The Other Girl: A Midvale Academy Novel Read Online Free
Author: Sarah Miller
alumni magazine. “I was just reading about former Midvalians, saving the world, one dolphin and colonial farm implement at a time.”
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan hung up her bag and jacket on a coat tree and came to sit across from me on a gold brocade sofa. She sat back against the cushions and surveyed me for a long moment.
“Molly, would I be correct in assuming that your reasons for going to the chapel this morning were of a carnal nature?”
I nodded yes.
“Splendid. Well, that conversation is over then. Now for part two. Tell me something, Molly. Do you want to go to a school with other people who are as smart as you are? Do you want to live in a charming room on a beautiful campus where you read Hegel as rain patters gently against your dormer windows? Or do you want to continue to be a little smug and dismissive, and end up struggling over your statistics requirement in a concrete-block dorm filled with puddles of vomit?”
“Is that a trick question?” I asked.
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan plucked a stray thread off the armrest and set it in a silver-plated scallop ashtray. She was not amused.
“Part three.” She stood up and smoothed her hands over her tweed skirt. She went over to her desk and picked up a stack of papers about two feet high. It was so big that as she walked back to me I saw the skin near the collar of her cashmere twinset turn rosy with exertion.
“What’s this?” I said, as she set it down next to me.
“Academic Tête-à-Tête,” she said, as if this were something fun.
Academic Tête-à-Tête—Academic Head-to-Head—was a group that went around to other prep schools for scholarly competitions. Several students from each school faced each other while the hosting school’s adviser fired off questions about Prussian kings, 1982 Oscar winners, the theory of relativity, the arrival time of the train going from Peoria to Louisville, and so on. There was no buzzer—one student from each school went up alone and sat facing his opponent, so it wasn’t just a matter of knowing the answer but having the wherewithal to shout it out before the other loser did, or before you died from the terrible breath he had from pulling an all-nighterfor his differential calculus exam. ATAT (as we called it) was so incredibly for dorks that everyone on it made the people I was just reading about in the alumni magazines look cool.
“I don’t think so,” I said. But what I meant was, no effin way. Not only was Academic Tête-à-Tête a giant nerdfest, they also practiced, like, every night. I had better things to do at night. Like sneak Gid into my room.
I know I used to be a model Midvalian, all buoyed up by the magic of learning and immune to the distractions of vice. But now I just wasn’t.
“Molly, why did you come to this school?”
“I came here to get a good education,” I said.
“You came here because you wanted to go to Harvard,” she said. “And I have some not-so-great news for you. At this point, you would be very lucky to get into…I don’t know…Wisconsin.”
She herself had gone to Radcliffe, and from the way she said the word Wisconsin you’d think it was a 99¢ store instead of a perfectly decent university.
“Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan,” I said, “I want to go to a really fancy college, the kind of college where all you have to do for the rest of your life is say its name and people pass out at your feet. I really do. But if it means sacrificing everything that makes me happy to do it, well…”
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan’s expression returned to its usual state of calm, administrative concern.
“What makes you happy, Molly?”
I saw Gideon’s face when she said this. His handsome, open, brown-eyed face with his sort of square mouth and the smile he broke into when he saw me.
But I just said, “Lots of things make me happy, Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan.”
She turned on me with those china blue eyes that die-hard New Englanders have. I can’t say she looked as if she were going to
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan hung up her bag and jacket on a coat tree and came to sit across from me on a gold brocade sofa. She sat back against the cushions and surveyed me for a long moment.
“Molly, would I be correct in assuming that your reasons for going to the chapel this morning were of a carnal nature?”
I nodded yes.
“Splendid. Well, that conversation is over then. Now for part two. Tell me something, Molly. Do you want to go to a school with other people who are as smart as you are? Do you want to live in a charming room on a beautiful campus where you read Hegel as rain patters gently against your dormer windows? Or do you want to continue to be a little smug and dismissive, and end up struggling over your statistics requirement in a concrete-block dorm filled with puddles of vomit?”
“Is that a trick question?” I asked.
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan plucked a stray thread off the armrest and set it in a silver-plated scallop ashtray. She was not amused.
“Part three.” She stood up and smoothed her hands over her tweed skirt. She went over to her desk and picked up a stack of papers about two feet high. It was so big that as she walked back to me I saw the skin near the collar of her cashmere twinset turn rosy with exertion.
“What’s this?” I said, as she set it down next to me.
“Academic Tête-à-Tête,” she said, as if this were something fun.
Academic Tête-à-Tête—Academic Head-to-Head—was a group that went around to other prep schools for scholarly competitions. Several students from each school faced each other while the hosting school’s adviser fired off questions about Prussian kings, 1982 Oscar winners, the theory of relativity, the arrival time of the train going from Peoria to Louisville, and so on. There was no buzzer—one student from each school went up alone and sat facing his opponent, so it wasn’t just a matter of knowing the answer but having the wherewithal to shout it out before the other loser did, or before you died from the terrible breath he had from pulling an all-nighterfor his differential calculus exam. ATAT (as we called it) was so incredibly for dorks that everyone on it made the people I was just reading about in the alumni magazines look cool.
“I don’t think so,” I said. But what I meant was, no effin way. Not only was Academic Tête-à-Tête a giant nerdfest, they also practiced, like, every night. I had better things to do at night. Like sneak Gid into my room.
I know I used to be a model Midvalian, all buoyed up by the magic of learning and immune to the distractions of vice. But now I just wasn’t.
“Molly, why did you come to this school?”
“I came here to get a good education,” I said.
“You came here because you wanted to go to Harvard,” she said. “And I have some not-so-great news for you. At this point, you would be very lucky to get into…I don’t know…Wisconsin.”
She herself had gone to Radcliffe, and from the way she said the word Wisconsin you’d think it was a 99¢ store instead of a perfectly decent university.
“Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan,” I said, “I want to go to a really fancy college, the kind of college where all you have to do for the rest of your life is say its name and people pass out at your feet. I really do. But if it means sacrificing everything that makes me happy to do it, well…”
Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan’s expression returned to its usual state of calm, administrative concern.
“What makes you happy, Molly?”
I saw Gideon’s face when she said this. His handsome, open, brown-eyed face with his sort of square mouth and the smile he broke into when he saw me.
But I just said, “Lots of things make me happy, Mrs. Gwynne-Vaughan.”
She turned on me with those china blue eyes that die-hard New Englanders have. I can’t say she looked as if she were going to
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