Page 99 of The Academy
Charley, of course, wants this too. “My father once told me the greatest gift you can give someone is a second chance.”
Davi’s expression brightens with a hope that is so…childlike,Charley wants to cringe.
“Will you…?” Davi says.
Charley huffs. “There won’t be a third chance, Davi.”
“Understood.”
“Fine,” Charley says. “Now get out so I can finish my book, please.” Charley accepts a squeeze from Davi and then shoos her from the room. Olivia H-T is right where she was before, pretending to be scrolling on her phone a few yards down the hall. When she looks up, her expression is one of naked longing. Will Olivia H-T be relegated to Davi’s number two again?
Yes,Charley thinks, and she blows Olivia H-T a kiss.
25. Priorities
A week later, Chef Haz hides a case of vodka (Tito’s, Cîroc, Grey Goose, Finlandia), a case of gin (Hendrick’s, Bombay Sapphire, Tanqueray), a case of bourbon, one of rum, and half a case of Casa Dragones tequila along with specialty liqueurs and mixers in the rock garden adjoining the Back Lot. He paid cash at four different liquor stores on the far side of Springfield, and when he unloads the boxes, he wears gloves. It’s well past midnight, but Chef has been assured that the boxes will be gone by the time he returns to prep for breakfast service.
Chef climbs back into the cab of his brand-new truck—a Ford F-350 long bed, whose interior smells like hundred-dollar bills and a bottle of Gentleman Jack that he kept for himself—and he speeds off into the night. He was never here.
East sends out a voice memo:Sunday morning one a.m. join me for the opening of my new speakeasy, Priorities, one floor below the basement of the dorms. Meet at the cellar steps behind Classic North and South. Dress up. If you mention it to anyone, you will find yourself forever banned and worse. You’re receiving this message because I think you’re worthy. Don’t prove me wrong.
Saturday morning, Charley watches everyone who received the message: Davi, Dub, Taylor, Hakeem, Madison J., Royce, andWillow. Do they seem different? In Spanish with Señor Perez, Royce winks at Charley and puts his fist to his chest and Charley thinks,Oh god.She warned East that Royce would be the weak link, but East assured her that he’d put a lot of thought into whom to invite. East and Royce take Diff EQs together—and yes, Royce is a meme, but he’s also super brainy and will lend the group an intellectual air. Madison J. was also a risk—she’s a dorm prefect!—but as they were brushing their teeth Friday night, Madison caught Charley’s eye in the mirror and somehow Charley knew she was cool with it.
Davi and Charley are now together all the time, but Davi doesn’t mention the message at all. Charley worries that it got lost amid all the chatter from Davi’s followers. On Saturday evening, as they’re walking back from the Teddy (the weekend’s entertainment was an open mic night, populated by third- and fourth-formers, and Ravenna Rapsicoli singing “Don’t Cry Out Loud,” which she dedicated to Levi), Charley says, “So I’ll see you…”
“Later,” Davi says.
Charley lies in bed, her heart expanding with hope then shriveling with fear. Will they get caught? East fully believes they won’t, and Charley has moments when she allows herself a ride on his sleigh of carefree optimism. But then she snaps back to reality. Of course they’ll get caught. You don’t operate a speakeasy beneath the dorms and not get caught.
The question is: What will happen when they get caught? If Ms. Robinson expels one person, she’ll have to expel them all, and this is where East’s guest list comes in. Will Ms. Robinson throw out Davi Banerjee? Royce Stringfellow is at the top of their class, Dub and Hakeem are football stars, Madison J. is a prefect, and Taylor’s mother, Kathy Wilson, and Willow’s father, Ari Levy, sit on the board of directors. And then, of course, there’s East, with his cloakof impunity. The only person on the guest list who doesn’t have a personal flotation device is Charley.
Great,she thinks.
At twelve thirty, Charley slides out of bed, zips into her dress (a fringed flapper number), brushes out her hair, and applies makeup by the light of her phone. She cracks open her door; the hallway is silent.
This is her last chance to back out. For an instant, Charley imagines herself as an older person—twenty-seven, thirty-nine, forty-six—watching her sixteen-year-old self. She waits for that person to give her a sign. Is she about to ruin her future?
She doesn’t care. She goes.
Half an hour later, Charley is in the midst of a dream. They all are.
Priorities is… glamorous. Sleek. Sexy. The spare, utilitarian bomb shelter has been transformed into a Jazz Age jewel box. The centerpiece of the room is an L-shaped bar, the long end a slab of black galaxy granite with five brass barstools topped with spruce-green velvet cushions. The short end is the wet bar with its hammered copper sink, above which are illuminated shelves lined with bottles. In the foreground are a long leather sofa and three suede cup chairs. Between the sofa and chairs is a curvy, mirrored “reflecting pond” coffee table. The Ice Palace chandelier spangles the room with light; a wireless speaker plays Billie Holiday.
East, wearing navy-blue pants, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and a Gucci belt that Charley has never seen, greets everyone and offers cocktails. There’s a pitcher of ice-cold martinis already prepared (just add olives, olive juice, or onions). Hakeem asks for one, then Royce. Dub requests a beer and East frowns. “No beer,man.” That’s fine, Dub will have tequila with lime and club soda, known as Ranch Water back in Durango.
Charley and Davi each have a Tom Collins served in a tall, slender glass, garnished with one luscious purplish-black Luxardo cherry. When they touch glasses, Davi says, “I can’t believe this is happening and we’ll have no proof.”
That’s the best thing, in Charley’s opinion: They all handed their phones over to East, who tucked them behind the bar. There will be no pictures, no videos. But Charley knows, once she’s finished her first Tom Collins, that she’ll never forget this night.
Taylor, Dub, and Hakeem sit three across on the leather sofa like it’s old times. Taylor is drinking a lavender-hued cocktail called the Aviation: It’s gin mixed with a liqueur called crème de violette, served in a coupe glass. East is handcrafting all the cocktails himself, and what’s even crazier is that he renovated this room all by himself, or nearly. He had some townies help him during school breaks, and his mother is apparently a decorator? Taylor didn’t even realize Easthada mother; the only parent anyone talks about is Jesse Eastman.
Being invited here counts as the coolest thing that has ever happened to Taylor, and that’s not just the crème de violette talking. Stepping into the room was like entering an alternate reality. Dub stands up to get another Ranch Water, leaving Taylor with Hakeem.
“You look good, Tay,” he says.
She’s wearing a long silk skirt with her Vejas because she didn’t want to make any noise sneaking out. (It’s crazy that the rest of the school is fast asleep on the floors above them. It’s not real, except it is.)
“You look good too.” Hakeem always looks good, but then Taylor reins herself in. “How’s Cassie?”
