16. The Holly and the Ivy #2
He’s making himself a cup of instant coffee in his room because he’s trying to avoid bumping into Chef Haz at the Paddock; Rhode still owes him a balance of eight hundred dollars for the disastrous dinner date with Simone.
Rhode goes to his laptop and brings up Royce’s essay, which compares Hester Prynne to Anna Karenina.
Rhode had been so impressed by the choice of topic, never mind the essay, that he’d awarded Royce an automatic A.
Rhode rereads the essay: Does it sound like AI wrote it?
The vocabulary is impressive, the structure impeccable, the comparisons between the heroines elite—but these are hallmarks of Royce’s usual work.
Does it sound like Royce’s voice? Rhode would have to go back and read Royce’s other essays, and who has time for that?
Not Rhode. He has to wrap up Hawthorne this week and get through The Crucible before Christmas break.
(He has dedicated an entire semester to old white men at the board’s insistence, but next semester will be different!)
Rhode isn’t going to discipline Royce Stringfellow due to some baseless claim on Zip Zap.
Before Rhode’s C-period class begins, Royce comes skulking into Rhode’s classroom.
“Mr. Rivera,” he says, “I came to beg forgiveness. I did use ChatGPT to write my essay.”
Rhode stands up. Royce Stringfellow is aptly named—he’s tall and rangy with pale hair and pasty skin. Today, he has brown circles under his eyes and a mess of cowlicks. “You’re an exceptional student, Royce. Why would you do that?”
Royce sits on the Harkness table, letting his long legs dangle. “Woman trouble,” he says. “I’ve been hanging out with Tilly Benbow since the start of school and, as you probably saw on Zip Zap, she’s been sexting with someone off camp.”
Yes, Rhode saw the post, but he doesn’t want to know any of the particulars. “I can empathize with woman trouble,” he says. Rhode hasn’t had a meaningful conversation with Simone since their date; if he thought that being a good sport about her poor showing would win him points, he was wrong.
“I’ll rewrite the essay on a different topic,” Royce says. “Maybe compare Hester Prynne with Emma Bovary? I’ll write it in front of you.” Royce gives Rhode a beseeching look. “Just please don’t give me a zero. My GPA is basically my only friend right now.”
Rhode considers this request. The kid blatantly cheats, gets caught by the mysterious, omniscient eyes of Zip Zap, but instead of denying it (which is what Rhode himself might have done), Royce admits the truth and offers to correct his ways.
Rhode thinks of Tilly Benbow sending nudes out into the scary world beyond Tiffin.
“That’s fine, Royce,” Rhode says. “See me after school and you can write a new essay in here.”
Royce blinks away tears. “Thanks, Mr. Rivera,” he says. “You’re a king.”
Zip Zap alert: Our beloved academy’s name has been dragged through the national mud. Click here for link.
Audre exhales. What is this all about? She opens the link and is taken to an Instagram post of The Cut, New York magazine’s online style/culture/power brand.
The headline reads: “Is Tiffin Academy’s #2 Ranking in America Today a Sham?
” The caption goes on to describe ISNEC’s inquiry.
“The coalition believes the number two spot may have been bought rather than earned, and they’re seeking answers from journalists at America Today .
How did the school jump seventeen spots in only one year? ”
Audre clenches a fist. As if the inquiry itself isn’t bad enough, now the whole world knows about it.
It doesn’t matter what the inquiry reveals, the mere suggestion of pay-for-play will be all anyone remembers.
Well, Audre thinks, Worthless has exacted his revenge: Tiffin’s reputation has been effectively sullied.
Before Audre can call out for Cordelia, she appears in the doorway of Audre’s office. “There’s a reporter from the New York Times on the phone,” she says, “asking if you have a comment on The Cut’s post.”
“No comment,” Audre says, which takes all her restraint.
What she’d like to say to the paper of record is that Douglas Worth is jealous.
And for good reason: Tiffin bumped him out of the number two spot.
Jesse Eastman is automatic clickbait because of his conspicuous wealth; Audre dearly hopes New York mag doesn’t do any more digging and discover the unorthodox arrangement they have in regard to East. Audre studies Cordelia, who hides a lockbox of secrets behind her somewhat dowdy exterior.
“Tell Laura Rae I’d like to speak at Chapel this morning after the service. ”
“Very good,” Cordelia says. Audre hears her say, “No comment, thank you, goodbye,” as Audre rifles through her drawer for a copy of The Bridle. Surely something in here will save her.
The chapel is glorious at Christmastime. The pews are hung with garlands; the altar is blanketed with red poinsettias. A wreath hangs from the pulpit. Because it’s a gray, drizzly day, they light all the candles, which cast the sanctuary in a golden glow.
All this coziness feels at odds with what Audre is about to do. She should be announcing that Piano Bar on Monday will include carols; she should be reminding fifth- and sixth-formers about the Kringle and lauding the squash team for their excellent showing at the Winter Invitational.
Instead, Audre says, “Some of you may have seen the latest post on Zip Zap about an official inquiry into our number two ranking. The inquiry is real, though baseless.” At least Audre hopes so.
In the moments before Chapel, she sent the link to the Cut post to Jesse Eastman with a text that said, Please reassure me again that you had nothing to do with our ranking, Jesse.
“We earned our ranking, fair and square.”
In the front row, Annabelle Tuckerman breathes a sigh of relief. She’s hoping that a GPA of 3.95 from the number two boarding school in the country might have more weight with the Princeton admission counselors than a 4.0 from a lesser school.
“The more insidious problem,” Audre says, “is that of Zip Zap itself. As per page one of The Bridle, there is to be no hateful rhetoric used at Tiffin—racial, sexual, ethnic, religious, or otherwise. In accordance with this most important of rules, I demand that all students delete the Zip Zap app from their phones.”
A ripple of chatter rolls through the chapel.
Audre raises her voice. “If it’s discovered that you still have the Zip Zap app on your phone—and every faculty member is authorized to conduct random checks—you will face an immediate Honor Board hearing.”
The chatter quickly becomes mayhem.
“Whoever is responsible for administering the Zip Zap app will be expelled from school.”
Sixth-former Teague Baldwin raises a hand. “What if the person behind Zip Zap is an adult?”
Audre blinks. She hasn’t considered this, but just because she would be unable to navigate an app like this doesn’t mean someone else on her payroll couldn’t. “That person will be dismissed.” Before the uproar can get any louder, Audre says, “You are excused. Off to A-period. Thank you.”
Mr. Chuy plays “Abide with Me” on the organ while Audre silently congratulates herself. She knows that Excelsior and Brownwell-Mather managed to vanquish Zip Zap, and although Audre wasn’t able to ask how they did it, she has found her own way.
That afternoon at the ’Bred Bulletin office, Ravenna is incandescent with rage—and, Charley thinks, glee.
“She can’t do this,” Ravenna says. “Do you know why, Grady?”
Grady beams. “Censorship?”
“Finally, we have a story!” Ravenna says. “I don’t like sending out email blasts, but I have no choice. Ms. Robinson can’t force us to delete Zip Zap. Our phones are our personal property. We have rights!”
“Yeah, rights!” Levi says. He’s at his post in front of the computer. “What do you want me to say?”
“‘Tiffin students resist censorship,’” Cordelia Spooner reads aloud when the email appears in her inbox. The entire student body is up in arms; the Honor Board is threatening to resign.
“‘None of us intend to delete the app,’ Head Prefect Lisa Kim announced. ‘The administration can’t dictate what we consume on our personal time.’”
Cordelia finds Audre in her office with her head in her hands.
“I assume you saw the email?” Cordelia says.
Audre looks up. “We have to find out who has control of the app.” She pauses. “It might entail getting our hands dirty.”
Bring it on, Cordelia thinks. She’ll do whatever it takes to catch the little fucker.
Fifth-form English students are assigned Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. A “crucible,” Mr. Rivera tells them, is “a test designed to bring about change or reveal an individual’s true character.”
Their essay prompt, due the day before Christmas break, reads, “ The Crucible details the effects of the witch trials in Salem. How do these trials affect the community? Government and authority? The Church? Individuals?”
Taylor Wilson is studying in the Sink with Dub and Charley Hicks.
She hasn’t spoken to Hakeem since before Thanksgiving.
He is fully with third-former Cassie Lee; they Intervis every night.
Taylor is surprised by how jealous this makes her.
Chasing Dub is an exercise in frustration.
They’re together all the time, but he has yet to make a move.
He probably doesn’t want to piss off Hakeem.
The three of them are victims of Zip Zap—just like Annabelle Tuckerman, just like Royce Stringfellow, just like Chef Haz, and just like poor Mrs. Spooner.
Taylor reads the essay prompt once, then a second time. She leans in.
“You guys?” she says. “Is it just me or is Zip Zap kind of like the Salem witch trials? We don’t know who will get accused next, or why.”
Charley had been thinking the exact same thing: The similarities between the themes in The Crucible and what’s happening now at Tiffin are uncanny.
“Mr. Rivera has access to our journals,” Dub says. “Do you think he’s…”
“Conducting a social experiment?” Taylor says.
“I love Mr. Rivera,” Charley says. “He is not behind Zip Zap.”
Love is blind, Dub thinks. The second he gets back to his room, he emails Ms. Robinson with their theory.