The Ivy: Secrets Read Online Free PDF

down. “Thank you, t—” Pausing suddenly, she frowned and said: “‘The bad news is’—how could you do that to me?”
    “It wasn’t me!” he cried. “That’s what it says right here.”
    “Oh,” she said, taking the note:
    Dear Callie Andrews:
    The bad news is that you’ve got a lot more work to do over the next coming weeks. But the good news is you made it! You are still in the running for the final round. You’ll have until winter break to revise these pieces and write some new ones for your last COMP portfolio. Good luck!
    The Editors at FM
    “Congratulations,” Matt said, handing her the other papers he had pulled out of the envelope.
    As she took them, another small slip—light pink and what looked like personal stationery—fluttered to the ground. She bent over and picked it up:
    Callie,
    Please come meet me in the FM offices as soon as you receive this. I will be there today from 10 A.M .—2 P.M ..
    I would like to offer my heartfelt congratulations and give you your list of assignments for the final round in person.
    Cheers to your success,
    Lexi
    “Heartfelt congratulations”? Since when had congratulations become a synonym for death threats ? Callie glanced at the clock. It was almost 2 P.M . Shit. Lexi liked to be kept waiting just about as much as she liked shopping at Walmart or taking public transportation.
    Callie looked up. “Matt, I have to—”
    “Go?” he finished. “That’s fine. Go ahead. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. And then we can set up our first tutoring session after class.”
    “Perfect,” she said. “Thanks for being the best!”
    “You got it,” he replied, making his way to the door. By the time it had swung shut, she was yanking on her faded jeans. Hopping around her room with one leg on, one leg off, she grabbed her old soccer sweatshirt, a scarf (the maroon cashmere that Clint had given her), and the one glove she could find. Clothing in tow, she rushed for the door, pulling on her jacket and pocketing the glove as she headed down the stairs and then out into the cold toward the Crimson headquarters.
    Soon she was climbing the stairs to the second-floor offices in the old brick building where breaking news like “No More Hot Breakfast” and “Widener Library Open Late” was written. The door was shut. Tentatively she knocked.
    “Come in,” a sweet, clear voice called from inside.
    Callie took a deep breath and entered the room. She shivered. Somehow it seemed colder in here than it had been outside.
    “Well, if it isn’t Callie Andrews,” said a girl, spinning around in the black, high-tech ergonomic office chair that, in these parts, was her throne.
    Alexis Vivienne Thorndike.
    She looked immaculate as usual. Her shampoo-ad-worthy chestnut curls were pinned at the sides with two slim, pearly white barrettes. She wore a deceivingly simple navy dress—plain on the outside, G UCCI on the inside label—over sheer tights, and a thin gold belt matched the delicate chain around her neck. The chaos of the messy office around her—with its gray desks, rows of computers, green lamps, and piles of old drafts and newspapers—only threw the perfect order of her appearance into greater relief.
    Callie swallowed. No matter how much she hated, or feared, or envied Alexis in her presence one particular feeling took precedence above everything else: inferiority. Suddenly she felt hot and flustered. She pulled off the hood of her sweatshirt, exposing her own shampoo-ad worthy hair—worthy of the “before” section in a “before and after” story, that is—and unwound Clint’s scarf from her neck. Remember to breathe, she instructed herself, fiddling with the scarf.
    “So lovely to have you back,” Lexi cooed.
    Translation: You should have taken my hint and never returned.
    “I was worried that the pressure might be too much for you,” she continued.
    Translation: Haven’t had enough yet? Well, I can fix that.
    “Do anything fun or wild over the