bubble, POP! Gnash, gnash, gnash, bubble, bubble, POP! jaws clicked and teeth gnashed nervously as gum expanded into bubbles and then exploded.
Ring, riiing, riiiiiing—oh shit, sorry. Du-du-du-du-DU-du-du-du-DU-DU-DU-du—SORRY, sorry. From the wiiiiinddoooow, to the WALLL, ’till sweat drips down my—FRACK, sorry—get low, get low—where is it?—get low, get low—found it! Sorry.
BE QUIET.
This is a library .
We’re trying to study.
QUIET, PLEASE.
Badabing!
Gchat from Mimi Clément:
Mimi: What kind of underwear are you wearing?
Callie: Go away, I’m studying. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: MANDATORY discussion group for our Justice final paper topics, remember? 2 nd -floor balcony allons-y maintenant ! Greggers and OkeeDokee = already there.
Callie: Vanessa? Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: She is in the group. Too late to kick her out.
Callie: Ugghhh. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: You made your bed. Now if you want to lie in it, you have to unmake it.
Callie: That makes no sense! Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: It makes perfect sense!
Callie: Ha. You’ve lost it. Hoot-hoot. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: Stop stalling. Nous sommes EN RETARD.
Callie shut the lid of her laptop—which was situated directly across from Mimi’s laptop, behind which Mimi was seated at an oak table on the first floor in the main reading room of Lamont Library.
The Justice paper topics discussion group was, unfortunately, like group members Bolton and Von Vorhees, entirely unavoidable. “Fine,” Callie spat, glaring at Mimi. “Let’s go.”
Together, they mounted the stairs to the second-floor balcony: an area reserved for group projects since talking—quietly—was permitted. Like a box seat at the opera, it also afforded an excellent view of the entire main reading room below.
True to Mimi’s word, most of the other inhabitants of Wigglesworth Entryway C, second floor, were already there. Dana and Adam sat off to one side, sharing a single study carrel, heads bent together, whispering furiously. Matt, Gregory, and OK were all in a row, crowded around one side of a small rectangular table. Matt hunched over his textbook, his left knee bouncing up and down, keeping time with his pencil, gnawed so thin it could snap at any moment. Callie took the chair opposite him. He sighed as his glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them back up. A moment later they slid down again.
Deliberately avoiding eye contact with Gregory, Callie looked down the table at OK while Mimi sat across from him. He seemed calm—entirely too calm in fact, almost as if he’d been dipping into Mimi’s little orange prescription bottle and the medication was working as pharmacists had originally intended because—it dawned on Callie—OK might actually have ADHD. He made a mark on the legal pad next to him, looking for all the world like taking notes was something he really did do on a daily basis.
“OK,” said Callie, “that textbook looks like you bought it yesterday.”
“Correction,” he retorted without looking up, “I opened it yesterday. Pretty interesting stuff!”
“Sorry it took me so long,” a voice said from over Callie’s shoulder. There was a loud thunk as Vanessa set five sugar-free Red Bulls on the table next to an enormous Halloween-size bag of mini-Snickers. “Fuel,” she explained, sitting. “There’s one can for each of my friends . . . and you, Matt.”
“Thanks,” said Callie, popping open a can before Vanessa could protest and downing it in one gulp. Yeccch—the taste was worse than stale grape medicine.
“That wasn’t for you,” Vanessa hissed at Callie. “I said there were only enough for my friends —”
“She can have mine,” Gregory cut her off without looking up from his computer screen.
Vanessa snorted, taking an indignant, ladylike sip of her drink. Callie turned, intending to say that a sugar-free Red Bull was the least Vanessa could do given the A-bomb she’d dropped on Callie’s bedroom, but when she
Ring, riiing, riiiiiing—oh shit, sorry. Du-du-du-du-DU-du-du-du-DU-DU-DU-du—SORRY, sorry. From the wiiiiinddoooow, to the WALLL, ’till sweat drips down my—FRACK, sorry—get low, get low—where is it?—get low, get low—found it! Sorry.
BE QUIET.
This is a library .
We’re trying to study.
QUIET, PLEASE.
Badabing!
Gchat from Mimi Clément:
Mimi: What kind of underwear are you wearing?
Callie: Go away, I’m studying. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: MANDATORY discussion group for our Justice final paper topics, remember? 2 nd -floor balcony allons-y maintenant ! Greggers and OkeeDokee = already there.
Callie: Vanessa? Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: She is in the group. Too late to kick her out.
Callie: Ugghhh. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: You made your bed. Now if you want to lie in it, you have to unmake it.
Callie: That makes no sense! Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: It makes perfect sense!
Callie: Ha. You’ve lost it. Hoot-hoot. Badabing!
Badabing! Mimi: Stop stalling. Nous sommes EN RETARD.
Callie shut the lid of her laptop—which was situated directly across from Mimi’s laptop, behind which Mimi was seated at an oak table on the first floor in the main reading room of Lamont Library.
The Justice paper topics discussion group was, unfortunately, like group members Bolton and Von Vorhees, entirely unavoidable. “Fine,” Callie spat, glaring at Mimi. “Let’s go.”
Together, they mounted the stairs to the second-floor balcony: an area reserved for group projects since talking—quietly—was permitted. Like a box seat at the opera, it also afforded an excellent view of the entire main reading room below.
True to Mimi’s word, most of the other inhabitants of Wigglesworth Entryway C, second floor, were already there. Dana and Adam sat off to one side, sharing a single study carrel, heads bent together, whispering furiously. Matt, Gregory, and OK were all in a row, crowded around one side of a small rectangular table. Matt hunched over his textbook, his left knee bouncing up and down, keeping time with his pencil, gnawed so thin it could snap at any moment. Callie took the chair opposite him. He sighed as his glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them back up. A moment later they slid down again.
Deliberately avoiding eye contact with Gregory, Callie looked down the table at OK while Mimi sat across from him. He seemed calm—entirely too calm in fact, almost as if he’d been dipping into Mimi’s little orange prescription bottle and the medication was working as pharmacists had originally intended because—it dawned on Callie—OK might actually have ADHD. He made a mark on the legal pad next to him, looking for all the world like taking notes was something he really did do on a daily basis.
“OK,” said Callie, “that textbook looks like you bought it yesterday.”
“Correction,” he retorted without looking up, “I opened it yesterday. Pretty interesting stuff!”
“Sorry it took me so long,” a voice said from over Callie’s shoulder. There was a loud thunk as Vanessa set five sugar-free Red Bulls on the table next to an enormous Halloween-size bag of mini-Snickers. “Fuel,” she explained, sitting. “There’s one can for each of my friends . . . and you, Matt.”
“Thanks,” said Callie, popping open a can before Vanessa could protest and downing it in one gulp. Yeccch—the taste was worse than stale grape medicine.
“That wasn’t for you,” Vanessa hissed at Callie. “I said there were only enough for my friends —”
“She can have mine,” Gregory cut her off without looking up from his computer screen.
Vanessa snorted, taking an indignant, ladylike sip of her drink. Callie turned, intending to say that a sugar-free Red Bull was the least Vanessa could do given the A-bomb she’d dropped on Callie’s bedroom, but when she
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