3. New Blood #3
When they step into Room 307, Audre wants to sing an aria.
The bed has been made with crisp blue sheets and a denim blue duvet; there are three plump pillows stacked at the head.
Half a dozen oxford shirts hang in the closet, along with a navy blazer.
In the bottom of the closet are shoes—Adidas Sambas, a pair of Nikes, Ferragamo driving moccasins.
The desk is piled with school supplies, including a new MacBook in the box and a graphing calculator.
On top of the dresser is a leather Dopp kit (monogrammed!) that holds new toothbrushes, floss, lotion, shaving cream.
Beside this is a stack of new bath towels.
Liam gazes around. “All this stuff is for me?”
“It’s all for you,” Audre says, then she pauses. “Do you wear glasses, Liam?”
“I have a pair in my bag but they’re…” Liam pulls out a pair of glasses with one arm cocked at a strange angle and badly scuffed lenses.
Audre nods. “We’ll get you an appointment with the optometrist in Springfield. I’ll see if I can get you in this week.”
She opens one of the dresser drawers to find a row of neatly folded polos—and in the drawer beneath that, shorts and pants.
“We have All-School Meeting in the chapel at noon, followed by a cookout on the beach and swimming in the pond.” Among the shorts, Audre spies a pair of striped Rip Curl board shorts.
O’Malley is a queen, a goddess; she’s thought of everything.
“You’re required to wear a collared shirt to the meeting. ”
Audre wonders if Liam will put up any resistance. Maybe he wants to wear his own clothes and not something bought for him out of… well, charity. Maybe he doesn’t want to conform to Tiffin tradition.
From the trash bag, he pulls out a pilled fleece blanket the color of a Band-Aid and, wrapped inside, a framed picture of two young boys sitting on brick steps—one of the boys is a young Liam, the other must be his brother.
Liam places the picture on his desk, then sits on the bed, testing it for give.
(There is none; Tiffin mattresses are like slabs of cement.)
“Thank you,” Liam says. “For letting me come here.”
Audre swallows. She wants to give the boy a hug. “It’s an honor to have you.”
She ducks out into the mayhem of the hallway: twenty-nine sophomores yapping about their fantasy football picks.
Audre has had a host of worthy distractions this morning, but the Feeling—Audre’s sixth sense that something is very wrong—is stronger than ever. She beelines back to her office; she needs to track down Oak Bellamy.
Davi Banerjee hangs her new neon sign by herself, though it’s probably a two-person job.
Once she has it straight and centered (she thinks), she plugs it in—and it glows in a lime green even more vibrant than she expected.
She gazes for a moment at her old sign, THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS, propped up on the floor, and sighs; the curly pink script has appeared in hundreds of her TikToks, but… it’s time to move on.
She decides to offer the old sign to Olivia H-T. Olivia has spent the past three years stalking Davi; she has the worst case of pick-me in the school. When Davi gives Olivia H-T the sign, Olivia will hug Davi too long and too tightly and say something like, “Plan my funeral. I’m dead.”
Davi texts Charley: Come now.
Charley texts back: I can’t. Mr. James is here assembling my bookcases.
Davi can’t believe Charley persuaded the head of security, Mr. James, to help her; he’s very strict about the boundaries of his job.
I liked the milk crate bookshelves, Davi says.
I’m fancy now.
Is IKEA fancy? Davi texts with the crying-laughing emoji. Please hurry. The sign is up. I want you to be the first one to see it.
Kk, Charley says.
A few minutes later, Charley pokes her head in the door. “Hey.”
“Close your eyes,” Davi says. Out in the hallway, she hears strains of Disco Lines coming from Olivia H-T’s room.
As Olivia sings along to “No Broke Boys,” Mrs. Wully’s golden retriever barks (probably in protest).
Davi hears Tilly Benbow say, “Is that dog going to live here all the time? I hate animals.”
Of course you do, Davi thinks.
“My eyes are closed,” Charley says.
Davi leads Charley into her room and stops her in front of the sign. Then she takes a beat. Will this sign live up to all the hype she’s given it?
Charley opens her eyes and reads the sign: COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS. Then she shrieks, which brings Olivia H-T, Tilly Benbow, and the dog running in.
Charley hugs Davi. “It is. Just. So. Perfect.”
Tilly Benbow regards the sign and blinks. “I don’t get it.”
Of course you don’t, Davi thinks.
“It’s a line from Handful of Dust by Evelyn Waugh,” Davi says. “Charley and I read it over the summer.”
“Did you two have a little… book club or something?” Olivia asks.
“We did,” Davi says.
“Like, in addition to doing our summer reading, you did more reading?” Tilly says. “That’s wack.”
“We read the Evelyn Waugh, Intimacies by Katie Kitamura, and Sula,” Davi says.
Tilly stares at her blankly.
“By Toni Morrison?” Charley says. “Please tell me you know who Toni Morrison is, Tilly.”
Olivia watches Tilly shrug, which is a relief. Olivia knows Toni Morrison wrote The Bluest Eye, but she has never heard of Sula. She isn’t a librarian.
“Anyway, a character in Handful of Dust says, ‘Comparisons are odious,’ and it struck me as… pithy,” Davi says.
(“Having substance and point.” Now that Davi has gotten her verbal score on the SAT up to a 580, she has tried to tamp down her preoccupation with vocabulary, but sometimes she can’t help herself.) “I view it as an important commentary about social media. I want all my followers to realize they shouldn’t be comparing themselves to me or anyone else. ”
“They will anyway,” Olivia says. “That’s, like, the whole point of social media.”
“I’m here to change the narrative,” Davi says. “This sign will be the new background of my TikToks.” She looks at Olivia. “Would you like my other sign?”
Plan my funeral, Olivia thinks. I’m dead.
“No,” Tilly says. “Why would Olivia want your old sign?”
“You don’t want it?” Davi asks Olivia.
“Nah,” Olivia blurts out—though she does want the sign. It could be worth money someday if Davi gets any more famous. In an attempt to change the subject, she says, “You guys know there’s a new sixth-former this year? His name is Liam. He’s from the city.”
“Sounds like you’re scheming, Olivia,” Davi says.
“She’s not scheming,” Tilly says. “He’s poor. He showed up with his things in a trash bag.”
“Liam is from a less advantaged background,” Charley says. “East met him over the summer and said he’s a really good, smart person.”
“A good, smart, poor person,” Tilly says. She looks at Olivia. “You can do better.”
Can Olivia do better? She knows that the new kid, Liam, comes from a working-class neighborhood, or whatever.
That’s what makes Olivia think she might actually have a chance with him.
Liam might want a girlfriend who doesn’t care how much his father’s hedge fund is worth or where his summer house is.
Olivia waited for Mr. Ewanick to return from the bus station in the van, and she lingered nearby as Liam Donovan disembarked.
He was extremely hot, hotter than she expected, she loved his strawberry blond hair, she loved how tall and broad he was.
He had seemed overwhelmed and a little vulnerable, which drew Olivia in.
She has wandered Tiffin’s campus for the past three years feeling exactly the same way.
She is scheming.
Olivia regards Davi’s sign one more time: COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS.
Comparisons have also, sadly, been a major part of Olivia’s life at Tiffin.
Yes, her parents are well-off, but somehow this hasn’t translated to popularity, or even acceptance, for Olivia.
She isn’t as thin as the other girls on her floor, and she somehow isn’t as normal.
The girls that Olivia is desperate to bond with have sturdier egos.
They don’t chase the way Olivia does, they have endless wells of confidence—even Charley Hicks, who showed up new last year with a closetful of kilts, cable-knit cardigans, and penny loafers.
Comparisons can also be useful, Olivia H-T decides.
When she compares herself now, as a sixth-former, to herself in previous years, she sees progress.
She started intermittent fasting and lost thirty pounds over the summer; she can finally fit into Brandy Melville.
She also grew her hair out and had it highlighted.
And she got a hold of a limited-edition Goyard tote in plum; even Tilly was impressed.
Comparisons are goals: This year is going to be so much better for Olivia.
“Anyway, congrats on the new sign,” Olivia says with a frostiness that feels powerful. “You should probably take the other one out to the dumpster, or see if you can pawn it off on a third-former.” With that, Olivia leaves Davi’s room, and Tilly follows with the dog at her heels.
“Why is this thing attached to me?” Tilly asks, as she shoos Alistair away. “Go on, git!”
Charley closes the door behind them. “I’ll tell you what’s odious,” she says.
Davi laughs. “Girl, I’ve missed you.”