Home > The Ivies(7)

The Ivies(7)
Author: Alexa Donne

   I don’t understand the words I see. They make no sense. I read them again.

   It is our pleasure to inform you…

   Holy shit, I got in.

 

 

   My first thought is that there must be some mistake. They emailed me instead of Avery. Girls like Avery get in. Girls like me…

   We scheme to apply behind our friend’s back and then we steal her spot.

   And immediately the happiness pricking at my insides sours, and I come crashing to the ground. What have I done? How is this even possible?

   You have the fifth-highest GPA in your class, two Gold Circle Awards from Columbia Scholastic Press Association. You write for High School Insider at the Los Angeles Times and attended the Medill-Northwestern Journalism Institute summer program, I remind myself. I am worthy. More than good enough.

   But I didn’t really believe it until this moment.

   The phone rings, and I scurry back to my desk. The voice on the other end freezes my blood.

   “Transfer me to Headmistress Fitzgerald. Now.”

   Katherine Montfort. Avery’s mother. I picture her on the other end of the line, a frosty blonde with a look that could curdle milk.

   My Harvard acceptance sticks in my throat. Can she sense it through the phone? That she should be reaching through the receiver and strangling me?

       “Hello?”

   “Yes, hi, s-sorry, I—I can’t,” I stammer. “The headmistress isn’t here.”

   “You sniveling liar, I know she is. Don’t you know who I am? I pay sixty-five thousand…”

   The rest is as expected. The school is a fraud, a failure; she’ll report Claflin to the authorities, etc. I hold her off as best I can, marveling that she still hasn’t recognized my voice.

   I cut her off in the middle of a comment about underrepresented minorities. “Ms. Montfort, the headmistress will call you back as soon as possible. Have a lovely afternoon.”

   “Hope you’ve planned your funeral.” A Starbucks cup plunks down in front of me. I look up to see my angel of caffeine. Sierra. “Hanging up on Avery’s mom is a bold move. She’s sued people for less.” Sierra perches on the edge of the desk, sipping her drink.

   “She said some underqualified minority probably took Avery’s spot at Harvard.”

   “Okay, burn her.”

   We laugh, as much as one can laugh about pointed racism, and cheers with our coffees. Then Sierra’s expression turns grim.

   “There are plenty of Katherine Montforts here, and I don’t just mean the adults. All the kids at this school think I’m on easy street because I’m Black. Like affirmative action in college admissions isn’t there because of centuries of systemic racism and inequities, especially in education and opportunity. Ignorance is easier, though.”

   “Sierra, no way, we don’t—”

   She cuts me off. “It’s exhausting. ‘My precious genius baby didn’t get in so it must be affirmative action,’ they cry, like I’m not on track to graduate salutatorian with a perfect SAT score and a ton of other shit. Maybe their kids are just mediocre. Or unlucky. Assholes.”

       Sierra doesn’t invite further commentary, so I follow her lead and stay silent. We both drown ourselves in caffeine for a minute.

   “What brings you here?” I ask once I’ve come up for air. “Not that I’m not happy for the company, or the coffee, but usually it’s Em who’s on office-friend duty.”

   “I know.” Sierra jiggles her knee. “Avery…is losing her shit about Harvard. And now her spring semester schedule isn’t going to work, so I’m here to fix it. She’ll need to demonstrate better class rigor for regular decisions. May I?”

   First, I check that Cathy’s back is turned so she doesn’t see, and then I push back from my desk and vacate my chair for Sierra. She gets to work, fingers flying over the keys as she coaxes the administrative software to do her bidding. Sierra cracked the security years ago and installed a back door for herself on my machine—the easiest way not to get caught—and so it takes only two minutes to switch Avery from Photography II to History of Capitalism, an econ elective. She has to bump Jason Wang out of the class and into another one to make it work, but that’s a problem for later.

   “Now that’s done, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to kill some time with you.” She drinks more coffee. “I was glad for the errand, to be honest. I couldn’t be around her anymore. Every time I smiled, she screamed at me for gloating like a bitch.”

   Her Yale acceptance comes back to me. I totally blanked on it.

   “Oh, dammit, Sierra, I’m sorry.” I jump up, give her a hug. “You deserve to celebrate your own good news. I know it’s bad for Aves, but like…Yale! This is what you worked for!”

       “Thanks.” She sighs. “I’m sure you’ll get good news from Penn. I heard they’re dropping tomorrow.” I must make a face, a dead giveaway, because Sierra narrows her eyes, tilts her head. “Liv?”

   It pushes up my throat like hot lava, burns my tongue. I’m desperate to tell someone. Sierra and I are teammates. Surely she’ll have my back. “I got into Harvard. By accident. Kind of.”

   I get a parody of a reaction; Sierra’s eyes go wide, and an expletive flies from her mouth as she loses her balance and falls off the desk. “How do you accidentally apply to Harvard?”

   “It was a mistake, I mean. Not the application. I didn’t think I’d get in….”

   “Well, you goddamn did, didn’t you? Fuck.” Sierra rubs the bridge of her nose, shakes her head. “You cannot tell Avery. Not today. She’s already off the rails.”

   “Is it that bad?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

   Sierra throws me a look communicating her distaste. “God, and now I’m in the middle, too. I wish you hadn’t told me.”

   That lights the spark of annoyance in me. “Oh, I’m so sorry for telling you, my friend, my good news.”

   Sierra softens. “I’m sorry. It’s just…Avery will crack me like an egg.”

   “You mean Margot will crack you like an egg and then tell Avery,” I offer. Every dictator has her spymaster. Margot has an uncanny ability to root out secrets. “You’re a better actress than I am, anyway. I’m the bigger risk.”

   Sierra doesn’t disagree with me. “We need time to practice. You can say you were deferred at Penn and then apply RD to cover your ass. I’ll pretend we never had this conversation. By April, no one will be the wiser.”

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