Page 14 of The Academy
“Although well-used,” Cordelia says. “There are stains all over the furniture.”
Simone bows her head and sways on her feet. She hands the clipboard to Honey. “I need to use the ladies’ room.” She hurries away.
Now Cordelia feels free to touch Honey’s back. She and Honey have never had sex on a Harkness table, but they’ve stolen moments in God’s Basement.
“Simone is a hot mess,” Cordelia says. “Hungover. And that dress is disgraceful.”
“Oh, lighten up, Cord, she’s young,” Honey says.
“All the more reason why she should be setting a better example. I’m sure you’ve noticed the boys ogle her…”
“The boys aren’t the only ones,” Honey says. “She might have the most fantastic legs I’ve ever seen.”
Cordelia clears her throat. Is Honey trying to make her jealous?“And the girls are dazzled by her as well. She needs to understand that she’s a role model and not act in a manner unbecoming.”
“You sound a hundred and fourteen years old,” Honey says. She stiffens under Cordelia’s touch. “Hands to yourself, please. We’re in public.”
“No one’s here,” Cordelia says. There’s a group of third-form girls in a cluster on the dance floor, all playing with their hair, singing along to “Saving Up” by Dom Dolla. The new English teacher, Rhode Rivera, is lingering by the mocktail bar. He glances up at Cordelia and Honey, but he’ll think the touch platonic.
“Cord,” Honey says.
“What’supwith you?” Cordelia asks. She can’t keep the longing out of her voice. When school resumed, the romance and reverie of their summer came to an abrupt end; Honey became busy and distracted. Cordelia realizes that Honey has sixty sixth-formers to place in college, some of whom have very high and possibly unrealistic expectations (Annabelle Tuckerman comes to mind). But Cordelia also worries that Honey is tiring of her, and of their arrangement. Honey hasn’t spent the night in Cordelia’s cottage since Move-In Day.
“Nothing is up,” Honey says in a voice so tight with irritation that Cordelia knows she’s lying.
Cordelia tries not to panic. Has Honey become infatuated with Simone Bergeron? There’s no time to ask because a gaggle of fourth-formers in their skintight metallic pink-and-blue skirts and silver bandeau tops approach the entrance checkpoint. The poor fourth-form—or sophomores, as they’re known elsewhere—are probably the most overlooked class at Tiffin. They aren’t upperclassmen, nor are they ingenues like the third-form. Cordelia smiles at the girls, though she can’t recall a single one by name, and how is that possible when she would have interviewed at least some of them?
She feels relief when, behind the fourth-formers, she sees Hakeem Pryce and his girlfriend, Taylor Wilson, and with them (of course), Dub Austin. Hakeem raises a hand. “Yo, Mrs. Spooner, Ms. Vandermeid, Happy First Dance!”
Cordelia can’t help but beam. Even twenty-two years in, she feels proud to be acknowledged by the students.
“Hakeem!” she says. “Taylor! Dub! Welcome!”
Honey, who now has the clipboard, squares her beautiful shoulders. “State your name, please,” she says to Hakeem.
Lighten up, Honey,Cordelia thinks. Hakeem and Dub don’t drink or do drugs. Not only do they care too much about their bodies, Hakeem aspires to play football in the Ivy League and Dub is a scholarship student and knows any infraction puts him at risk of being sent home to Durango. Taylor Wilson is also a good kid—her mother, Kathy, sits on the board of directors—though Taylor’s eyes are suspiciously bright, her cheeks rosy. She’s wearing the dress chosen (for what reason Cordelia cannot fathom) by the fifth-form: a neon tube with contrasting neon mesh overtop. The overall effect is that of a garish laundry basket.
“Taylor Wilson,” she says to Honey, making eye contact and flashing her dazzling smile.
Does Honey see a glimmer of contraband in Taylor’s demeanor? Taylor likely took a shot of Tito’s from the “water bottle” she keeps in her mini fridge. Can Cordelia blame her? She’d love a glass of buttery chardonnay herself.
“Have fun,” Honey says, admitting all three kids to the Egg.
With the arrival of the upperclassmen, First Dance officially begins.
Simone locks herself in the end stall of the girls’ bathroom and throws up the banana she ate at lunch. When it comes to upsetstomachs, Simone’s mother, a pediatrician, swears by BRAT—bananas, rice, applesauce, toast. But ew, banana was an unappealing choice. What evenisa banana but a rubbery, phallic-shaped fruit with a distinctive smell?
Simone wipes her mouth with toilet paper and flushes. She will never eat another banana, nor will she drink champagne. Even thinking the wordchampagnemakes her dry heave.
It was very bad form to get so drunk during her first weeks at work. Has she learned nothing from the past?
Simone fears she might be in over her head with this job. She’s certified to teach French, but somehow the French position that was advertised evaporated (there weren’t enough students interested to justify a hire; everyone wanted to learn Spanish). What Tiffin had to offer Simone instead was history—fifth-form American studies and sixth-form world cultures. Simone’s mother is Quebecois and her father immigrated to Canada from Mali when he was a boy—however, this hardly makes Simone qualified to teach world cultures. She knows even less about American history.
In addition to teaching those classes, the school was looking for a dorm parent for the fifth- and sixth-form girls.
“Do you have any experience in that kind of role?” Audre asked during Simone’s interview.
The answer was yes: Simone had been a floor fellow at McGill—but she had been dismissed in disgrace less than two weeks before she graduated, and so Simone had chosen to leave it off her American résumé (she’d left it off her Canadian résumé as well, but everyone in the province of Quebec knew someone at McGill, and so they’d either heard what had happened on the first floor of McConnell or seen the video, and this was why Simone had spent the past two years making latte art).
