23. Ivy Day
Ivy Day.
But for Annabelle Tuckerman, it’s Princeton or the apocalypse.
Decisions usually arrive at five o’clock, but because the twenty-eighth falls on a Saturday this year, the release time is eight a.m. EST.
It’s now five minutes to seven.
Honey wonders how Annabelle Tuckerman is faring. Did she sleep last night? Honey should have checked in, but that would have been showing blatant favoritism.
The biggest surprise of Honey’s year is that Annabelle Tuckerman has sort of become Honey’s favorite—all thanks to Zip Zap.
Annabelle had flat-out fabricated her senior speech, “Three Brushes with Death,” then planned to use it as the topic of her college essay.
When Zip Zap called this out, Annabelle confessed to Honey: She’d lied.
That meant it was back to the drawing board on the essay.
Annabelle had so many false starts on her new essay (first, she wrote about her decision to go to boarding school, then about her attachment to her teddy bear, then about her summer service trip to Ecuador) that she missed Princeton’s Early Decision deadline.
Not applying ED would set Annabelle back even further, Honey knew, though she respected Annabelle’s decision to get her essay right.
Only a week before Princeton’s regular decision deadline, Annabelle emailed Honey her new essay with the subject line I’m using this one.
The title was “Zip Zapped.” The essay told the whole sordid story about how Annabelle had lied in her senior speech and her original college essay—because she wanted to stand out and seem extraordinary—and how she’d gotten busted by Zip Zap, then faced scrutiny and scorn from the entire Tiffin community.
I didn’t want anyone at Princeton to find out about this, Annabelle wrote.
But then I realized that college admissions officers understand they’re admitting human beings who are not only learning, winning, and succeeding, but also failing, losing, and making mistakes.
I’m sure most students don’t amplify their failures, but I’m doing so because getting caught in this lie is the most significant thing that has ever happened to me.
It changed how I viewed who I am, and more importantly how I visualize the person I want to become.
Wow, Honey thought when she finished. It was a gamble for sure; the Ecuador essay, although run-of-the-mill, might be a safer bet. But Annabelle was resolute.
I’m using this one.
Now Honey texts Simone Bergeron: How’s Annabelle doing?
Simone answers: Okay, I guess. Why?
Does Simone not realize it’s Ivy Day? Honey thinks. She’s Canadian, so maybe not.
Simone texts again: I’m actually not doing so great. Do you have time to talk today, or tonight?
Tonight, Honey and Cordelia are supposed to go to the Wooden Duck.
It’s their standing Ivy Day tradition, though Honey has lost all enthusiasm where Cordelia is concerned.
During their time in Florida over spring break, Cordelia was saintly with Honey’s mother—but Honey knew that Cord expected emotional reciprocation.
I’ll do the heavy lifting with Sarabeth as long as you love me like you used to.
Cordelia wanted hand-holding and cuddling and early morning sex and walks on the beach and cocktails at sunset.
Honey went through the motions, trying to ignore her growing ick.
She no longer felt the way she used to about Cordelia. There was no explanation, nothing had happened. Cordelia’s ardor had grown and Honey’s had diminished. It happened in relationships all the time, every day. Honey felt guilty about it, which turned her off even further.
She texts Simone: I’ll find time. Let me see how this morning goes with Annabelle.
Simone texts back: Kk.
Dear god, Honey thinks. She really has no idea what today is. She’s either living under a rock… or very preoccupied with something else.
Honey is so suffused with anticipation and anxiety (Annabelle’s safety school is West Virginia, chosen solely because if Annabelle can’t have Princeton, she wants to party her face off) that she swings by the chapel to light a candle.
She then stops at the Teddy for a banana-pineapple smoothie.
These are delay tactics: Honey doesn’t want to be sitting at her desk when the decisions come out.
The year before, Ivy Day was a cause for massive celebration: Honey had eleven kids apply to the Ivies and eight got in.
Willow Levy’s older brother, Adam, got into Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and the Naval Academy (which was where he ended up).
Honey needs only a fraction of that success today.
Just one kid, one school. Is it too much to ask?
As she waits for her smoothie, the chapel bells chime. Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, Honey thinks. It tolls for thee. Her heart is beating so fast it probably counts as a medical condition. Her phone buzzes: This is it, then. The answer.
She checks her texts. It’s Cordelia, with a row of question marks.
Honey huffs. Doesn’t Cord realize she’ll text as soon as she hears?
While Honey has her phone out, she logs on to TikTok.
It’s only 8:03, but the first posts are already up.
A boy named Michael Josephson from Methacton High School in Fairview Village, Pennsylvania, films himself opening an email from Columbia.
Rejected! Honey scrolls: A girl named Lucy Love in Grand Rapids, Michigan, opens an email from Yale.
Rejected! Then Lucy opens an email from Dartmouth: Rejected!
What has Honey been telling the sixth-form parents? College admissions get tougher every year.
Honey’s smoothie is finally ready. There can be no more stalling; it’s off to work she goes.
Honey can see Annabelle through the glass of her office window, hunched over, sobbing.
Shit, Honey thinks. Shit, shit, shit. She feels bad for Annabelle, but also for herself.
She has never, in all her years at Tiffin, had a student want a school this fervently; she should have done more.
She should have called Princeton one more time on Annabelle’s behalf, although sometimes, she knows, pestering them too much can lead to a rejection.
When Honey opens the door, Annabelle rushes into Honey’s arms. Honey absorbs her sobs and runs a hand down the girl’s spine the way she senses a mother would.
“It’s okay,” Honey says. “Everything is going to be okay.” She considers singing “Almost heaven… West Virginia…” but this definitely counts as “too soon.”
Annabelle finally lets Honey go and breaks into a smile as tears stream down her face. “I got in,” she says. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
Whaaaa? Honey thinks. She got in ? In the next instant, both Annabelle and Honey are jumping up and down, screaming at the top of their lungs.
Honey makes Annabelle show her the email…
because frankly, Honey doesn’t quite believe it.
But there it is: Congratulations, Annabelle Tuckerman!
We’d like to offer you a spot in the Princeton University Class of 2030.
It’s real, Honey thinks.
When Annabelle leaves Honey’s office—she’s late for Diff EQs—Honey collapses in her office chair.
She should text Cordelia first. Cord has been at Honey’s side through this journey since last spring; nobody will understand what this means to Honey more than her.
But instead, Honey texts Simone: Annabelle got into Princeton! What do you say we go out tonight to celebrate? The Alibi, maybe? Leave around six, back by nine?
Simone texts back a thumbs-up, and Honey beams. Now she just has to figure out how to break her date with Cordelia.
Honey insists that they Uber to the Alibi so they can both have a cocktail or two. “I’m in the mood for ice-cold Veuve Clicquot,” Honey says. “Too bad the Alibi doesn’t serve champagne.”
Simone wants to gag, remembering the two bottles of Pour Deux she demolished by herself when she and Rhode went to the Alibi at the beginning of the school year.
The same grizzled gentleman, Jefferson, is behind the bar when they arrive. He doesn’t seem to recognize Simone, but his eyebrows lift when he sees Honey. “Hey, Hon,” he says. “What’ll it be?”
“Maker’s Mark old-fashioned for me, Jeff,” she says. “And for my friend…?”
Simone knows she should stick to wine, but what are the chances they have even a decent bottle of chardonnay? “The same.”
Jefferson mixes up the cocktails, which come in smudged highball glasses, though Honey doesn’t seem to mind. They toast at the same moment the colored Christmas lights over the bar come on.
“Here’s to Annabelle,” Honey says. “Lordy, what a day. I try not to judge my performance in terms of acceptances and rejections, but today was a definite win.”
“Here’s to you!” Simone says. She takes a sip of her drink and gasps. It’s strong.
“ And to Annabelle’s parents, who had a four-hundred-dollar orchid delivered to my office by noon,” Honey says. She looks at Simone. “Were the girls celebrating when you left?”
“Annabelle and Ravenna were,” Simone says. “I didn’t see Lisa.”
Right, Honey thinks. Lisa is probably sulking.
She didn’t get into Harvard (she applied just for kicks) and she also didn’t get into her first choice, Tulane.
She did, however, get into the University of Virginia, George Washington, and Emory, which are all prestigious schools—though they might not feel that way on Ivy Day.
The admissions chat, while endlessly fascinating to Honey, is probably putting Simone to sleep. “So what’s up with you? You wanted to talk?”
Simone considers her drink; she wants to slam the rest of it back. “It’s about Rhode.”
“Rhode?”
“He’s obsessed with me,” Simone says. “At the beginning of the year, I thought we could be friends.” She gazes down the bar. “The two of us came here, actually. We bumped into Chef Haz, thank god, because I got tipsy and if Haz hadn’t seen us, I think Rhode might have taken advantage of me.”