11. Sweater Weather
Davi opens her cedar chest filled with cashmere and puts on a soft ivory boatneck, which she pairs with a long silk bias-cut skirt. She regards herself in the mirror with approbation (“approval”) but knows the second she lays eyes on Pippa, this outfit will feel either too childish or too matronly.
She moves through the fourteen steps of her makeup routine—her hair is clipped back with Emi Jay barrettes—but only films the last step, which is her applying Better Than Sex mascara. She and the brand have a collab deal; with just one post, Davi will sell a few hundred units.
Davi sets up her phone camera and applies the wand to her upper lashes. “This Better Than Sex is actually better than sex—or nearly,” Davi says. “It’s giving me a whole new eye.” She applies the other side, then smiles, holding the rose gold metallic tube up so the phone can see.
She collapses on her bed to rewatch the video.
Her neon-green COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS sign is in the background; the script is backward in the mirror, which feels right to Davi.
She can’t believe someone attending Tiffin is making her feel so second-tier.
She has ruled this school for the past three years; it’s fucked-up that a rival should appear out of the blue now, in sixth-form.
A day student, which at Tiffin is as rare as a solar eclipse or a comet.
Pippa has captured the school’s imagination.
The entire fourth-form—Cassie Lee and her minions—hang on Pippa’s every word, post her every look; Davi wouldn’t be surprised if they all suddenly start smoking unfiltered Camels like Pippa too.
Davi knows pictures of Pippa from First Dance instantly traveled to kids at Milton, Taft, Choate.
Pippa’s enrollment here will cause an increase in application numbers, which will boost Tiffin’s ranking.
Spooner will be over the moon. All of this was by design, Davi realizes.
Spooner was the one who opened the metaphorical gates and ushered Pippa through in the first place.
Davi takes a deep breath as she slides her laptop into her new mocha suede Margaux bag (she ordered it online because her Goyard tote suddenly seemed too basic), and she reminds herself that karma is real.
Pippa has a whiff of perfidy (“deceitfulness, untrustworthiness”) about her—the way she’s shamelessly pursuing Liam, for example, when she must have a host of other suitors—finance bros, famous DJs.
Davi just has to be patient, focus on her own goals.
She must get into the University of Miami… where she’ll be free of Pippa and of frenemies like Olivia H-T. Davi never thought she’d feel excited about leaving Tiffin. But that has now changed.
Her phone buzzes with a text—her father.
Davi steels herself. He probably saw the charge from The Row for the Margaux bag. Davi has a liberal spending allowance, but not that liberal.
The text says: Darling, wanted to let you know I’ll be coming alone to Family Weekend.
Davi exhales her relief: Not the bag. Then she thinks, My father is coming to Family Weekend alone?
She should be happy about this as well. Last year, Davi’s parents showed up with their “third,” Saylem, in tow, which sent Davi spiraling.
Saylem is still very much in the picture; she and Davi’s mother, Ruby, are as connected as a shark and remora.
They stayed behind in London while Davi and Vikram spent the summer in Tuscany as usual.
Davi has been guilty of saying that she doesn’t care if she ever speaks to her mother again—though she doesn’t quite mean it. She can’t believe her mother isn’t making the effort to come to Family Weekend. It’s Davi’s final year at Tiffin!
Just as Davi is about to respond with a big, fat WTAF? her phone rings.
Her father is calling her? This is so unusual that, even though Davi is allergic to talking on the phone, she answers.
“Dad? I have class in ten minutes.”
“Davi,” Vik says. His voice is giving bankruptcy or house fire.
“What’s wrong?” All Davi can think is that the reason Vik is coming alone to Family Weekend is that Ruby is dead. Or Saylem is. Please, she thinks, hating herself for her cruelty, let it be Saylem.
Vikram sighs. “Your mother and I have come to a fork in the road, I’m afraid. She’s going one way and I the other.”
Are you Robert Frost? Davi thinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We’re getting a divorce, darling.”
Davi flinches as though she’s been slapped.
“I didn’t want to tell you in a text,” Vik says. “So I thought I’d call…”
“Call?” Davi says. Do her parents not understand the very basics of American culture? You don’t drop the dirty divorce bomb over the phone. You do it in person, in an appropriately quiet and discreet setting. Davi’s eyes blur with tears. Her sign becomes a neon-green splatter against the wall.
“I wanted to give you time to process the news before I arrived,” Vik says. “I didn’t want you to have to grapple with it among the other families.”
“Why isn’t Mom on this call?” Davi asks. “Why didn’t you call me together?”
“Your mother thought it was best if I broke the news…”
Right, Davi thinks. Ruby calls the shots in the business, in the household, in the bedroom. Vik is her valet, her lackey, her cuckold (“a man whose wife is unfaithful”).
“It’s because of Saylem?” Davi asks.
Vik clears his throat. “Your mother and I have agreed not to place any blame—”
“Bullshit,” Davi says. “Mom wants to be with Saylem exclusively.”
“Yes,” Vik says softly. “I’m sorry, darling.”
Davi would love to scream, You’re sorry?
Followed by a full-blown tantrum. But she has class in six minutes and she can’t afford a missed commitment.
Mr. Maverick suggested that Davi apply to Santa Clara University in California, and also to Rollins in Winter Park if she’s set on Florida (she isn’t set on Florida, she’s set on Miami, there’s a difference).
But for Davi, only the U will do. There can be no missteps, not even one as small as showing up five minutes late to Boarding School Lit.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Davi says. “Okay? I have to go.” She hangs up, feeling very much like she’s the parent and Vik is the child (and Ruby too, some kind of rebellious teen who doesn’t realize how destructive her actions are).
Davi sacrifices her cute Prada slides, putting on her Vejas instead. She has to run.
Now that the mornings have grown chillier, Cordelia abandons her early walks outdoors and heads to the fitness center in the Field House to do a brisk two miles at 7 percent incline on the treadmill.
The first morning, she sees Rhode Rivera in the weight area, pumping iron. The expression on his face is so contorted, Cordelia can only imagine him sitting on the toilet. She looks away.
She sees Rhode again the following morning. This time, he catches her eye in the mirror and she waves.
On the third morning, they have officially established a routine, and despite the awful grunting noises Rhode makes while lifting and the long breaks he takes in between sets where he scrolls through his phone, Cordelia feels a respect.
Like Cordelia, Rhode is prioritizing his physical and mental well-being.
He might look and sound a bit silly, but Cordelia probably does as well—in her black yoga pants, her XL Tiffin Thoroughbreds T-shirt (she wanted one long enough to cover her derriere), and her marshmallow-white On Cloud sneakers.
She listens to an ’80s mix and sometimes sings along accidentally to “Jessie’s Girl” and “Only in My Dreams.” What could be more embarrassing than that?
On the fourth day, Cordelia and Rhode finish up at exactly the same time, and find themselves together at the water fountain. Rhode ushers Cordelia forward. “Please.”
As Cordelia fills her Stanley cup, she feels some kind of small talk is required. She means to ask Rhode how his year is going, but the endorphins in her bloodstream hijack her good sense because instead she says, “Are you still in touch with Simone Bergeron? I remember you two were close.”
Rhode rears back. He can’t believe Spooner just casually brought up Tiffin’s own Voldemort, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
“I’m not,” he says. “Are you still in touch with Honey Vandermeid? I remember you two were close.”
Touché, Cordelia thinks. Honey sent a third text, late on a Thursday night, that said, Where are u, Cord? But Cordelia didn’t respond to that text either, proof that her willpower is every bit as defined as Rhode’s triceps.
“I’m not,” Cordelia says. She’s finished at the fountain. “Have a nice day, Mr. Rivera.”
“And you, Mrs. Spooner,” he says.
Rhode always looks forward to his Boarding School Lit class.
Today, they’re discussing literary influences in Tobias Wolff’s Old School, which might be Rhode’s favorite novel on the reading list. The kids seem to be into the plot twists, and a heated conversation about jealousy and plagiarism ensues.
Even Pippa Sacks, who reminds Rhode of a line from an Elvis Costello song (“She’s filing her nails while they’re dragging the lake”), is engaged.
Rhode isn’t na?ve enough to believe she’s actually read the book, but he’ll give her points for participating.
On the one hand, he wishes someone were filming the class—the exchanges are that elevated and thoughtful—but on the other hand, Rhode is only three-quarters present. One-quarter of his mind (at least) is cursing Cordelia Spooner for asking about Simone.
Rhode has endeavored to start this year off right—lifting at the fitness center every morning, focusing on prep and assessment for his classes, making a concerted effort as a dorm parent (he’s hosted one pizza night and has learned the names of all the boys on his floors, including the underclassmen).
But he’s a forty-one-year-old man, and there’s no denying he’s lonely.