Page 7 of The Academy
Charley kicks off her ghastly shoes, stands up, and untucks her shirt.
Hello?Olivia H-T thinks.What ishappeninghere?She checks to see if any of the adults are watching this. Ms. Robinson is talking to Mrs. Spooner and Señor Perez. The new English teacher, Mr. Rivera (he has a dad bod but is otherwise kind of hot), and the new history teacher, Miss Bergeron (who looks so young she could pass for a student), are sitting in beach chairs with their feet in the water, but they’re deep in conversation and don’t notice anything but each other.
Olivia H-T is both surprised and relieved to see that Charley is wearing a bikini under her clothes—and she has a figure: teacup breasts, a cute ass. She folds her clothes, takes off her glasses, and follows East into the water, where the two of them start to…raceacross the pond.
“Holy shit,” Davi says. “She can really swim.”
Charley’s freestyle stroke is so strong and clean that she keeps pace with East. (None of us realized East could swim like that, but he’s our school’s answer to James Bond: He has all kinds of hidden talents that he whips out when they’re useful.) The cinematic ending to this little vignette would be CharleybeatingEast in the race—those of us in the water start to cheer as East and Charley make their way back—but when they reach the middle of the pond, East pulls away and wins by two or three lengths.
Charley emerges from the water with a shy smile, her braids hanging down her back like two wet ropes. East offers her a towel from his backpack. Charley dries her face, wraps the towel around herself, and follows East over to the grill, where they pick up plates and dig in.
“He’s using her,” Davi says.
Davi is probably right,Olivia H-T thinks.What other explanation is there?
On Saturday, we play our first home football game against the Excelsior School, which can’t even be considered a rival because they’re too good: Their record of beating us is 114 years old. Sports at Tiffin have never been about winning, but rather about spirit and sportsmanship. (This is a nice way of saying that most of our teams suck.) We dress up in green and gold, paint our faces, and cheer when either team does something good. The score is 17–14—Excelsior is, of course, ahead, there’s less than a minute on the clock, but we have the ball and are driving for the end zone. Dub Austin sinks back in the pocket, and just as he’s about to be steamrolled by the Excelsior left tackle, he chucks a pass to Hakeem Pryce, who catches it and charges into the end zone.
When the final whistle blows, we storm the field. The offensive line hoists Dub and Hakeem into the air.
We are gracious hosts; this has been instilled in us by Ms. Robinson and the faculty. We congratulate the Excelsior team. “Good game, good game!” We invite the Excelsior fans over to the food trucks that line the Pasture.Does anyone want carnitas?
At Sunday’s church service, Chaplain Laura Rae praises us for our “resilience” (she doesn’t mention Cinnamon Peters, but she doesn’t need to) and encourages us to be careful and thoughtful—indeed,intentional—in all things.
“Our ranking at number two and the unexpected win on the football field may lead us to believe that Tiffin has entered a golden era,” she says. “But in my experience, quality is never the result of dumb luck. Quality comes from hard work, time, and energy.”
Laura Rae has a way of telling us what to do without telling us what to do: We sit up a little straighter and remove our phones from their hiding places within the Book of Common Prayer.
When the new week begins, we get to class on time, come prepared, listen attentively. The boys’ shirts are tucked in, ties tied (Windsor knots are big this year; Teague Baldwin—who’s frankly the only sixth-form boy worth emulating—shared an instructional YouTube video with the boys on his floor), and the girls’ skirt hems fall below their extended fingertips. There have been no disciplinary infractions since the start of school. Has this ever happened before?
Monday is the first Burger Night and Piano Bar, a tradition started by Chef Haz. We choose Swiss or cheddar, crispy bacon or slices of beefsteak tomato, homemade pickles, special sauce or just plain ketchup, brioche bun or lettuce wrap. After dinner at the Paddock, some of us hurry over to the Teddy to get milkshakes from the Grille while our music teacher, Mr. Chuy, waits at the baby grand, ready to take requests. Last year, Piano Bar was attended by mostly choir and theater kids—Cinnamon Peters always took the seat next to Mr. Chuy on the bench—but then word spread about how much fun it was. Mr. Chuy plays old songs like “Rich Girl,” or “Santeria,” but sometimes he surprises us. He ends the first Piano Bar of the year with “Love Story” by Taylor Swift. The girls go nuts (and not just the girls, to be honest).
Dub Austin is wrong: We didn’t lose the Super Bowl. The ranking inAmerica Todayhas raised us up, literally and figuratively. There’s something in the atmosphere now that suggests a world of endless possibilities.
3. The Alibi
Tiffin Paddock Dinner Service
Wednesday, September 10
Selection of homemade breads and rolls with parsley-lemon compound butter
SALAD BAR
Tonight’s additions: roasted candy-striped beets, rosemary-bacon pecans, creamy maple dressing
SOUP OF THE DAY
Summer squash bisque
ENTRÉES
Roasted chicken with lemon-wine pan sauce, mussels in tomato-shallot broth, mushroom and goat cheese ravioli with mint pesto
SIDES
Crispy frites, sautéed spinach with garlic
DESSERTS
