be with Tania.”
I sit where I am, stunned, while everyone else except Sarah beams at me.
“Told you so, didn’t I, Heather?” Sarah asks me, leaning forward on her desk, her smile diabolical, but only I know her well enough to realize it. “Isn’t it great? ”
I ignore her.
“We’re closed for renovations,” I say to Dr. Jessup. I’m not arguing because Tania Trace is my ex’s new wife and I don’t want anything to do with this. I genuinely can’t figure out how we’re going to make it happen. “None of the rooms is even close to ready for occupancy. The paint crew’s barely gotten through the top few floors. And most of those rooms haven’t been fully maintenanced yet. I mean . . .” I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, but I do it anyway. “What about the room to Narnia?”
Stephanie and the girl no one’s introduced to me stare at me blankly, but I’m confident that Dr. Jessup and Muffy know exactly what I mean, because the room to Narnia, like Pansygate, was scandalous enough to have made the New York Post. After spring checkout, we found a room in which the four male suitemates had built “a door to Narnia”—a hole they’d cut into the back of a college-issued wardrobe that, when opened, led to an extra room of their suite in which they’d assembled a “love dungeon” complete with wall-to-wall mattresses, lava lamps, bongos, and posters of the actor who played Prince Caspian on every vertical surface.
What was even more annoying was that the suitemates’ parents then had the nerve to refuse to pay the charges we billed them for the cost of repairing the hole in the wardrobe (and fumigation of the mattresses), even though I sent them photographic evidence of their sons’ unusual extracurricular activities.
“No worries,” Muffy says cheerfully. “We already received a list from Facilities of the rooms that need the least work—”
“Facilities?” Then I remember bumping into Carl in the hallway, with his ladder. “Of course,” I murmur. “The lightbulbs.”
“Exactly,” Stephanie says. “Our girls are going to need good lighting to put their makeup on in the morning for the cameras.”
“Cameras?” I fling a panicky look at Dr. Jessup, but it’s Muffy who answers.
“New York College has been offered a tremendous opportunity, for which I’m told we have you to thank, Heather,” she says.
I know what’s coming, but I’m still hoping there’s been some kind of mistake. “What opportunity?”
Stephanie’s smile isn’t reflected in her eyes.
“Tania felt like you handled the little crisis she had while she was here the other night so competently, she says the only place she can feel safe right now while filming Jordan Loves Tania —with Bear laid up in the hospital—is in Fischer Hall.”
“This is going to do wonders to boost Fischer Hall’s reputation when the show airs,” Muffy says enthusiastically. “So long, Death Dorm! Hello, most-sought-after residence hall in the country! Everyone is going to want to live in the building where they hosted Tania Trace Rock Camp.”
“But . . .” I look at Dr. Jessup in desperation. “But filming is not permitted in any New York College residence hall without proper authorization.”
Dr. Jessup has his hands buried in the pockets of his suit trousers. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels.
“What can I tell you, kid?” he says, his smile grim. “They got authorization, straight from the president’s office.”
I glance at Stephanie. Her own smile has gone catlike. “I told you President Allington is a big fan of Cartwright Rec-ords Television.”
I frown. More like President Allington’s son is a big fan of Stephanie and used his influence on his dad—who has no idea what’s happening on his own campus because he’s hiding in the Hamptons during Pansygate.
I look at the girl in the T-shirt and jeans on the couch. She’s so cute and little, I assume she’s with CRT, maybe
I sit where I am, stunned, while everyone else except Sarah beams at me.
“Told you so, didn’t I, Heather?” Sarah asks me, leaning forward on her desk, her smile diabolical, but only I know her well enough to realize it. “Isn’t it great? ”
I ignore her.
“We’re closed for renovations,” I say to Dr. Jessup. I’m not arguing because Tania Trace is my ex’s new wife and I don’t want anything to do with this. I genuinely can’t figure out how we’re going to make it happen. “None of the rooms is even close to ready for occupancy. The paint crew’s barely gotten through the top few floors. And most of those rooms haven’t been fully maintenanced yet. I mean . . .” I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, but I do it anyway. “What about the room to Narnia?”
Stephanie and the girl no one’s introduced to me stare at me blankly, but I’m confident that Dr. Jessup and Muffy know exactly what I mean, because the room to Narnia, like Pansygate, was scandalous enough to have made the New York Post. After spring checkout, we found a room in which the four male suitemates had built “a door to Narnia”—a hole they’d cut into the back of a college-issued wardrobe that, when opened, led to an extra room of their suite in which they’d assembled a “love dungeon” complete with wall-to-wall mattresses, lava lamps, bongos, and posters of the actor who played Prince Caspian on every vertical surface.
What was even more annoying was that the suitemates’ parents then had the nerve to refuse to pay the charges we billed them for the cost of repairing the hole in the wardrobe (and fumigation of the mattresses), even though I sent them photographic evidence of their sons’ unusual extracurricular activities.
“No worries,” Muffy says cheerfully. “We already received a list from Facilities of the rooms that need the least work—”
“Facilities?” Then I remember bumping into Carl in the hallway, with his ladder. “Of course,” I murmur. “The lightbulbs.”
“Exactly,” Stephanie says. “Our girls are going to need good lighting to put their makeup on in the morning for the cameras.”
“Cameras?” I fling a panicky look at Dr. Jessup, but it’s Muffy who answers.
“New York College has been offered a tremendous opportunity, for which I’m told we have you to thank, Heather,” she says.
I know what’s coming, but I’m still hoping there’s been some kind of mistake. “What opportunity?”
Stephanie’s smile isn’t reflected in her eyes.
“Tania felt like you handled the little crisis she had while she was here the other night so competently, she says the only place she can feel safe right now while filming Jordan Loves Tania —with Bear laid up in the hospital—is in Fischer Hall.”
“This is going to do wonders to boost Fischer Hall’s reputation when the show airs,” Muffy says enthusiastically. “So long, Death Dorm! Hello, most-sought-after residence hall in the country! Everyone is going to want to live in the building where they hosted Tania Trace Rock Camp.”
“But . . .” I look at Dr. Jessup in desperation. “But filming is not permitted in any New York College residence hall without proper authorization.”
Dr. Jessup has his hands buried in the pockets of his suit trousers. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels.
“What can I tell you, kid?” he says, his smile grim. “They got authorization, straight from the president’s office.”
I glance at Stephanie. Her own smile has gone catlike. “I told you President Allington is a big fan of Cartwright Rec-ords Television.”
I frown. More like President Allington’s son is a big fan of Stephanie and used his influence on his dad—who has no idea what’s happening on his own campus because he’s hiding in the Hamptons during Pansygate.
I look at the girl in the T-shirt and jeans on the couch. She’s so cute and little, I assume she’s with CRT, maybe
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