions and hot box.
Soon enough the room was thick with steam. Gregory repacked the pipe and held it to Callie’s lips, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“That’s it . . . breathe deeply now. . . ,” he encouraged. As she exhaled, the smoke mingled with the steam. She didn’t cough this time, and her head was actually feeling much lighter . . . maybe it was the heat.
“Another one, just for good measure?” she asked, smiling at Gregory. He grinned in return and relit the pipe.
Meanwhile OK was filling the “Jacuzzi” and Mimi was perched on the toilet, singing Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” and verifying for them all why singing was not one of her many talents. As she sang, Mimi noticed a bottle of pink bubble bath resting on the side of the tub and lifted it questioningly.
“A gift for the room from Matt’s mom,” OK explained. Mimi nodded and started pouring the entire contents of the bottle into the tub as she began to hum Simon and Garfunkel’s classic ode to cougars.
Callie felt like the fog in the bathroom had moved inside her head: it was as if in slow motion she watched OK remove his shirt, revealing ebony skin and sharply defined abdominals.
“Wahooooo!” cried Mimi. “Take it off!”
Obediently OK removed his pants. Mimi clapped her hands. To Callie’s surprise—and Mimi’s apparent delight—he didn’t stop there: in under three seconds his white boxer briefs were lying in a pile with the rest of his clothes. Before Callie could even start to feel embarrassed, he had hopped into the tub: concealed by a sea of strawberry-scented bubbles.
“Your turn, Mimi, dear!” he yelled, suds splashing.
Callie giggled as Mimi also started to remove her clothing. When she was down to her boy shorts and bra, she jumped into the tub. Callie glanced at Gregory and was pleased to find him staring at her instead of Mimi.
“Let’s just chill over here,” Gregory said to Callie’s vague disappointment, spreading a fluffy blue towel across the cold tile floor and motioning for her to sit.
She obeyed him readily and plopped down onto the towel, amazed at just how fluffy it really was . . . and how blue, too. She ran her fingers over it, up and down, up and down, marveling that her fingers were actually attached to her hands that were touching this towel that was so fluffy and blue. . . .
“This is great,” Gregory said as Mimi and OK squealed and splashed, sitting down next to her so that their shoulders were touching and she could feel the warmth of his skin through her thin T-shirt. The little blond hairs on her arm started to stand on end and she suddenly felt cold . . . then shivery and hot. . . . Wait a minute—did he just say something?
“What . . .” she asked, rubbing her arm, “what . . . did you say?”
“Oh,” said Gregory, staring at his hands. “I just said that this is great—you know: us getting some time to hang out like this. We should do it more often.”
“What—smoke pot?”
“No,” he said, “just hang out. Talk about books or something. You know, whatever.”
Am I high or is he being serious right now? she wondered. A little shiver ran down her spine.
“Are you—are you cold?” Gregory asked as the hot steam swirled around them.
“No . . .” she said, shivering again. Suddenly she felt his arm slide around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he whispered, and rather than reacting in horror that her mortal enemy Gregory Sleazebag Bolton was trying to touch her, all she could feel was pleasant and content, like this position was totally natural for two people who generally behaved like they despised each other.
In the meantime it appeared that OK had sprouted his “magical” third ball.
“Mimi!” he was insisting, waving aside the bubbles. “Mimi, come on! You’ve got to take a look at this!”
“Okay, OK.” She sighed. “But only for clinical purposes.” She peered down through the translucent water.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, waving the bubbles back into place, “I can see only two, but that certainly does not mean there is not a third one somewhere else. . . .”
“Oh, shit,” said Gregory. “I think somebody got way, way too high . . . damn. I told him that if he didn’t slow down he was going to green out later on.”
“Green out?” asked Callie, blinking and struggling to concentrate on what was happening around her when all she could feel was the weight of him around her shoulders and that hand caressing her bare arm.
“Like black out but for weed? That’s clever,” she murmured stupidly.
“OH, MY SWEET JESUS!” OK roared suddenly, leaping to his feet for the second time that night as Mimi leaned back. “SOMEBODY’S TAKEN MY THIRD BALL AND HIDDEN IT IN THE ALLEY. IF I DON’T GET IT BACK TONIGHT, THEY’RE GOING TO BOMB THE ENTIRE CITY!”
“OK . . .” Mimi started.
“NO!” he cut in. “NO! IF I DON’T GET IT BACK TONIGHT, NONE OF YOU—I REPEAT, NONE OF YOU—WILL LIVE!”
With that he sloshed out of the tub and flung open the bathroom door, giving them all a generous view of his glorious, royal rear. Mimi sighed, stood, and reached for a towel. Turning to Gregory and Callie, who were still sitting on the floor, she said, “Now I am better understanding the meaning of the phrase ‘tripping balls.’”
Gregory laughed. “I should go put him to bed,” he said, getting to his feet.
No, don’t go—
“Come on, Caliente,” he added, holding out both hands. She took them and he p
ulled her up toward him. They were only a few inches apart now, and he had yet to let go of her hands—
At that moment Vanessa appeared in the bathroom doorway, rubbing her eyes and looking confused.
“Guys, I fell asleep and had a dream that a large black man was running naked through a field and then there was a big slam that sounded like a door—”
“Oh, putain! Fils de pute! Il s’est cassé!” Mimi cursed, pulling her jeans on over her wet underwear. “I will find him, I will find him,” she added, pushing past them out of the room. “He cannot have gone far. . . .”
“What on earth . . . ?” Vanessa asked.
“Don’t worry, we’ll explain later,” Callie replied, repeating Mimi’s curses silently as Gregory also walked out of the bathroom.
“All right,” said Vanessa. “Actually—I wanted to talk to you about something. . . .”
Oh, shit I’m a bad friend I’m a bad friend—
“It’s about Matt.”
What?
“Look, I know I’ve been asleep for a while, but I’m pretty sure that earlier he was hitting on me.”
Callie peered out of the bathroom to check on Matt, who at the moment was having what seemed like an intensely philosophical conversation with the fake plant in the corner. “Listen, man, I know,” she heard him murmur from across the room. “I’ve had my share of bad luck with the ladies, too, but that doesn’t mean you should stop putting yourself out there. . . .”
Callie, stifling a laugh, was pretty sure that hitting on a human being was the last thing that Matt had in mind.
“Look,” Vanessa started again, “I don’t want this to get weird, but I know you guys had your whole geek-crush thing going on before you wised up and found Clint, so I felt I should tell you and say that I don’t intend to act on it.”
Callie just stared. “I didn’t . . . I never liked . . .” She gaped, trying to explain.
“It’s all right, sweetie; I won’t tell anyone. It’s bros before hos, right? Or—er—chicks before dicks?”
Callie continued to stare at Vanessa, who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be serious.
“Uh . . . thanks,” said Callie. “You really are great. In fact, you’re the best!” Elated with a sudden burst of affection, she gave Vanessa a big bear hug. As they embraced, her eyes locked with Gregory’s. She wasn’t sure how—perhaps the pot had made her temporarily telepathic—but she knew in that instant that they were both wondering the exact same thing: how to get back to that blue towel and steal a few more precious seconds alone. . . .
OK was back inside a room shaped exactly like his own, only for some reason everything was pink: the bedspread, the walls, the picture frames, the furry pillow resting on the chair at the desk. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but when he opened them, the objects in the room still appeared just as pink.
He stumbled around as if he was looking for something but couldn’t quite remember what it was. He could see that he was naked, and that usually only happened right before he went to bed. . . . That was it! His bed: he was looking for his bed. Just the thought of it made him yawn enormously. . . .
He stared for a moment longer at the pink, velour bedspread before shaking his head and stumbling past the Marilyn Monroe poster that Matt’s mom must have given him and back into the common room.
There were TV sounds coming from behind the door immediately to his right. He had a television in his room so . . . clearly this was it!
Yawning deeply, his eyelids so heavy they were almost shut, he plodded into the pitch-dark room, pleased to have found it so that he could finally get to bed.
He was asleep before his body even hit the mattress.
There was a loud, girlish scream as Dana reached for the light, certain that somebody was attacking them—
“What the heck?” Adam screamed, hitting a high G again.
There was a deep groan and a “Shove off would you—I’m trying to sleep” before Dana found the light and discovered a very large, very naked visitor in her bed. . . .
Mimi, who hadn’t been able to find OK outside or on any other floor of their dormitory hurried back toward his room. Quickly she rushed up the stairs and walked into the hallway just in time to witness a livid, bathrobed Dana run out of C 24 chasing a naked, terrified OK back into C 23. Adam cowered behind her, looking almost as scared as OK.
“I swear I just popped in to borrow a cup of sugar!” OK screamed as Dana hounded after him.
Shaking her head, Mimi followed them back into C 23.
Dana was more than a little upset. She was yelling so loudly and so quickly that she was almost unintelligible: Mimi heard something about a “Wednesday” and a “waste of an education” several times, followed by a “don’t know what kind of drugs you’ve been doing” and a “glad you never invite me to these things, anyway.” In any event the message was clear: it was time for bed.
Dana stormed back across the hall, and Adam stood helplessly for a moment before evidently deciding that it would be safer to return to his room. Mimi, Callie, and Vanessa bid their farewells and trudged out into the hallway.
At the door to their suite Vanessa hesitated. “Uhm . . . I think I—forgot something. I’m just going to run back and get it. Good night. See you girls in the morning!”
Callie felt a nagging sensation in her stomach as she watched Vanessa, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it. Mimi looked at her and shrugged, then embraced her before entering her room. Callie paused for a moment, and then also returned to her bedroom. It would be a long time before she managed to fall asleep. . . .
Vanessa tiptoed back into C 23, smiling when she realized that everybody except Gregory had gone to bed. He was staring at the porn star poster, looking heartbroken.
Somebody—probably Matt—had written a name across each boob. On the right: Harold. On the left: Maude.
“He’s in for a beating when he wakes up,” Gregory said, tearing his eyes from the poster and grinning at Vanessa. “What up, V?”
“Well . . .” she started, staring at her hands. “I was just wondering if . . . if maybe I could sleep here tonight?”
“Uh—well, sure,” he said, eyeing her quizzically. “I mean, I don’t think that the couch will be very comfortable but it’s yours if you want it. What happened? Another fight? It seemed like you three were getting along so well?”
“Oh no,” she cried. She tried to laugh, but the sounds got stuck in her throat. Encouraged by the way his eyes fell on her chest, she took a step closer. “What I meant was: can I stay here tonight with you—you know, in your room?”
He was silent, staring at her.
She smiled flirtatiously, trying to disguise her nerves. “My weed-smoking virginity doesn’t have to be the only one you take tonight. . . .”
Gregory’s face changed abruptly—as if a bucket of cold water had just shocked him into clarity through the post-pot haze. Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Vanessa’s chest, he looked up and met her gaze.
“V, I’m sorry, but I can’t. You’re gorgeous,” he added as something in her face seemed to collapse from the inside, “but the truth is—”
He paused. This was normally the part where he drew on his arsenal of the usual excuses: I’m married—gay—have herpes—Value our friendship—Let’s just be friends?—It’s not you, it’s me—Just got out of prison—Only got a month to live—Slept with your sister—Phone fell down a toilet—Thanks, I’d love to, but I have a meeting with my psychiatrist. . . .
But in the end he broke the mold and, for perhaps the first time, he told the truth. “The truth is I think you’re great, but I have feelings for someone else.”
She was on the verge of demanding to know who was standing between her and the man she’d just offered her virginity when suddenly it hit her like a sack of bricks:
“It’s not—is it?”
His glance toward the floor was as good as a yes.
“Oh—silly me,” said Vaness
a, backing out of the room as fast as possible. “I should’ve known! Well, see you later!” she managed, turning and slamming the door—lest he notice that the “later” had been swallowed by an involuntary sob.
Once she was safely inside her own common room, Vanessa headed straight for the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and then sank to her knees. Leaning over the toilet, she stuck her finger down her throat and pulled the proverbial trigger. . . .
For a long time after it was over, she stood there, transfixed by her image in the mirror. Then she washed her face, brushed her teeth, turned, and clicked off the light.
Chapter Fifteen
What Goes around Comes around
Dearest Froshlings:
There’s an old joke that goes . . .
Private school: $30,000 per annum. SAT tutor: $10,000. College counselor: $15,000. Bribing the authors of your letters of recommendation: $1,500. Final phone call to the Dean of Admissions (aka the promise to donate a new building): $5,000,000+.
A Harvard education: priceless. For everything else, there’s Daddy’s MasterCard.
But in all seriousness, I know that Harvard can be a little more *expensive* than you had originally anticipated. Whether it’s the dues you’ve got to pay after your unexpected admittance into a Final Club or that expensive dinner you shouldn’t have charged to your already maxed-out credit card, no one can argue that sometimes college students just need a little extra cash. For some reason I’ve had an awful lot of blog posts lately asking what students can do around campus for said extra cash, so—by popular demand:
spare change:
Attempting to Narrow Harvard’s Socioeconomic Gaps
1. get a job: This may seem obvious to many of you, but for those of you who have never really worked a day in your life on anything other than a problem set, try getting off your lazy ass and GET A JOB! There are ample opportunities for grunt work at Harvard: from grading papers to working the library front desk to calling alumni for donations to working as a barista in Lamont Café. . . .
