Free The Ivy: Rivals by Lauren Kunze

time straight from the horse’s mouth.
    “Good night,” he called.
    Callie breathed an enormous sigh as the door whooshed shut behind him, and then she beamed at Clint from across the room.
    “Ready?” he asked. Coming over to the counter, he looped Callie’s coat over her head and used it to pull her toward him, one leg on either side.
    “Ah!” she screamed. Then: “Oh . . .” His hands moved from her knees up the length of her thighs, up to the lacy rims of the black stockings Mimi had lent her for the occasion. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him. His hands on her hips, he pulled her closer, accidentally knocking over the bottle of champagne resting next to her on the counter.
    Glancing at it, Callie grinned. “We’re in a kitchen,” she said.
    “I know.”
    “A public kitchen.”
    “That is correct.”
    She bit her lip. “Wanna get out of here?”
    In response he lifted her off the counter and carried her over to the back door. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Four
The Ladies Who Brunch
     

    Feb 19 Behind the Ivy-Covered Walls: Part II
    11:13 AM By THE IVY INSIDER
    On Valentine’s Eve, the Hasty Pudding social club hosted a cocktail party called “STOP! In the name of LOVE.” The mandatory “stoplight” theme required students to signal their availability for sexual encounters using the color of their clothing. Though perhaps, given the power dynamics that govern the punch process, the term sexual transactions is more apt.
    This event was the culmination of a grueling thirty-six hours spent poring over a slide show featuring photographs of the club’s prospective punches. The top-secret process has sometimes been referred to as “The Ass ets Assessment”—pun intended—because the majority of the conversation revolves around the punch’s physical appearance and (parental) net worth. This spring’s meeting was no exception. Male students ranked female prospects on a scale of 1–10 while female members designated certain underclassmen as “high priority” based on a mysterious value system.
    For a further glimpse at the posturing typical of 2 Garden Street, refer to the screenshot below of an anonymously submitted invitation, traditionally slipped under a prospective punch’s door in the middle of the night.
    It’s time for . . .
    BRUNCH!
A limousine will await your arrival tomorrow at 11 A.M.
On the corner of Bow and Arrow Streets.
Please come dressed in your Sunday finest
And prepare to postpone any other obligations.
We look forward to seeing you then.
THE HASTY PUDDING SOCIAL CLUB, EST. 1770
     
     
    Brunches and lunches are a standard means of weeding out people prior to the second event. The school wasn’t invited, but perhaps the Insider will be. . . .

“A ndrews!” Grace barked at the close of the Sunday morning meeting. The rest of the COMPers stood and started gathering their things. “A word, if you please.”
    Callie froze, wondering what sort of trouble she might have gotten herself into this time. In the past three weeks since COMP had started, she had completed every assignment on time, never missed a meeting, and had avoided any accidental drunken make-outs with her COMP director’s ex-boyfriend. Though if Grace had an ex or even a current boyfriend, Callie doubted she would know, since Grace refused to allow her personal life to interfere with her professional persona—if last week’s Teddy Bear Incident was any indication.
    (On the Tuesday after Valentine’s Day a teddy bear that looked suspiciously like the one Callie had seen Matt carrying in their common room had showed up on Grace’s desk. After furiously confronting the staff, who met her with total silence, Grace had used large thumbtacks to secure the bear to the Crimson ’s main bulletin board with the words IS THIS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE? tacked underneath. Poor Matt— if he was responsible.)
    “What’s your take on these Ivy Insider posts on FlyBy?” Grace asked, coming