Page 40 of The Academy
But oh, does Honey disagree! She views the parents as lazy and selfish. Since they have the money, whyshouldn’tthey remove the unpleasantness of teenagers in the house—the smells, the attitude, the girlfriend hiding under the bed, the vomiting in the kitchen sink after a night of drinking pilfered Bacardi 151 in a field, the gym socks stiff with dried cum among the bedsheets, the tears whentheir honor roll daughter is deferred from UMiami, where she applied ED because she wants to be just like Alix Earle—and pawn them off on a bunch of underpaid, overstressed strangers to raise?
Cordelia will then point out that many Tiffin parents went to Tiffin themselves. They enjoyed it and they want the same experience for their children. Besides, you can’t expect someone who grew up at 720 Park Avenue (like Ravenna Rapsicoli) to attend the New York City public schools.
Definitely not!Honey will exclaim in mock horror. By all means, keep the successful parents away from the public school system, where they might actually be able to effect some positive change!
Cordelia will then mention students like Dub Austin, who are on scholarship: Tiffin is a tremendous opportunity for them.
Honey will scoff and say Dub’s mother sent him to Tiffin so he would succeed at football and not have to live in the shadow of his brothers, all of whom are better at the sport than he is.
Is that such a bad thing?Cordelia will counter. Cordelia reads these kids’ applications, and she always begins with the personal statement. The prompt is:Describe your reasons for wanting to become a Tiffin student, focusing on the ways you will contribute to the community.Cordelia has seen plenty of kids phone it in because of course therearekids whose parents nudge them toward boarding school against their will. But Cordelia weeds them out just as she sifts out those kids who have cut and pasted essays they used for admission to St. Paul’s and Taft, simply changing the name of the school (or, in the case of one student also apparently applying to Deerfield, not even bothering to change the name). Cordelia makes certain that every student she accepts specifically wants to be at Tiffin. A new thought comes to her: Maybethat’swhy they were ranked number two. Maybe it’s because Mrs. Cordelia Spooner, head of admissions, has done her job so adroitly. Tiffin Academy is a placewhere student and school have a remarkable synchronicity. (Cordelia would never suggest this possibility to Honey; she’s not sure “synchronicity” is the right word, anyway.)
If Cordelia reminds Honey that she reads the children’s essays, Honey will say,If I know anything, it’s that kids stretch the truth in their essays. They embellish, exaggerate, and fabricate. And byfabricate, I mean that they, yes, flat-out lie.
Cordelia polishes off her chardonnay. She will end the imaginary argument before it begins. “You’re right. Tiffin parents are selfish assholes who ship us their kids either for some pumped-up notion of prestige or because they’re just too afraid or exhausted to do the job themselves. If the kids turn out poorly, they can blame someone else. They can blame us.”
Honey stands up and Cordelia thinks,Now I’ve done it. Honey detected the sarcasm and she’s leaving in the middle of dinner. She’ll return to campus and poke her head into Simone Bergeron’s room, maybe stay for a moment with the door closed so she can fill in Simone on what to expect over Family Weekend from the callous parents.
But instead of leaving, Honey slides into the booth next to Cordelia and plants a juicy kiss on her cheek. “I love it when you’re feisty,” she says, and Cordelia decides to bask in the golden warmth of Honey’s favor while she has it.
As Charley leaves the Schoolhouse after English class—the academic day is over and afternoon activities are canceled today to make time for the family reception, followed by a steak dinner in the Paddock, followed by the under-the-lights field hockey game against Colbert—she sees a crowd of students gathered around a table, snatching up copies of the’Bred Bulletin. There was talk of sending the paper to each student’s inbox electronically, but Ravenna, who(lest anyone forget it) is a New Yorker, still believes in the power of newsprint.
Ravenna was apparently right, but all Charley can think is,Prepare to be underwhelmed.
Charley manages to procure the last copy of the paper, which she stuffs in her backpack. She’ll show it to her mother as proof that she’s participating, even if it is the most pathetic student newspaper of all time, and will probably be used to start the bonfire later.
Charley can’t believe it, but she feels a burst of excitement about seeing her mother. Before she left English, Mr. Rivera said, “I look forward to meeting your mom, Charley. I can’t wait to rave about you.”
Fran Hicks will be expecting such raves; she has always been in awe of Charley’s intellect.Book smart, like your dad.Fran’s intelligence runs more toward brass tacks, common sense. She understands the physical and natural world, she knows the names of a thousand plants and where to place them so they thrive, also the correct way to lay irrigation hose, and she can instantly determine the provenance of stone or wrought-iron garden fixtures: antique, or simply fashioned to appear antique?
As Charley walks toward the dorms, she gets glimpses of other people’s parents: The dads are in navy blazers and expensive loafers without socks; they place proprietary hands on the backs of the mothers, who are older versions of the Madisons and Olivias with their cute white jeans and Golden Goose sneakers, their long hair flowing over the collars of their puffy SAM vests. Fran Hicks will stick out like a scruffy mutt among sleek golden retrievers, but Charley doesn’t care. She can’t wait to feel her mother’s strong arms around her, and inhale the cedar scent of her hair.
Charley enters Classic South as Davi exits, followed by a trio of the most stylish people Charley has ever seen. Unlike the majority ofother parents, who favor khaki and navy blue, Davi’s people are in black and white. Her father is a slender Indian man with close-cut salt-and-pepper hair. He’s in a black suit with a black shirt open at the collar, and he wears black velvet loafers. Davi’s mother is in black jeans, over-the-knee black boots, and a black cashmere poncho. There’s another woman with them—she’s white with hair dyed the color of a marshmallow. She’s in a white tank, a white tutu, white footless tights, and a black motorcycle jacket.
Charley takes heart: No matter what Fran Hicks wears, she’ll fit in better than these people. They’re so unlikely, they might have just stepped off a spaceship. But wow, they’re gorgeous and fabulous and Charley is dumbstruck as they execute a do-si-do, the Banerjee party coming out, Charley going in.
Davi’s mother smiles warmly at Charley and offers a hand. “How do you do, I’m Ruby Banerjee.”
Charley looks quickly to Davi, who is scowling. Davi’s mother has mistaken Charley for someone who matters.
“This is Charley, Mama,” Davi says. “The one who wrote the In and Out list in the paper.”
“Ohhhhh,” Ruby Banerjee says. “I see.”
Before Charley can explain that she didn’t actually write the In and Out list—the editor, Ravenna Rapsicoli, did—Davi says, “We have to go. Ms. Robbie is waiting.” Then she raises a microbladed eyebrow at Charley. “You’re just full of surprises.”
Once in her room, Charley decides that her outfit of corduroys, a turtleneck, and a Fair Isle sweater will probably be fine for the reception—but is the steak dinner more formal? She has no idea of the dress code for any of this, nor does she particularly care; her disinterest in fashion has been proven. Why did Davi say thatCharley had written the In and Out list? And what did she mean by “full of surprises”? Charley pulls the’Bred Bulletinfrom her backpack. There, on the front page, is the anodyne stuff about the rankings and the football team. She has to go to page 3 to find the In and Out list—and there it is:
Fall 2025 In and Out List
By Charlotte Hicks
In
Out
