Page 15 of The Academy
Audre must have noticed the constipated expression on Simone’sface because she started throwing out prompts. “Were you a camp counselor? An au pair? Did you ever…babysit?”
“Oui,”Simone said. “Yes, I babysat.” She did not mention that this was a job she’d held the summer she turned twelve and was properly more mother’s helper than babysitter.
But it didn’t matter because Audre beamed. “Wonderful!” she said. “We’d love to offer you the position.”
Upon arriving at Classic South, Simone papered the door of her room and wroteIf you don’t stretch, you won’t growat eye level in black Sharpie. Then she encouraged the girls to write their own favorite quotes.“The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.”—Steve Jobs. “There is no substitute for hard work.”—Thomas Edison. “They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no, no!”—Amy Winehouse.The door has now become an attraction. The girls will stop by to see if anything new has been added, and they’ll try to guess who wrote what. (“That’s Tilly’s, I’m pretty sure…”)
There’s no denying that most of the kids like Simone; her youth, to them, is a surprise and a delight. They feel that she can more easily understand their roommate disputes, menstrual cycles, and Snapchat accounts. Simone knows what “left on read” means; she might be the only faculty member at the school who does.
But there are two students who have already managed to get under Simone’s skin. One is Charley Hicks. She’s in Simone’s F-period American history class, and—Simone will just admit it—she has a better grasp of the material than Simone does. Simone assigned a reading of Bartolomé de Las Casas on the exploitation of Indigenous people, and Charley’s response to this reading left everyone in the class speechless, including Simone. After class, Simone had pulled Charley aside:Do you have a special interest in Indigenous people?she’d asked. And Charley had shrugged.Not really, but I did the reading and I checked out some Native American creation stories.
Simone was eager to segue to the topic of Charley’s behavior in the dorm. Why did she skip the ice cream social in the common room?
When Simone was leaving the dorm earlier, she noticed Davi Banerjee—whom Simone treats as an equal probably more than she should—knocking on Charley’s door. Davi had one of the mesh dresses tucked under her arm, and Simone experienced a wave of relief because there wasno wayCharley would have purchased the fifth-form First Dance dress on her own.
Thank god for Davi,Simone thought.
Before Simone exits the stall, she hears a group of students enter. She peers through the crack in the door. The girls are all in tie-dye: third-formers. Freshmen.
“I heard he never comes to First Dance,” one of the girls says, before pouting in the mirror to apply lip gloss.
“I heard he has a private party in his room, invitation only,” another girl says.
“Should we try to crash?” a third girl asks. “I’ve heard he gets good drugs.”
Simone nearly gasps. The girl speaking is only fourteen, what does she know about “good drugs”? Then Simone checks herself. Didn’t she first try pot her freshman year? No, it was the summer between freshman and sophomore year. She wasfifteen.
“He’s not going to let us in,” the first girl says. “I’ve heard he doesn’t fuck.”
“Like, atall? What is he, asexual?”
“He issohot. The hottest guy in school.”
Simone closes her eyes and shakes her head. She now knows who they’re talking about: Andrew Eastman. She shoves away herabsolutely inappropriate response to this chatter.He never comes to First Dance?A tiny, very secret part of her is crushed. Would she admit, even to herself, that she chose this dress with East in mind? He doesn’t fuck? She feels an odd elation: She would have assumed he was able to seduce any girl in school, maybe even multiple girls at once.
“Honestly, I think he’s kind of pathetic. He reclassed when he got here and I heard he was held back somewhere along the way, so he’s nineteen. A nineteen-year-old fifth-former? He’ll be twenty when he graduates. What a joke.”
He’s nineteen,Simone thinks. This doesn’t surprise her. He seems older.
She can’t linger here any longer or the girls will know she’s eavesdropping, besides which, Honey and Mrs. Spooner will be wondering where she is and Spooner was already giving off some pretty judgy vibes. Simone flushes the toilet again and steps out of the stall. “Hi, girls!” she says.
“Hey, Miss Bergeron,” they say. One adds, “That dress is so cute.”
“Merci,”Simone says. As she washes her hands, she basks in the admiring glances of the girls in the mirror.Forget him,she thinks. She is Miss Bergeron, history teacher, dorm parent, role model.
6. Tiffin Talks: First Dance
As usual, the first people to arrive at the dance are the third- and fourth-formers. They rush the mocktail bar, and one of thethird-formers, a kid named Reed Wheeler, whose father is some hotshot real estate agent on Nantucket, spikes his piña colada with a nip of Fireball he hid in his underwear. (This kid will either end up becoming a legend in a couple of years, we think, or get Honor Boarded and expelled.) Do any of the chaperones notice the clot of boys surrounding Reed as he chugs the drink? Nah—they’re completely clueless.
Two of the chaperones—Miss Bergeron and Mr. Rivera—are new this year, so they might not know what to look for. Miss Bergeron is a smokeshow in a sequin minidress. Reed, emboldened by his cocktail and not realizing Miss Bergeron is a teacher and not a sixth-former, tries to pull her out on the floor to dance to Ke$ha’s “Die Young,” but Miss Bergeron laughs and shakes her head.Damn,we think,that would have been a conquest.
There are actually a few fifth-formers among us already: QB1 Dub Austin sits at one of the round tables with wide receiver Hakeem Pryce and Hakeem’s girlfriend, Taylor Wilson. When didtheyslip in, and why are they here so early? Some of us consider approaching the table to congratulate Dub and Hakeem on theirsecond win in a row,but we can tell a visit might not be welcome. Taylor Wilson is sitting so close to Hakeem she’s practically in his lap, but she’s talking to Dub, reaching across the table and clenching his forearm. The mood at the table is reminiscent of those nights when our parents discussed whether they had enough money to send us to boarding school. What could these three be talking about?
“You’re a cowboy, so I shouldn’t have to tell you,” Taylor says. “It’s time to get back on the horse.”
“No,” Dub says.
Hakeem pinches Taylor’s waist to let her know she’s out of bounds. But his girl sets her own agenda; she’s a hopeless romantic.
