Page 37 of The Academy
Simone chastises herself for leaving her room light on—she thought for sure she’d turned it off; she’s leading by piss-poor example in energy conservation—when she opens the door and screams: Andrew Eastman is lying on her bed, vape pen in hand, blowing smoke at the ceiling.
Simone knows the proper course of action: Demand that he leave and report him to his dorm parent, Roy Ewanick. However, when East says, “Close the door, please,” she complies, though not before checking that both her window shades are down.
“What,” she hisses, “are you doing here?”
She puts a hand out to stop him as he approaches her, but he takes her hand and presses her palm to his mouth. She fights off a very strong, very forbidden wave of desire. She pulls back her hand as though she’s been bitten by a snake and he laughs. “Relax.”
He’s calm, she thinks, because he can’t get into any trouble. But she, of course, can. She ignores how handsome he is, how he’s broad and strong without being bulky, how he fills out his jeans perfectly, how he managed to pair a ratty Vampire Weekend T-shirt with a vintage Rolex on a weathered leather band.
She can’t relax. How is she going to get him out of here? The dorm is crawling with girls sharing bags of Takis, getting ready to watch the last episode ofLove Islandin the common room, or vying for one of the sinks to start their fifteen-step skin care routines.
“You have to go—” Before Simone can say another word, East’s lips are on hers, and if it’s possible, it’s even hotter than when he kissed her down in the tunnel. It’s lips and tongue and a playful biteand a hip lock; she can feel him through his jeans. Is she in a puddle on the floor? No, apparently she’s still upright, still making out with East, a student, her student, as the predictable excuses roll through her head: The age difference between them is only five years; she’s French Canadian, she views things like this differently. Brigitte Auzière was once Emmanuel Macron’s high school teacher, and now she’s Brigitte Macron, the well-regarded First Lady of France.
Simone also thinks:This isn’t happening.Or it won’t be happening in a second; she’s going to push him away.
She hears Olivia H-T’s voice, perilously close to her door. “Has anyone seen Davi? She never came back to the game.”
Madison J. says, “She wasn’t feeling well. She went to bed.”
Simone snaps back to reality and pushes East away with both hands. “Stop,” she whispers. “You have to get out of here right now.”
“Okay, okay,” East says. “Chill.”
Chill?she thinks. She wants to smack him. How dare he sneak into her room—how did he even get into the dorm when everyone else was at the game?—and compromise her job, her good name, her entire future? He’s too young to consider the consequences of his actions. He’s immature, rash, destructive, entitled—and so, so hot.
East snaps off the light: Oh no, he’s not luring her to bed. That’s absolutely not happening… is it?
No—East lifts the shade, peers outside, then opens the window and climbs out. She hears a soft thud when he hits the ground.
She closes the window and locks it. Then, without turning the light back on, she fumbles through her closet, reaches a hand into her boot, and pulls out the hidden bottle of cabernet franc, which is, thankfully, a screw-top. She swigs directly from the bottle. Her phone dings with a text, which strikes a dissonant chord in her chest—there’s no way it’s a text she wants to read—and she takes another swig.
The text is from Rhode. Great, she thinks. He was outside, he saw their shadows or he watched East drop from Simone’s window, her life is over. She could claim her reckless behavior was Rhode’s fault: Who knew what was in the flask? It could have been something stronger and stranger than bourbon.
The text reads:Is East in your dorm? Roy Ewanick can’t find him.
Simone blinks.Not here!she types. Although this is presently the truth, she hesitates before sending it. There’s still time to come clean—tell Rhode that she came home to find Andrew Eastman in her room and when she asked him to leave, which she obviously did right away, he leaped out her window like a little boy with Spider-Man fantasies. But there would be follow-up: Audre might go through the motions of disciplining East (would she?). He might counter by describing exactly what happened with Simone in her room. It would then turn into a he said/she said, and the whole school would be ablaze with it like… an orchard on fire.
In the end, no reply is necessary because Rhode texts again:Never mind, he just turned up. Have a good night!
Simone brings the wine bottle to her mouth with one hand and with the other hand types:You too!
10. Family Weekend
Greetings, Tiffin families!
We look forward to welcoming you to our esteemed academy this weekend. The foliage on campus is at its peak, and wehave a full slate of fun and enriching activities planned for you to experience with your students. To view the weekend schedule, clickhere.
Audre pauses. Her backside is heating up like there’s a gas burner under her chair. In theory, this should be the most successful (and lucrative) Family Weekend ever; after all, they’ve been ranked number two in the country! Cordelia Spooner informed Audre that campus tours and interviews are up by 208 percent… and Audre has replaced two dinosaurs on the faculty with dynamic young teachers. (Privately, Audre worries that Simone Bergeron istooyoung. Audre will recommend that she dress conservatively this weekend and hope Simone doesn’t push back.)
The only thing tempering Audre’s anticipation of the weekend ahead is an email she received late the night before from Douglas Worth, acting in his capacity as chairperson of ISNEC, “courteously” informing Audre that the coalition is making an official inquiry into Tiffin’s ranking inAmerica Today.
Audre had gasped out loud. Was Douglas Worth so bitter and jealous that Northmeadow had been supplanted from the number two spot that he was starting awitch hunt? Apparently so. This was ablatantexploitation of power. ISNEC was acoalition;the purpose was tosupportone another. Audre wonders if Douglas’s inquiry will gain any traction. Audre counts the other Heads of ISNEC as friends or friendly acquaintances, and she’s always assumed the feeling was mutual. But maybe the other Heads liked Audre only because they felt their schools were superior to Tiffin.
Even though it was late (Douglas no doubt sent the email at night in order to ruin Audre’s sleep), Audre forwarded the email to Jesse Eastman with the subject line:Do we need to be concerned about this?
A response came right away:Hell no. Sour grapes.
This was the answer Audre was hoping for. If Big East is unconcerned—if he didn’t have anything to do with manipulating the rankings—then Audre won’t worry.
