Vanessa, wheeling around. “You mean that tiny shrimp who lives across the hall?”
“Vanessa,” Callie warned. “He seems really nice, Dana. You guys will have a great time!”
“Thanks,” Dana said awkwardly. Then she slipped out into the hall.
“OHMYGOD!” Vanessa laughed as the door was still only halfway closed. “If the elephant and the field mouse decide to get married, they might have a shot at making normal-sized babies!”
Who’s calling who an elephant? Callie was just about to say as much out loud when she caught herself, watching Vanessa walk up to the full-length mirror and begin neurotically pinching her sides. (This week, Vanessa was only eating white foods of all the things: “If it’s colorful, it has dye in it, which means it’s not organic.”)
“Shit! It’s already nine forty! Let’s get dressed!” Callie said, grabbing Vanessa and steering her toward her room.
In honor of the theme “calypso,” the girls had all purchased different colors of the same low-cut, sleeveless nylon dress. Mimi, decked out in silver, was her usual supermodel self. Vanessa, who had opted for bronze to bring out her highlights, was appearing a little bustier than usual but looked fantastic nevertheless. Together they had decided that Callie would wear the gold. After weaving fake flowers around their necks and in their hair, the look was complete.
“ Whew-eee ,” Vanessa whistled. “Your friend Bryan was right: we are the cutest room on campus! What a charming, intelligent young man. I like him.”
Callie laughed. “To Bryan,” she toasted, accepting the bottle of tequila that Vanessa had just handed her. She took a swig and then passed it to Mimi.
“Callie, are you sure you don’t want to borrow a pair of heels?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes!” Callie said, smiling at the flip-flops on her feet. “Whoa, Mimi—slow down!” she added, realizing that Mimi had been hitting the bottle for a full five seconds with no sign of stopping.
“Yeah,” said Vanessa. “Unless you like spending your summers with Lohan and Spears.”
“What?” said Callie.
“Nothing! Nothing . . .” said Vanessa.
“It is all right.” Mimi laughed. “I believe Vanessa is referring to my summer at the facility in Switzerland. And no, I did not see Lindsay there, but we were not encouraged to socialize with our neighbors.”
She didn’t look like she was kidding. Callie’s mouth fell open. “Wait . . . So you were like . . . an alcoholic or something?”
“More like I was bored at boring school,” Mimi said. She took the bottle from Callie and threw back another shot. Mischievously she grinned. “Alcohol was never really my primary problem . . .”
The girls were chattering nonstop as they bustled out of the room and down the stairs, across the Yard and toward the Fly Club for Gentlemen, as those “gentlemen” liked to call themselves. Mimi knew the way and had in fact been asked to the party independently of Bryan’s invitation because she’d hooked up with a member last Wednesday: a football player from a place called something like Mini-soda whose name she couldn’t remember—that is, if she had ever even asked for it in the first place. (Don’t hold it against her: if you’d locked lips with one prefect, one football player, one graduate student, one Justice teaching fellow ( whoopsie ), and one visiting professor ( double whoopsie ), you might not remember all of them either!)
Perhaps this was what her professor from Drugs and the Brain had meant when he referred to swapping “one addiction for another.”
A group of older girls walked by and muttered the word freshmen in the same tone of voice Mimi sometimes uttered Americans or Oprah .
“Why didn’t we think to wear jackets?” Callie moaned.
First Law of Thermo-identify-namics: you can always tell a freshman girl by (the absence of) her clothing.
“Oh, screw ’em,” exclaimed Vanessa. “They’re just jealous cause they’re a
“Vanessa,” Callie warned. “He seems really nice, Dana. You guys will have a great time!”
“Thanks,” Dana said awkwardly. Then she slipped out into the hall.
“OHMYGOD!” Vanessa laughed as the door was still only halfway closed. “If the elephant and the field mouse decide to get married, they might have a shot at making normal-sized babies!”
Who’s calling who an elephant? Callie was just about to say as much out loud when she caught herself, watching Vanessa walk up to the full-length mirror and begin neurotically pinching her sides. (This week, Vanessa was only eating white foods of all the things: “If it’s colorful, it has dye in it, which means it’s not organic.”)
“Shit! It’s already nine forty! Let’s get dressed!” Callie said, grabbing Vanessa and steering her toward her room.
In honor of the theme “calypso,” the girls had all purchased different colors of the same low-cut, sleeveless nylon dress. Mimi, decked out in silver, was her usual supermodel self. Vanessa, who had opted for bronze to bring out her highlights, was appearing a little bustier than usual but looked fantastic nevertheless. Together they had decided that Callie would wear the gold. After weaving fake flowers around their necks and in their hair, the look was complete.
“ Whew-eee ,” Vanessa whistled. “Your friend Bryan was right: we are the cutest room on campus! What a charming, intelligent young man. I like him.”
Callie laughed. “To Bryan,” she toasted, accepting the bottle of tequila that Vanessa had just handed her. She took a swig and then passed it to Mimi.
“Callie, are you sure you don’t want to borrow a pair of heels?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes!” Callie said, smiling at the flip-flops on her feet. “Whoa, Mimi—slow down!” she added, realizing that Mimi had been hitting the bottle for a full five seconds with no sign of stopping.
“Yeah,” said Vanessa. “Unless you like spending your summers with Lohan and Spears.”
“What?” said Callie.
“Nothing! Nothing . . .” said Vanessa.
“It is all right.” Mimi laughed. “I believe Vanessa is referring to my summer at the facility in Switzerland. And no, I did not see Lindsay there, but we were not encouraged to socialize with our neighbors.”
She didn’t look like she was kidding. Callie’s mouth fell open. “Wait . . . So you were like . . . an alcoholic or something?”
“More like I was bored at boring school,” Mimi said. She took the bottle from Callie and threw back another shot. Mischievously she grinned. “Alcohol was never really my primary problem . . .”
The girls were chattering nonstop as they bustled out of the room and down the stairs, across the Yard and toward the Fly Club for Gentlemen, as those “gentlemen” liked to call themselves. Mimi knew the way and had in fact been asked to the party independently of Bryan’s invitation because she’d hooked up with a member last Wednesday: a football player from a place called something like Mini-soda whose name she couldn’t remember—that is, if she had ever even asked for it in the first place. (Don’t hold it against her: if you’d locked lips with one prefect, one football player, one graduate student, one Justice teaching fellow ( whoopsie ), and one visiting professor ( double whoopsie ), you might not remember all of them either!)
Perhaps this was what her professor from Drugs and the Brain had meant when he referred to swapping “one addiction for another.”
A group of older girls walked by and muttered the word freshmen in the same tone of voice Mimi sometimes uttered Americans or Oprah .
“Why didn’t we think to wear jackets?” Callie moaned.
First Law of Thermo-identify-namics: you can always tell a freshman girl by (the absence of) her clothing.
“Oh, screw ’em,” exclaimed Vanessa. “They’re just jealous cause they’re a
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