16. The Holly and the Ivy
Horace whistles. “This is a high school ?” he says.
“Yes.” In that moment, Charley understands how privileged she is.
A wreath and single candle have been placed in Charley’s room. They give such a festive vibe that Charley forgives whoever entered her space while she was away.
As she’s unpacking, Miss Bergeron pokes her head in. “A bunch of us are going to watch Love Actually in the common room,” she says. “We have popcorn and I’m making hot chocolate.” She smiles tentatively. “’Tis the season.”
“I want to read,” Charley says, though as soon as Miss Bergeron retreats, Charley wonders if she should join everyone else. It sounds cozy and Charley has reached the point where Tiffin feels more like home than her actual home.
Over Thanksgiving weekend, Charley hung out with Beatrix, who filled her in on every nonevent at Loch Raven High School, then ever so casually mentioned that Joey had “visited” her at Towson Hot Bagels. She gave him a free coffee and he winked at her.
“He winks at everyone,” Charley said. This wasn’t true, but she needed to shut Beatrix down. Why did Beatrix give him free coffee? She should have refused to wait on him.
Then Beatrix asked about Davi again. Had Charley been invited to her room to film a TikTok? Had she seen the neon sign that read THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS ?
“Nope,” Charley said.
Beatrix sighed. “Maybe I can visit you next semester?” They had talked about this over the summer, before Charley left.
But in this moment, when Charley imagined Beatrix sitting in on Mr. Rivera’s English class or coming to the ’Bred Bulletin office to meet Ravenna, Grady, and Levi, or tasting Chef Haz’s peanut butter pie or…
introducing Beatrix to East and watching as Beatrix’s eyeballs popped out of her head because she had “literally” never set eyes on a more gorgeous human, she thought, No way.
“Having friends visit isn’t really a thing,” Charley said. “Nobody does it. I’m not sure it’s even allowed.”
Beatrix pulled a face and started scrolling through her phone.
“But I can check The Bridle and maybe ask Miss Bergeron,” Charley said.
“See, I don’t know what The Bridle and who Miss Bergeron even are,” Beatrix said. “It’s like I’m losing you.”
Just as Charley decides she will join everyone in the common room (she knows the girls on her floor expect her to be a grinch and she wants to surprise them by wearing the new candy cane–printed pajamas she bought at the Owings Mills Mall over the weekend), her phone pings with a text.
Charley assumes it’s her mother making sure she got back okay on the bus, but when she checks, she sees East’s name and the downward arrow.
Her heart soars like Santa’s sleigh.
But… it’s almost nine, which is kind of late to check out for the Sink.
Charley pokes her head into the hallway and realizes everyone is packed into the common room, where the lights are off and the TV is glowing with scenes of horny people bustling through the snow-flurried streets of London with their parcels.
Charley smells the popcorn and imagines her floormates burning their tongues on watery Swiss Miss.
Nothing can tear their attention away from Love Actually.
Jolly good, Charley thinks. She pulls on her peacoat and absconds out the back door.
East meets Charley outside the bomb shelter. His hair is a mess and he has scruff on his face, which Charley is dismayed to find only makes him hotter.
When he sees her, he breaks out into a huge smile. “Hello, Charles, how was your turkey?”
“Dry as dust,” Charley says, which is a lie. Her mother and Joey did the trendy thing and deep-fried their turkey—they sell the fryers at the garden center—and it was the best turkey Charley had ever tasted, which only intensified her resentment. “How about yours?”
“I smashed some KFC,” East says. “There’s one in Haydensboro.”
“Wait,” Charley says. “You didn’t go to New York?” She’d imagined East celebrating the holiday in some glass-walled penthouse overlooking Central Park with servants lifting silver domes off trays and dinner guests like Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco.
“I stayed here,” East says. “And worked on this place. Wait until you see it. Are you ready? Close your eyes.”
Charley obeys. East takes her hand and guides her forward.
“Okay,” he says.
Charley opens her eyes. The room, their room, now has new wood floors.
They look antique, though they’re polished and give off a strong smell of varnish.
But the more astonishing thing is the chandelier that has replaced the single bulb in the middle of the room.
It resembles an upside-down wedding cake with descending tiers of crystals.
It’s classic Art Deco style and Charley immediately thinks of the F.
Scott Fitzgerald story “The Ice Palace.”
“Oh my god,” Charley says. “Who did this?”
“I had some help from a couple of townies who were looking for work,” East says.
“I was supposed to drive home to New York, but when I realized everyone was going to be gone until Saturday—Ms. Robinson, Spooner, even Mr. James—I turned around. These floors came out of an old mill in Dalton, Massachusetts, which is where they used to make paper for the US Mint, the paper money is printed on.”
“Provenance doesn’t get any better than that,” Charley says.
East tugs on one of her braids. “Charles appreciates provenance?”
Charley’s cheeks heat up. “Where’d you get the light fixture?”
“I ordered it from a decorator-only site,” he says. “I… kind of have someone helping me. This person has a really good eye and she has professional accounts so I can access stuff nobody else can get.”
“Who is it?” Charley asks. Her voice is spiked with jealousy. “I thought we were the only two people who knew about this.”
“We are,” East says. “Except for the two guys who helped the other day, but they think this is a sanctioned school project.”
“Plus the decorating consultant,” Charley says. “You realize the more people you tell, the greater chance we have of getting busted.”
“The decorating consultant won’t tell anyone,” East says. “Trust me.”
“Is it Davi?” Charley asks. Davi certainly has a good eye, and she might have access to design accounts through her parents.
East takes Charley by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. “It is not Davi. It would never be Davi.”
Great, Charley thinks. It’s probably some glamorous chick East knows from the city. She eyes the chandelier. There can be no arguing: It’s fabulous.
“Well, she has exquisite taste,” Charley says. “She’ll be a real asset to you down here.”
East bursts out laughing. “You are so territorial, ” he says.
“I’m not—”
“It’s my mother,” East says. “Lori Litavec, formerly Lori Eastman. She’s an interior decorator in LA.”
“Your mother ?” Charley says.
“She also thinks it’s a school-sanctioned project,” East says. “Which just goes to show how little she knows about Tiffin. But she’s very happy to help us with design elements.”
“Oh my god,” Charley says. Not Davi, not some Gen Z Kelly Wearstler. East’s mother is helping them decorate an illegal speakeasy in the bomb shelter beneath their boarding school dorms.
“All I could think about over the weekend was how much I wanted you to see this,” East says. “But we should probably go back up.”
“I’m sorry if I sounded territorial,” Charley says. “This is your project…”
“ Our project,” East says. “Next I have to work on the bathroom, build a bar, create a template for the granite, and get some furniture down here.”
Even though Charley is impressed by the floors and the chandelier, she holds no expectations of these next steps happening.
“There was something else I wanted to ask you,” East says.
She cocks an eyebrow. Part of her is always waiting for East to ask her to write one of his papers or dig him out of his hole in history class.
“Do you know about the Kringle?”
Charley blinks. The only Kringle she knows about is the breakfast pastry filled with almond marzipan that they sell at Trader Joe’s over the holidays. Her father used to eat the entire thing by himself.
“It’s the night before we leave for break,” East says. “Evensong in the chapel followed by a party in the Egg. People dress up; it’s upperclassmen only. And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
Charley stares at East, trying to determine whether or not this is a joke.
She has never heard of the Kringle, though who would tell her?
She has no friends. Is East asking her to attend a school function with him?
This is a prank or a gotcha, or something crueler.
This is Stephen King’s Carrie being crowned prom queen before they dump a bucket of pig’s blood over her head.
East takes a step closer and lays a hand on her cheek. “Just say yes.”
His expression is earnest. Either that or she’s the world’s biggest idiot. If that’s the case, so be it. All the girls on her floor are watching Love Actually —but Charley is living it. This is love, actually.
“Yes,” she says.
Zip Zap alert: Royce Stringfellow turned in a Hawthorne paper that he wrote using ChatGPT.
When Rhode Rivera reads the post, he thinks, Shit.