Page 2 of The Academy
It’s been rumored thatAmerica Todaydispatches reporters who pose as prospective parents. They take tours and attend admissionsinformation sessions. They ask current students probing questions. Cordelia Spooner is always on the lookout.
Audre won’t lie: She’s nervous about their ranking this year, especially after what happened in the spring. If Tiffin falls out of the top twenty-five, everyone will blame her and her alone. Just the previous evening, Audre wondered if a dramatic-enough plunge might cause her to lose her job. She shooed the thought away as preposterous, though as a businessman Jesse Eastman is only used to growth, to success.We have to be ranked nineteen or higher,Audre thinks,or there will be hell to pay.
To Big East’s question, Audre replies casually:Not yet.Surely he has an assistant at his zillion-dollar company whose sole duty this morning is to hit refresh on theAmerica Todaywebsite. He’ll know before she does.
When Audre takes a sustaining breath, she smells freshly cut grass and the aroma of bacon (both real and vegan) wafting over from the Paddock. Tiffin’s chef is a burly, tattooed gentleman named Harrison “Haz” Flanders, whom Big East hired away from his private club in New York two years earlier. The food in the Paddock—once the subject of a thousand memes—is now so fresh and delicious that nearly the entire Tiffin community has put on the freshman fifteen, Audre included. Chef’s specialties are fried chicken and waffles, homemade focaccia, a new salad bar sourced with heirloom vegetables from a local farm. Haz requested a pizza oven (which Big East promptly donated), and now, every Friday at lunch, Audre can look forward to the “rustica”—bubbling mozzarella and smoky pancetta topped with a handful of lightly dressed arugula. Haz also took the edge off Mondays by instituting Burger Night: charbroiled Angus beef with an array of toppings and sauces, followed by an hour at the new Piano Bar in the Teddy, where Mr. Chuy, the music teacher, takes requests and all the kids sing their preppy little hearts out.
Audre starts to hum “Tiny Dancer” as another car pulls up—a shiny black Escalade with tinted back windows and a uniformed driver.
Here’s Davi.
Davi hops out of the back seat wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses; white low-waisted, flared jeans; and a crocheted, off-the-shoulder crop top. Her bare midriff is a glaring violation of the Tiffin dress code (forbidden: page 8 ofThe Bridle,Tiffin’s Rules of Conduct), but Audre is too shocked by Davi’s new look to comment about the top (or lack thereof). Davi has cut off most of her shiny dark hair, which used to reach down past her derriere. It’s been replaced by a bob.
She gives Audre a tight hug. “Ms. Robbie,” she murmurs. Davi is the only student in six years brave enough to give Audre a nickname, and Audre has to admit, she’s fond of it. “Thank god I’m back.”
This, Audre thinks, is why she loves her job.
Davi Banerjee, whose parents started the fashion label OOO (Out of Office), is an international influencer. She has 1.3 million devoted Instagram and TikTok followers from twenty-seven countries, and she has more than thirty corporate sponsors. She lives in London with her parents, though Audre has seen, from checking Davi’s social media accounts, that she spent most of her summer at her family home in Tuscany, followed by a quick trip to Ibiza with her glamorous European friends.
Audre likes to believe that Davi is universally loved at Tiffin, though the more accurate term might be “revered.” Davi rules the social landscape mostly benevolently, though Audre is aware that the other girls spend a lot of precious energy currying favor with her; there’s fierce competition to be included in her inner circle. The one person who was exempt from all this was Cinnamon Peters, Davi’s best friend since day one at Tiffin.
In the aftermath of Cinnamon’s death, Davi organized acandlelight vigil, directed donations to a reliable mental health organization, and then went dark on social media. There were times in the days following Cinnamon’s death when Audre thought the school might have fallen apart were it not for Davi.
“Welcome back,” Audre says. “You’ll need to change your top before All-School Meeting.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” Davi says. Her English accent always makes Audre think of chintz and clotted cream. “I promised I’d post myself wearing it… This is the style Akoia Swim named for me.” Davi holds her phone up over her head, wraps an arm around Audre’s shoulders, and snaps a photo of the two of them with the mullioned windows of Classic South behind them.
Will 1.3 million people now see Audre in her mom jeans? No, she thinks. She isn’t cool enough for Davi’s Instagram, and for this she’s grateful.
“Has the new girl arrived yet?” Davi asks.
There are a number of “new” girls this year—thirty third-formers (freshmen), seven fourth-formers (sophomores)—but they’re not who Davi is asking about. Davi is asking about the only new student entering as a fifth-former (junior): Charlotte Hicks from Towson, Maryland, the girl who will be living in 111 South, formerly Cinnamon Peters’s room.
“Not yet,” Audre says. She heads to the back of the Escalade, where Davi’s driver is unloading plastic bins, labeled by designer. Audre reaches for the Hatch alarm clock, new in its box. She feels maternal about Davi. The poor girl flew from London by herself and will be moved into 103 South by a complete stranger. As far as Audre knows, there’s only one other student arriving without a parent.
But Audre needn’t worry about Davi. Within seconds, she’s surrounded by her squad, all of them exclaiming about her hair, her top.You look so cute!Phones are brandished, selfies snapped.
This is as good a time as any, Audre thinks, to step away.
Growing up in New Orleans, Audre had heard of “intuitive”women who were rumored to practice voodoo and have connections to the supernatural. Audre, the daughter of two Tulane professors, viewed this as just another part of New Orleans culture, like jazz and jambalaya. However, Audre herself experiences a fingernails-down-the-proverbial-chalkboard chill from time to time. This “Feeling” has turned out to be prescient: It’s a warning that a threat to Audre’s peace of mind is imminent.
She has the Feeling now. It could be due to the impending news of the rankings, but on a hunch Audre decides to check the Back Lot.
The Back Lot is where the staff parks, where deliveries are dropped off—and where Mr. James sneaks slugs from his flask of whiskey in his garage office.
As Audre stands at the top of the stairs that lead down to the lot, she sees a black GMC pickup pulling in. Audre hears strains of “Many Men” by 50 Cent pumping out the window; it’s so loud she feels it in her tooth fillings.
The truck pulls into its usual spot, the music cuts, the driver gets out. He grew a couple inches over the summer, Audre notes, and his dark hair flops over his aviator sunglasses like he’s a character fromTop Gun.He’s wearing Oliver Cabell sneakers, athletic shorts, and a vintage baseball jersey. When he spies Audre, he lifts a hand in greeting.
“Welcome back, Andrew,” Audre whispers to herself. She’s the only person at Tiffin who calls him by his given name; everyone else calls him East. Andrew Eastman, son of Jesse Eastman, is the only student who’s allowed a car, the only student who’s allowed to use the service entrance, the only student granted the freedom to do a lot of things. Audre sometimes thinks the question isn’tifEast will get kicked out of Tiffin butwhen—though bringing any kind of disciplinary action against East would be an existential threat to the school.If East goes, the money goes—and the bright, prosperous future of Tiffin goes. For this reason, Audre has turned a blind eye to his vaping (forbidden: page 2 ofThe Bridle) as well as his barely passing (and by “barely passing,” Audre means failing) grades in English and history.
As Audre waves back, she sends East a silent message:Don’t do anything this year I can’t forgive. Please.
Stationed in front of Classic North is Rhode Rivera, the person Audre hired to replace Doc Bellamy, the fossilized English teacher who rarely gave a grade above B and never smiled (he’d retired in the spring after forty-two years, hallelujah). Audre had desperately wanted to hire a woman, preferably a woman of color, but Rhode interviewed well and said many promising things. He’d been a student at Tiffin himself twenty-some years ago. Doc Bellamy had been his English teacher, “both inspiring… and intimidating.” Indeed, a check of Rhode’s transcripts showed that he’d received one of the rare A’s Bellamy had granted during his tenure. Rhode went on to college at Wesleyan and pursued an MFA at the University of Michigan. He’d also published two novels. (Audre hadn’t heard of them but had looked up reviews of both books: not bad.)
What had sealed the deal for Rhode’s hiring was his plan to overhaul the English curriculum. He would revamp the reading list, making sure it was current and inclusive.
Before being hired, Rhode had been living in Astoria, working as an adjunct professor at Queens College. It was an urban life, he said, and he was ready for a change.
