The Ivy: Secrets Read Free Page A

muttered.
    “No, it’s okay—” Callie started.
    “What?” asked OK.
    “Ugggg. Sorry, no, not you.” Callie moaned.
    “Hey! Back to work!” snapped Dana.
    “Fine, fine, sorry, back to cosine . . . fascinating . . .”
    Callie laughed. “It’s all right, ” she said to Mimi. “I haven’t heard from him since Harvard-Yale.”
    “Wait,” said Mimi. “Which one?”
    Callie half laughed, half groaned, dragging her hands from her forehead down the sides of her cheeks. “Both. Neither. Ha-ha. Exactly.”
    “And now for the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire question,” said Mimi. “Which one do you want to hear from?”
    Gregory paused with his hand hovering above the doorknob to C 24. Shaking his head, he turned back. Then he stopped in the middle of the hallway, eyeing the door again. “Idiot,” he muttered. Turning once more, he yanked open the door to his own suite, C 23.
    “Back so soon?” asked Matt from where he was sitting on their big leather couch.
    “Yeah,” muttered Gregory, sinking down beside him.
    “Hey, is it cool if I use your computer to check my—”
    “No!” Gregory cried, slamming the screen shut before Matt could discover a certain photograph from the Harvard-Yale tailgate that Gregory was in the habit of leaving open on his browser.
    “Geez—sorry,” Matt apologized. “I’ll go get my own.”
    When he returned, he found Gregory staring at his cell phone like he was facing down an archrival in a duel. For the moment they had reached a cool détente, but at any second the phone might leap up and start firing.
    “Why do you keep checking your phone?” Matt asked.
    “What? No reason,” said Gregory, dropping the phone like it had burned him.
    “No judgment,” said Matt, holding up his palms. Gregory sighed and picked up the phone again, scrolling through his messages. Suddenly, Matt began to chuckle.
    “What?” snapped Gregory.
    Matt continued to laugh, shaking his head. “It’s just funny. Last fall you had all these women and now you’re kind of . . . acting like one.”
    For a second Gregory looked murderous. Then he shrugged. “I fail to see the humor in that,” he murmured. “In fact, I think it’s a bit derogatory toward women.”
    Matt’s eyes grew wide but Gregory didn’t notice; instead he was reading, or rather rereading, the unsent drafts in his phone’s out-box.
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: I THINK
ABOUT YOU EVERY DAY. I T’S LIKE I’ M
GOING CRAZY. W HY . . .
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: R EMEMBER
THE BALCONY WHEN IT STARTED TO
RAIN ? T HE WAY . . .
    T O A, C ALLIE: I SUPPOSE
YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE YOU ALONE
UNTIL YOU WORK TH . . .
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: A S LONG AS
I’ M NEVER SENDING THESE, I WANT
YOU TO KNOW THAT . . .
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: I KNOW YOU
PROBABLY THINK I COULD NEVER
CHANGE, BUT MAYBE . . .
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: C LINT
E-MAILED ME AGAIN, WHICH IS WHY
I’ M NOT SENDING THES . . .
    T O A NDREWS, C ALLIE: G REG,
YOU ’ RE AN IDIOT. Y OU KNOW YOU ’ LL
NEVER SEND THESE.
    His fingers, as they had often done in the past few days, hovered over the Delete button. But he just couldn’t do it. Shaking his head, he keyed back over to his inbox.
    It was still empty. Or at least empty of anything interesting save for the types of messages that had come in from Clint over Thanksgiving break: “A RE YOU SURE THAT I SHOULDN’T AT LEAST E-MAIL HER? N OT TALKING IS KILLING ME . . .”
    Gregory’s forehead wrinkled guiltily as he reread his own response: “D ON’T E-MAIL. Y OU GAVE HER AN ULTIMATUM AND YOU NEED TO STAND BY IT. S HE PROBABLY WANTS HER SPACE. I’ M SURE SHE WILL CONTACT YOU WHEN, OR IF, SHE’s READY TO TALK.”
    It was clear that neither of them had spoken to her over Thanksgiving break. Maybe that meant that he and Clint were on an even playing field. That he would have a fighting chance.
    “Going somewhere?” Matt asked as Gregory stood up again.
    “No,” said Gregory, sitting back down. “No I’m not.”
    “Enough about