Read Online Rites of Spring by Diana Peterfreund - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana Peterfreund
Ads: Link
even mentioned the coffee date with Felicity that Clarissa had reported. He’d just asked if he could meet me in my suite after his afternoon lab. Of course I agreed.
“It’s flatly impossible that no one knows anything,” Josh went on. “I’ve shaken down every patriarch I can, and they are either stupid or playing so.”
“I’d guess the latter, considering they’re Eli alums,” Demetria said. She and Jenny had spent the evening finalizing plans for the second half of Spring Break. Though we wouldn’t all be visiting Cavador Key, the knights who were going to the island would be spending a week there, then renting a van, driving up the coast, and spending a week volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. *1
“I’d guess the former,” said George, turning a page in his textbook, “considering most of them are inbred legacies with more money than sense.” He looked up, an innocent expression pinned in place. “Wait. I meant, other than me, of course.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to my work. Brandon got out of lab in forty-five minutes, and I wanted to make sure I had all my homework done well in advance. So far, I had three fellowship applications in, and four more in the works. I’d submitted one of my best term papers to two scholarly publications and a couple of conference listings besides, though I knew it would be a long shot. Still, anything would help beef up my grad school applications. So far the rolling admissions hadn’t trundled in my direction, and I was hoping some last-minute additions to the package would help grease the skids.
The GREs had been a joke (ninety-eight percentile without even taking Kaplan) but I hadn’t exactly distinguished myself in front of my professors the way I’d hoped. After all, it had always been my intent to go out into the workforce instead of staying in the Ivory Tower, and recommendations from crusty Russian Lit professors didn’t carry much weight at Condé Nast. I hoped to get a few responses before Spring Break, but it was beginning to look unlikely. Landing a fellowship would vastly increase my chances of getting into the program of my choice. I still hadn’t decided what the option was if I failed to receive admission at any of the A-list programs. Did I want to go to grad school enough to go just anywhere?
George dropped his book next to me on the table. “Stressed about the future?”
“Not really.” I turned a page and typed another line into my file.
“You know, it occurs to me that we’re the only two people in the club who don’t have our futures planned out like a military invasion.”
“Oh?” I said, looking up.
“Look.” He began pointing. “Kevin’s going to work for CAA, Clarissa’s starting at McKinsey in the fall, Demetria got into Berkeley, Omar’s headed to the Kennedy School, Jenny’s starting that company of hers, Josh to Stanford Law, Odile to her next film, Ben to PwC, Mara to Wharton for her MBA…”
I wondered how long it had taken him to memorize that list for recitation. And to think that, last year, I chose him over Brandon. “We haven’t heard from Greg yet.”
“You think there’s a chance he’s not going to get that Fulbright? I’m just saying we’re a dying breed.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “And that I’m sick of it being all political scandals, applications, and interviews around here. Don’t you think it was better when our weekly conversations were a tad more colorful?”
“No. I’d rather this than sit through another eight hours of your C.B.”
Oops. That was a mistake. He leaned in. “Could have been longer.” He’d spared me that humiliation at least. Sitting there while George kissed and told, and kissed and told, and kissed and told ad infinitum was a lesson in agony. The Connubial Bliss reports were a right of passage for every knight in Rose & Grave, but I had dreaded hearing George recount every sexual encounter he’d ever had for two reasons: First, I
“It’s flatly impossible that no one knows anything,” Josh went on. “I’ve shaken down every patriarch I can, and they are either stupid or playing so.”
“I’d guess the latter, considering they’re Eli alums,” Demetria said. She and Jenny had spent the evening finalizing plans for the second half of Spring Break. Though we wouldn’t all be visiting Cavador Key, the knights who were going to the island would be spending a week there, then renting a van, driving up the coast, and spending a week volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. *1
“I’d guess the former,” said George, turning a page in his textbook, “considering most of them are inbred legacies with more money than sense.” He looked up, an innocent expression pinned in place. “Wait. I meant, other than me, of course.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to my work. Brandon got out of lab in forty-five minutes, and I wanted to make sure I had all my homework done well in advance. So far, I had three fellowship applications in, and four more in the works. I’d submitted one of my best term papers to two scholarly publications and a couple of conference listings besides, though I knew it would be a long shot. Still, anything would help beef up my grad school applications. So far the rolling admissions hadn’t trundled in my direction, and I was hoping some last-minute additions to the package would help grease the skids.
The GREs had been a joke (ninety-eight percentile without even taking Kaplan) but I hadn’t exactly distinguished myself in front of my professors the way I’d hoped. After all, it had always been my intent to go out into the workforce instead of staying in the Ivory Tower, and recommendations from crusty Russian Lit professors didn’t carry much weight at Condé Nast. I hoped to get a few responses before Spring Break, but it was beginning to look unlikely. Landing a fellowship would vastly increase my chances of getting into the program of my choice. I still hadn’t decided what the option was if I failed to receive admission at any of the A-list programs. Did I want to go to grad school enough to go just anywhere?
George dropped his book next to me on the table. “Stressed about the future?”
“Not really.” I turned a page and typed another line into my file.
“You know, it occurs to me that we’re the only two people in the club who don’t have our futures planned out like a military invasion.”
“Oh?” I said, looking up.
“Look.” He began pointing. “Kevin’s going to work for CAA, Clarissa’s starting at McKinsey in the fall, Demetria got into Berkeley, Omar’s headed to the Kennedy School, Jenny’s starting that company of hers, Josh to Stanford Law, Odile to her next film, Ben to PwC, Mara to Wharton for her MBA…”
I wondered how long it had taken him to memorize that list for recitation. And to think that, last year, I chose him over Brandon. “We haven’t heard from Greg yet.”
“You think there’s a chance he’s not going to get that Fulbright? I’m just saying we’re a dying breed.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “And that I’m sick of it being all political scandals, applications, and interviews around here. Don’t you think it was better when our weekly conversations were a tad more colorful?”
“No. I’d rather this than sit through another eight hours of your C.B.”
Oops. That was a mistake. He leaned in. “Could have been longer.” He’d spared me that humiliation at least. Sitting there while George kissed and told, and kissed and told, and kissed and told ad infinitum was a lesson in agony. The Connubial Bliss reports were a right of passage for every knight in Rose & Grave, but I had dreaded hearing George recount every sexual encounter he’d ever had for two reasons: First, I
Similar Books
