Chapter 27 27 April 2017
Mr Harris sat at the seminar table with his students, distinguishable as their teacher primarily due to his linen sports coat, navy trousers and knit tie.
He’d attended Bard, a small liberal arts college in New York’s Hudson Valley, and he treated his class with the same respect and spirit of intellectual equality that had been instilled in him by his college professors.
As he’d made clear to Hannah and the others at the start of the year, they were nearly adults, after all.
The purpose of Prescott’s senior seminar was to prepare them for academics beyond high school. For life beyond high school.
He turned to Oliver, who sat beside Hannah at the round table. ‘And what about you?’
‘Dartmouth,’ Oliver replied. ‘Just formalised my acceptance last night.’
‘Congratulations.’ Mr Harris shifted his focus to Hannah. ‘Still deciding?’
Hannah had been going back and forth for weeks.
Despite her long stretch of indecision, her dad had still been surprised when she hadn’t jumped to accept her spot at UPenn the second the acceptance notice arrived.
But he’d been supportive as she’d reviewed her pros and cons list for the hundredth time and taken the past few weeks to consider all the angles. Something a good journalist would do.
She’d made her decision last night too, after a marathon phone call with Oliver. She’d even bitten the bullet and texted Grace, promising a long FaceTime this weekend. But this was the first time she’d say it out loud.
‘I’m staying right here. NYU College of Arts and Science.’
Oliver grinned and shot her a thumbs up.
From across the table, Theo flashed her a warm smile.
He was going to Princeton, of course, the alma mater of his father, two aunts, and grandfather.
He seemed happy about his plans, but Hannah wondered how supportive Theo’s parents would have been if he’d set his sights on Brown or, god forbid, one of the California schools.
Prescott’s elite had every door flung open, except when tradition was the only choice.
‘And Beatrice?’ Mr Harris asked next, making his way around the table. She’d been deciding between two top HBCUs. Like Hannah, she’d left the choice till the very end.
‘Today, I’m leaning towards Howard. I like the idea of an all-women’s college, but I don’t think I can do Atlanta.’ She made an exaggerated fanning motion with her hand, and Bash snorted. ‘Too hot.’
‘You’ll hate DC,’ Madison said. She was seated directly beside Mr Harris, and until this moment, she’d been entirely focused on her phone, which was barely concealed beneath the table.
Mr Harris either hadn’t noticed or, more likely, had long ago given up on battling Madison DuPont. ‘Stay in the city with me.’
Beatrice sighed. ‘You know I’m not going to Columbia. I applied to make my dad happy, but it’s always been Howard or Spelman.’
With one hand, Madison twisted her hair into a knot, then viciously stabbed a pencil through. ‘Fine. Leave me here, alone.’
‘Mads.’ Elle’s voice was a warning. ‘Drop it.’
‘You’re abandoning me for Boston,’ Madison sneered, clearly feeling no misgivings about turning a classroom discussion into a private conversation.
‘And I’m sorry, but there are like two million Black people in New York City and only ten thousand undergrads at Howard.
And, Columbia is the far superior school. ’
Beside her, Mr Harris’s spine stiffened. ‘Madison, enough. And put your phone in your bag, now.’
Interesting. Maybe he did still have some fight left in him when it came to Madison DuPont. Although if you were going to pick your battles, he’d gone the easy route.
Madison glared, but she dropped her phone into the leather tote slouching at her feet.
‘Thanks for your input,’ Beatrice said, all emotion drained from her voice. As ever, she let other people get into it with Madison and stayed out of the fray, even when she was, ostensibly, at its centre. It was a truly impressive quality.
‘As we all know,’ Mr Harris said flatly, ‘Madison will be studying creative writing at Columbia this fall.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Alice is enrolling at Sarah Lawrence, and Parker has accepted a spot at Johns Hopkins. Which brings us to Sebastian.’
Twelve heads swivelled to Bash. He was leaning dangerously far back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.
‘Well, Mr Harris, I’d say my fate rests in your hands. Either you agree my work has improved significantly these past few weeks, or you tell Cambridge to revoke my acceptance. Which is it going to be?’
Mr Harris’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s hardly that simple. You’re failing AP Chemistry, and “retiring from vaping” does not fulfil New York State’s physical education requirement.’
The front two legs of Bash’s chair found the floor with a thud.
‘Mr Lee says if I show up to PE for the rest of the semester, he’ll pass me.
And you will be happy to know I brought my chem grade up to a high D.
Graduation’s still six weeks away, last I checked.
There’s still plenty of time to turn things around. ’
‘I hope so,’ Mr Harris said. ‘Final seminar papers are due in two weeks, no extensions. We’ll spend the rest of the semester reading Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, and as a class, you will produce a podcast analysing the text.’
Hannah’s ears perked up. A podcast could be good experience going into her new major. At NYU. The relief of having decided was huge.
‘A podcast?’ Madison said sceptically. ‘This is a literature class.’
‘With a focus on writing,’ Mr Harris replied.
‘Writing and producing will require collaboration, self-direction, and scholarly depth. Skills you will all need as you start your next chapters.’ He turned just slightly in his chair to look at Madison.
‘Skills that will be imperative for your future success at Columbia.’
It remained a mystery how exactly Madison DuPont had sweet-talked her way into one of the best universities in the country (and the only one she wished to attend – leaving New York had never been an option).
She wasn’t a legacy; Alastair DuPont was a Yale man, and Charlene had grown up a southern belle, a graduate of Vanderbilt.
But when you’re a DuPont, wealth and influence speak louder than the best college essay.
Hannah was following the exact path she wanted; Madison’s relative success shouldn’t have bothered her.
But it was still a hard pill to swallow when she’d worked her butt off to secure the future of her choosing, whereas Madison’s lacklustre academic record didn’t seem to matter when it came to the start of the rest of her life.
Madison’s hand came to rest on the back of Mr Harris’s.
‘Thank you for explaining all that, Paul,’ she said sweetly.
‘I think it’s adorable how much you care about your students.
No one goes the extra mile like you do, ensuring we’re big boys and girls by graduation.
On the very brink of adulthood, ready to take that plunge. ’
Mr Harris extracted his hand from beneath Madison’s as if it was on fire.
All around the table, eyes darted between Madison and Mr Harris. This wasn’t the first time she’d spoken to him like this, a combination of flirtation and mockery that was distinctly Madison. But this time, she’d levelled things up. Touching him. Using his first name.
The whole thing made Hannah’s skin crawl. What game was Madison playing?
‘Class dismissed,’ Mr Harris said through clenched teeth, although seventeen minutes remained in the period.
As Hannah gathered her notebooks into her backpack, she felt a stab of sympathy for her teacher.
Mr Harris might look barely older than a student himself, but he was in his late twenties, with an MFA in creative writing from somewhere fancy, she couldn’t remember now.
A full-grown man being made to look foolish in front of the entire class, and what could he do about it?
Madison got away with speaking to absolutely everyone in her orbit exactly as she pleased, and teachers and school officials were no exception.
Hannah had seen her flat-out ignore Ms Caldwell in the halls before, and once she’d straightened Mr Roman’s tie in full view of the student lounge.
The math teacher’s face had gone crimson.
No one dared take disciplinary action against Madison.
The DuPonts were in Prescott’s top five per cent of donors, and more than that, they held enormous sway over the school’s reputation.
The second Prescott fell out of their favour, Alastair and Charlene would have zero qualms about directing the sons and daughters of New York’s elite to Dalton instead.
And so, Madison enjoyed carte blanche to do exactly as she pleased, a fact that had become increasingly clear as the year progressed.
Negging Mr Harris, or however you wanted to characterise this morning’s display, was hardly the worst of her sins.
But in witnessing him snatch his hand away, then dismiss the class, the enormity of Madison’s power struck Hannah full force.
She was fearless – and that was a dangerous thing to be.
Most of her classmates were already out in the hall, eager to be rid of the awkwardness and to take advantage of their bonus fifteen minutes of freedom before the second period bell.
Madison had been the first to stroll out the door, pulling the pencil from her hair and allowing her red waves to spill down her back.
Mr Harris had moved over to the rarely used teacher’s desk beneath the windows and was staring intently at something on his laptop screen.
When she found herself alone at the table, Hannah felt compelled to say something, to call out Madison’s behaviour for what it was, but would that only embarrass him further?
She zipped up her backpack and slid the straps over her shoulders.
Mr Harris spoke first. His eyes were still on his screen, but he must have sensed Hannah lingering there.
‘I can’t stop thinking that I’ve failed her.
She’ll graduate from Prescott knowing nothing about consequences.
’ He closed his laptop finally and removed his glasses, resting them on top.
‘But life won’t always be so easy for her, Hannah.
Columbia will be a wakeup call. And even if she sails through her undergraduate years the same way she’s sailed through high school, the realities of adulthood will hit.
At some point, being a DuPont will not be enough.
Someone will stand up to her. Someone will refuse to grant Madison her power, and she will learn. ’
There was something slightly ominous about Mr Harris’s words, but mostly, they made Hannah sad.
Learn what? she wanted to ask. What it feels like to lose?
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe him.
Would someone really stand up to Madison DuPont?
Would someone take away her power? It seemed childish to believe that could be true.
Look at the Fitzgeralds, the Beaumonts, the Harringtons, Madison’s own parents.
Generational wealth had gotten them everything.
Why should things turn out any differently for Madison, who was clever and cruel and knew exactly how to use the people around her to get everything her heart desired?
‘I’m sure she will,’ Hannah said softly, just to make Mr Harris feel better. ‘Someday.’
Then she slipped out of the room. Poor Mr Harris. It must be killing him inside, allowing Madison to walk all over him, living on the hope that someday, she’d get what she deserved.