Aubrey was taking Novels of the Gilded Age, Eastern Religions, Intro to Astronomy, and Sanskrit (so she could read Hindu and Buddhist liturgy in the original). It was a heavy load, but she was eager to open her mind, to become worthy of Carlisle. She was writing a paper on the yoga-sutras of Pantanjali, ancient Hindu texts that promised the acquisition of supernatural mental powers through the regular practice of yoga. Was it true? She went to yoga class to investigate, so she could include her personal observations in the paper. That was the sort of amazing work you could do here. But when she tried to talk to her friends about what she was learning, most of them would say, “Cool,” and change the subject to which parties were worth going to on Saturday night. It surprised her how few people at Carlisle cared about acquiring knowledge for its own sake. Her roomies didn’t. Jenny studied to get As. Kate never studied. Kate skipped class when she felt like it and barely cracked a book. All term she would ignore her assignments, then spend Reading Week hopped up on stimulants—Dexedrine, the minuscule amount of coke she could afford since Keniston cut her allowance, and cup after cup of black coffee—so she could stay awake cramming for days. Then she’d regurgitate it for the exam and promptly forget it. Watching Kate pound uppers during fall term, Aubrey worried that her heart would stop, that she’d drop dead on College Street on her way to Hemingway’s for an espresso to add to the toxic cocktail already flooding her bloodstream. But nothing bad happened. That’s how it always went with Kate: no consequences. Her grades turned out decent, so she repeated the same scam for winter term—all play and no work, stockpiling a sizable stash of uppers for exam time.
One Wednesday night in early February, Aubrey was down in the stacks reading when she heard a knock on the window above her carrel. She’d been far away, lost in Edith Wharton’s New York, which reminded her uncomfortably of Carlisle. The heartless rich kids, the genteel wraiths who’d fallen on hard times, the strivers looking for their next advantage—they were all here. It’s not like there were no good people at Carlisle, but there were plenty of indifferent ones, as well as some who’d been corrupted at a young age through no fault of their own and couldn’t help but misbehave. Aubrey put Kate in that latter category, if she was being honest. Lately, Kate had been thumbing her nose at her father and living off handouts from the fat trust fund that belonged to Griffin Rothenberg, her Odell swain. Griff was the son of a wealthy investment banker and a Swedish fashion model. With his striking blond head on his compact jock body, he bore enough of a resemblance to Kate that they were sometimes mistaken for brother and sister. As far as Aubrey could tell, Kate thought of Griff that way. Griff followed her around like a lovesick puppy while Kate treated him with a comfortable, dismissive indifference that Aubrey found hard to watch. Aubrey carried a torch for Griff herself, though she did her best to hide it. Griff was the male Kate, really. Not only did they look alike, but he had that same careless confidence, that ease in the world, that Aubrey both coveted and lacked utterly. Griff was the boy she’d most like to lose her virginity to, but she had no hope of achieving that. He was obsessed with Kate, and Aubrey was nothing but a third wheel to be patted on the head on those rare occasions when he noticed her at all.
At the sound of the knock, Aubrey looked up. Kate and Griff were down on their knees in the window well, making faces at her. Griff slammed a rectangular object up against the glass—a plastic tray from the dining hall.
Jenny leaned over from the adjacent carrel and gazed up at the tray pressed against the window.
“They’re going traying now?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question.
The snow was deep enough that winter that the skiing at the local resorts was supposedly sublime. Aubrey had never been on skis and couldn’t afford a lift ticket to save her life, but she’d gone mad for sledding. The speed, the abandon, the sharp taste of snow in her mouth when she crashed. Traying was the Carlisle version of sledding. You blasted a stick (smoked a joint), stole a tray from the dining hall, and walked a mile in the cold to Belle River Park to the crazy steep sledding hill, where you flew down the slope using the tray as your sled. The hill had been rigged up with all sorts of homemade jumps. The most popular jumps sent you rocketing high into the air, or directed you off into the woods to confront an obstacle course of trees. The broken limbs and the concussions were piling up, to the point that the college infirmary recently sent out a memorandum warning the students not to sled. But everybody ignored it. Traying was too fun.
“I’m going with them. Do you want to come?” Aubrey asked, shutting her book.
“No thanks, I have an essay due for Gov.”
Aubrey gave a thumbs-up toward the window and grabbed her coat. “If I’m not back before the library closes, could you take my books home?” she asked.
“Sure,” Jenny said grudgingly.
Aubrey skipped out of the bright library, down the marble steps into the crisp, cold air, pulling on her gloves as she went. She fell into step beside Kate and Griff, who were giggling uncontrollably. Obviously, they’d started the party without her.
“What are you guys smoking? Can I have some?” Aubrey said.
“On Briggs Street in broad daylight?” Griff said with a snort.
“Broad moonlight,” Kate corrected.
The moon shone in the black sky and reflected off the snowbanks, strong enough to make Aubrey squint. Their breath came out in puffs of smoke as they walked.
“I have a fresh joint in my pocket,” Kate said. “We’ll smoke it when we get there.”
“At least tell me what you’re laughing at,” Aubrey said.
“Griff claims there’s a rumor we had a threesome in Dieckmann Hall.”
“You and Griff did?” Aubrey asked, tingling with jealousy. She told herself Kate was above sleeping with Griff, and that as a consequence, he was celibate, and frustrated. But probably not.
“Not me and Griff. Us,” Kate said.
“Not a threesome, a foursome,” Griff said. He was laughing so hard that it was difficult to understand him. “All three Whipple Trips with some fratbro from the ten-man, on more than one occasion.”
“No, an orgy with the entire suite,” Kate said, collapsing against Griff in giggles as she walked.
In Carlisle-speak, Aubrey, Kate, and Jenny were known as the Whipple Triplets, or the Whipple Trips for short. And the ten-man was a notorious ten-person suite in Dieckmann Hall that, year after year, remained occupied by the wealthiest, most dissolute prepster dudes on campus. Translating the slang, a rumor was circulating that Aubrey and her roommates had gone full slut with those notorious party boys. While on the one hand Aubrey was flattered to be gossiped about, on the other she was horrified.
They left the bustle of Briggs Street behind. Church Street was darker and quieter, lined on both sides with small apartment buildings that served as grad student housing, and two-and three-story multifamily houses, interspersed with convenience stores and gas stations. It was nearly eleven, and many windows were dark already. The occasional car passed, its wheels hissing on snow-slicked pavement. Jenny’s parents lived nearby. Aubrey could only imagine how they’d feel if they heard this scandalous rumor about their daughter.
“Why would anyone say that about us?” she asked.
“Because you don’t live in Dieckmann, but you’re always there for brunch on Sunday. Ergo, you spend your Saturday nights bumping uglies in the ten-man,” Griff said.
“We like the cinnamon rolls,” Aubrey said.
“What is that, some kind of kinky sex position?” Griff asked, and cracked up again, laughing so hard that tears leaked from his eyes and snot from his nose.
“We go to Dieckmann for Sunday brunch because it’s the only dorm that serves cinnamon rolls.”
“Don’t tell him that. You’ll spoil the fun,” Kate said.
“Baby likes her skanky reputation,” Griff said, pulling Kate close.
“I don’t,” Aubrey said.
“Aubrey. People care enough to gossip about you. Appreciate the moment,” Kate said, and jerked from Griff’s grasp. “Let’s run.”