The Ivy: Secrets (7 page)

Callie swallowed the lump in her throat. Still she couldn’t speak, as if an invisible muzzle were attached to her jaw with an invisible chain stretching across the marble floor into Lamont Café where Lexi held the end of it instead of her phone, her fingers tugging instead of texting furiously.

“I’m not ready to give up on us,” Clint continued. “If you don’t want me anymore—if you want me to go away and leave you alone, I will. Just say the word.”

She shook her head. “No,” she murmured, barely audible. “No, I don’t want that.”

“But—” Clint started to smile—“if there’s any chance that I can make things right . . .” He reached across the desk for her hand. She let him take it and twine her fingers through his. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

The computer screen flashed as her inbox refreshed and a new message appeared at the top.

Callie didn’t make it past the first sentence before the room started to spin. She swayed on her stool, gripping the edge of the counter and trying to focus on Clint’s face. She was barely conscious of jabbing the Off button on the monitor before dizziness overtook her and she toppled over, smacking her head on the corner of the reference desk. The metal stool made a thunderous clatter when it fell next to her, reverberating through the halls of the library, but she didn’t hear it. She was out cold before she hit the ground.

There was blackness everywhere, punctuated by the sound of voices. They faded in and out, like bad reception on a shitty radio. She wished they would just shut up and let her sleep.

“Do you think she hit her head?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Should we call UHS?”

“Yeah . . . probably . . .”

“Wait a minute—did you see that? I think her eyelids just fluttered.”

A dark green blob hovered over her, and she could feel something—a pair of hands?—cradling her head from behind.

“Yeah, they’re moving. Callie . . .
Callie,
can you hear us?”

“Cut it out. . . . Go away. . . .” she heard herself mutter. A hand—it was definitely a hand—gently slapped her cheek.

“What’s going on here?” It was a new voice speaking now, coming from a fuzzy-looking giant wearing Bob the security guard’s uniform.

“She fainted—”

“Fell right off the stool—”

“Then I hopped the counter—” the green blob continued, and she could feel pressure on her hand, like someone was holding it—

“And we ran over from the café.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Did anyone call an ambulance?” the person in Bob’s uniform—or maybe it was Bob?—asked.

An ambulance? That would be even louder than all of the annoying voices. NO THANK YOU.

“No. I’m fine. . . .” she muttered, forcing her lids to open. The first thing she noticed was a face: flawless except for the tiny crescent moon-shaped scar on the corner of the chin. It was awfully close to her and upside down. She blinked several times, feeling light-headed all over again.

“Don’t try to sit up,” Gregory ordered, peering down at her.

“What happened?” she asked, ignoring him and trying to sit up anyway. Bad idea. The dizziness overwhelmed her.

“You fainted,” said the green sweater. Clint. “But you’re going to be okay,” he added, squeezing her hand. His sweater looked so soft and warm up close. She wanted him to take her home and wrap it around her like he used to: cashmere and good-smelling and sleepy. . . .

“For crying out loud, Clint, give her some room to breathe,” a girl’s voice, musical like wind chimes, floated in. Clint let go of Callie’s hand.

French-manicured nails raised a Dixie cup of cool water to Callie’s lips. “Here,” the voice said sweetly, placing a gentle yet firm hand behind Callie’s head. “Drink up.”

“Thank—” Callie choked, spitting the water back into the cup.

Lexi smiled and dabbed at the droplets that had sprayed her Hermes scarf. “Now there’s the Callie I know,” she said. “You gave us all such a scare!” Concern oozed out of every tiny porcelain pore.

“I’ve got UHS on the phone—what should I tell them?” a fourth voice—definitely Bob, the security guard—asked Lexi, who had clearly taken charge. Clint was hovering next to Bob over by the phone. Gregory was still crouched by Callie’s head, brow furrowed. His hands twitched almost imperceptibly toward her. He jammed them in his pockets.

“I’m fine!” Callie cried, eyes wide, waving away Lexi’s arm and pulling herself into a sitting position. “No ambulance! I just need . . . some food . . .” she muttered.

“You are
not
fine,” Gregory spat. “You have a huge bump on your head.”

“You have a huge bump on
your
head,” she muttered.

Lexi’s tinkling laugh pealed like bells. “It can’t be
that
bad when her sense of humor’s still intact.” Clint walked back behind the reference desk and grabbed Callie’s hands before she could protest, helping her to her feet. Lexi’s smile wavered.

Bob set down the phone. “I told them we don’t need an ambulance, but you’re taking the rest of the day off, okay?” he said, eyeing Callie in earnest. “Straight home, hydrate, and avoid sleeping for the next few hours, understand?”

She nodded.

“Good,” said Bob. “Now which one of you boys is going to take her home?”

“I’ll do it,” Clint and Gregory said simultaneously.

“Seriously, allow me,” said Clint, starting to reach for her book bag.

Gregory beat him to it. “It’s no trouble,” he said, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. “I was heading back to Wigg anyway.”

Gregory and Clint were suddenly standing much too close, jostling and making her claustrophobic.

“I can take myself home, thank you very much,” she blurted, grabbing her bag from Gregory.

“Nonsense,” Lexi cut in, linking her arm through Callie’s. “
I
will walk her back. You two stay here. She’s had enough excitement for the day.”

Callie froze. She felt paralyzed, yet miraculously, her feet began to move. Lexi propelled her along with remarkable strength for someone so seemingly delicate. They breezed through the double glass doors. Callie’s blood turned to ice and not just because it was minus-zero degrees outside.

Was it just her imagination, or could she feel Lexi’s perfectly manicured nails digging into her skin like talons, even through her coat? Callie didn’t look back as they made their way down the steps. If she had, she would have seen them: Gregory and Clint, still standing there.

When they had cleared the courtyard and were heading down the cement staircase that led to Wigg, Lexi finally loosened her grip. “Overreact much, drama queen?” she asked in a seemingly teasing tone.

Callie felt faint all over again. She struggled to maintain her balance, the stairs slick with black ice and slippery under her feet. “Did you—the tape—how could you—”

“Oh, relax,” said Lexi, patting her on the back. “That was just a draft, silly! A reminder to stay focused on
FM
and not let anything distract you!” They had reached the bright green door that led to Wigglesworth, entryway C.

“I would never actually send something like that unless you had done something very, very bad.” As she was speaking, Lexi had taken Callie’s shoulder bag and was searching through it. Callie watched in a daze. “Aha!” Lexi muttered, pulling Callie’s ID key card from the tote and scanning it against the lock. It opened with a click.

“Now you go straight upstairs and hydrate like he said,” she instructed, her face a mask of concern. “We need you well rested so you can fulfill your duties for COMP!” Lexi smiled and then turned to leave. Callie leaned against the frame of the door, breathing deeply.

“Feel better!” Lexi called over her shoulder. She pulled out her phone. “And remember,” she said, pointing to it, “give me a reason, and I’ll give them a headline.”

“F
REEZE! Do. Not. Move,” Dana’s voice yelled from inside the common room of C 24.

Callie stopped walking, one foot in the suite, one foot in the hall.

“You may come in now,” Dana instructed, “but tread very lightly.”

Callie pushed the front door open a few more inches and poked her head in. She could see Dana crouched on the floor in front of the coffee table, working on an elaborate structure of toothpicks, straws, wax, glue, and multicolored pom-poms. It looked fragile, like a science geek’s bizarre house of cards.

Cautiously Callie stepped into the room.

OK and Mimi were near Dana and also on the floor. OK was wearing Bermuda shorts and had his long legs splayed out in front of him, calculus textbook propped on his knees. Mimi lay on her stomach with her head near OK’s toes, which, upon closer inspection, were currently separated by a manicurist’s pink toe divider. Several bottles of nail polish in different shades were arranged around OK’s feet. Mimi frowned as she held up each bottle against OK’s ebony skin, considering.

“We are trying to find his shade,” Mimi explained.

“I see that,” said Callie, taking a few steps farther into the room. The smell was overpowering: not just of nail polish but of stale pizza, coffee grinds, Febreze, whatever mystery scent the Febreze had initially been sprayed to mask, and . . . feet. Boy’s feet.

“
We
are trying to
study
,” Dana amended.

We who? Callie wondered. Dana’s imaginary roommates? Maybe Dana had finally cracked . . . Her brown hair was frazzled and unwashed, and she wore a huge bright turquoise T-shirt with G
OOSE
C
REEK
M
ATH
C
AMP
printed across the front. Callie had seen this shirt once before, during midterms. Dana had left it on for a week. On the back it said something truly incredible, like D
O
N
UMBERS,
N
OT
D
RUGS
, or N
UMBERS
A
REN
’
T
S
EXY AND YOU
S
HOULDN
’
T
B
E
E
ITHER
.

Callie crossed the room and cracked open the window. Even though the air that rushed in was teeth-chatteringly cold, she perched on the sill nonetheless, taking stock of the situation. Eventually her eyes settled on Dana, who was Scotch-taping three toothpicks together to make a giant super toothpick. “Dana,” she began, “what exactly are you doing?”

“Callie, I am so glad you asked. You see, I couldn’t quite picture the mesolimbic dopaminergic pathway—”

“The what, now?” Callie asked.

“The me-so-lim-bic dop-a-min-er-gic path-way—”

“Think of it as a highway to happiness that exists inside your brain,” Mimi offered, layering a second coat of polish onto OK’s big toe.

“Well, not exactly, but okay, fine,” said Dana. “The point is it’s definitely going to be on the exam, so I’m building a model.”

The elaborate structure looked more confusing than clarifying, but Callie kept her mouth shut.

“Your dopamine transporters seem a bit wonky,” Mimi said dryly. “I personally would have gone with a different color.”

Dana’s hands froze. “Really?” she whispered in horror.

OK looked up from his calculus. “I thought you said ‘peach would provide the perfect ironic contrast’!”

Mimi shook her head and snapped her fingers, pointing back to his textbook.

“But I need to save the blue and green for the monoamine oxidase,” Dana muttered, ringing her hands. Leaping up, she began to pace around the coffee table, surveying the model from various angles. “I
can’t
use the same colors for MAO-A and MAO-B . . . and I haven’t figured out how to make them float yet . . . This is a
disaster
. . . .” Her eyes were wide and she had started to hyperventilate. “If I move the monoamines here and reposition the synapses such that the synaptic cleft contains more realistic levels of dopamine . . . No . . .
no,
that’s never going to
work
.”

Mimi shrugged and caught Callie’s eye, the tiny hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Dana,” said Callie, coming over to place a firm hand on the shorter girl’s shoulders. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll bring you a glass of water?”

“Water,” said Dana, her eyes going glassy as she fell onto the couch. “Two hydrogen molecules bond to one oxygen molecule with bond lengths of 0.096 nanometers and an H-O-H angle of 104.5 degrees, which is actually unique and fascinating, geometrically speaking, because—”

Callie returned from the bathroom with a cup of water and pressed it gently to Dana’s lips. “Shhhh . . .” she whispered. “Deep breaths.”

Mimi, nail polish brush in hand, made a circular motion near her temple: “She is going hoot-hoot.”

Callie frowned. “Cuckoo?”

“Oui,”
Mimi agreed. “Hoot-hoot.”

There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Entrez,”
Mimi called, turning her attention back to OK’s pinkie toe.

A boy from Wigglesworth Entryway B whom Callie hadn’t seen since the first week of school stuck his head inside. “I’m here for the study guide,” he said. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and red. Apparently the exam-induced sickness was catching.

“Yes, yes, come in,” said Mimi impatiently, blowing on OK’s toes.

The boy shuffled forward, his eyes roving anxiously around the room. “The study guide for . . . you know . . . Drugs and the Brain.”

Mimi leaped off the floor and pointed the nail polish brush at his chest. “Were you followed?”

The boy looked terrified. “I—no—I mean, I don’t
think
so—”

“Relax, Mike,” said OK, flipping a page in his textbook. “She’s having you on.”

“Oh,” said Mike, his body going slack. Mimi disappeared into her bedroom. “Right.”

In thirty seconds she was back. “Here you go,” she said, handing Mike a packet of papers and a small brown paper bag. “One study guide and five study buddies.”

“Thank you,” he said, staring at Mimi like she had just saved his life. “Thank you so much.”

“You are welcome,” said Mimi. “Now get out.”

When he had gone, Dana set her glass down on the coffee table with a loud thunk. The dopamine-whatever-it-was rattled ominously. “That’s the
third
time today!” she hissed despairingly. “What you’re doing is immoral, not to mention
illegal
, and has very adverse long-term effects on your brain, as I’ve been trying to demonstrate—”

Dana stopped talking abruptly when another knock sounded. “That had better not be—”

“Come in!” Mimi cut her off.

This time it was a girl hovering outside in the hall. “Hey,” she said. “I’m here because I heard you might have some extra—”

“Bah-bah-bah!” Mimi placed a finger to her lips and ushered the girl inside. She waited restlessly while Mimi went into her room and returned with a fresh packet of papers and another small brown bag.

“Tell the good citizens of Canaday that I am all out and will not get another refill until Tuesday,” Mimi said, waving the girl back through the door.

“Mimi,” Callie said slowly, “what exactly is going on here?”

Mimi shrugged. “I am helping people. With the studying.”

Callie glanced at OK.

“Don’t look at me!” OK cried. “She told me if I let her paint my nails, she would write my French paper.”

“
Proofread
your French paper, dearie,” Mimi corrected him. “If I actually did it for you, nobody would believe that it was really your work.”

Dana made a strangled noise, glaring at Mimi.

“I mean—er—if I do it for you, how will you ever learn?” Mimi tried again.

There was another knock at the door.

“What’s happening, dudes,” said Matt, strolling into the common room.

“No,”
Dana murmured, disbelief etched across her face. “Please, God, no. Matt, not you, too—”

“Huh?” said Matt, looking from Dana—hands gripping her cheeks in horror—to Mimi—who had taken a nail file and gone to work on OK’s hands. “I just came in to see about the study group—”

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT DEXTROAMPHETAMINE DOES TO YOUR BRAIN?” Dana screamed, jumping off the couch. “Of
all
the people—of all the things—I would have expected better from
you
, Matthew!”

“Dextroamphetamine?” Matt echoed. “What, you mean like speed?”

“She means Adderall,” Mimi drawled, returning OK’s right hand and reaching for his left. “And I have already told her
cent mille fois
that I
have
a prescription. It is for my ADD.”

“Adderall doesn’t even treat ADD,” Dana said weakly, sinking back onto the couch. “It’s for attention deficit
hyperactivity
disorder—”

“Eh.” Mimi shrugged again.

“—which is irrelevant,” Dana continued, “since I
sincerely
doubt that any of the students to whom you’re dealing your ‘study buddies’ are afflicted.”

“You have ADHD?” asked Callie, scrutinizing Mimi. It wasn’t all that difficult to believe. . . .

“Actually,” said Mimi, “the UHS doctor gave it to me because he claims I fell asleep in the waiting room and during the reflex exam. He says I have ‘narcoleptic tendencies.’
Ppffft!
” she snorted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think
I
would have noticed if I went around falling asleep all over the place.”

Callie looked at Matt, Matt looked at OK, and OK looked at Dana. Nobody said anything, though several eyebrows had risen several inches. Mimi didn’t seem to notice.

Dana turned her attention back to Matt. “Mathew please, I beg of you: don’t do this. There’s another way. A legal way. A moral way. God’s wa—”