Chapter Thirty-Four Maya

Chapter Thirty-Four

Maya

January 2012

A couple of weeks after winter formal, I was studying in my room when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Maya, this is Professor DuPont. I have an opportunity I’d like to talk to you about,” he said.

“What kind of opportunity…”

Since Winter Formal, when I saw Lila in his office and he’d expressed his disappointment in my grades, I’d avoided his weekly office hours. His criticism especially hurt because I’d come to see him as a sort of mentor. Apart from the past couple of weeks, I would spend every Thursday evening at his office hours, and after we finished talking about class, he’d sometimes pour us a glass of wine and go off on a tangent about his upbringing.

It turned out, as different as we were, our upbringing was quite similar—he came from a middle-class background and was deeply affected by the loss of his mother too. From these conversations, I began to form a connection with him deeper than that of a professor and student—not in an inappropriate way, though I did find him attractive, but like a mentor and advocate. I began to see a future for myself where, if I worked hard and met the right people, I could someday be as successful as he was.

“You need a job,” he said. “I have some friends who could use your help.”

—

The address Professor DuPont gave me sent me to a nice house a few blocks from campus. He’d offered me forty dollars an hour, triple what I normally made at the restaurant.

But something felt off…why did he want me for this job?

When I arrived at the house, a cold sweat ran down my back. I rang the doorbell, and a woman with large eyes and a windblown appearance opened the door. She looked surprised at first, giving me a quick up and down, but quickly recovered.

“You must be Maya. I’m Suzanne Fuller. Please, come in, come in.” Before I’d walked through the door, Mrs. Fuller yelled into the house. “Calum! The tutor’s here!”

A golden retriever ran up to me and began licking my hand. Pleasantly surprised, I reached down and ruffled his head.

“Oh, that’s Gus. I’m sorry. Goodness. Gus!” Mrs. Fuller pulled the dog by the collar and I got a whiff of her heady perfume.

“It’s okay, I love dogs.” I brushed myself off before taking a look around. It was an older house and had a homey feel to it, with a wreath over the fireplace and the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the kitchen.

“I don’t know where he is,” she said, flustered. “Calum! Get down here, now!”

Mrs. Fuller gestured for me to follow. When we reached the kitchen, she told me to sit. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”

“Oh, I’m okay, thank you.” I set my bag down on a chair.

After scurrying around the kitchen, Mrs. Fuller brought over a plate of cookies and a glass of water and disappeared into the hallway. I nervously set my books and supplies on the table.

When Mrs. Fuller returned, a dopey-looking teenager followed, with deep bags under his eyes, acne, and a swoop of white-blond hair. His mother pulled out the chair next to me and the boy slumped in, neck hunched so far over his phone I thought it might break. His skin was such a pasty white, like he’d never seen the sun.

“Give me that.” His mother snatched away his phone. “I told you no more games.” He shrugged and looked down at his hands. “Say hello.”

“Hello,” the boy said as he picked loose skin from his thumb.

“Hi there,” I said. “I’m Maya…I know you’d rather be hanging with your friends. But we’ll make this fun. Promise.”

The boy looked up at me; his eyes were big and green like his mother’s. I sat up straighter. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Calum.”

This seemed to satisfy his mother, who gave a little nod and left the kitchen. Calum eyed the chocolate chip cookies sitting in front ofus.

“Pretty nice of your mom.”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

I opened the notebook. “One thing I like to do before starting these personal essays is to make it a sort of game.” I drew a line on the paper and wrote FUN. “What are some things you like to do?”

Calum shrugged, grabbed a cookie, and started picking out the chocolate chips.

“Oh, come on. Music? Sports?”

He ate the chocolate chips one at a time. Once they were all gone, he set the cookie on the table and licked his fingers. Gross. When the dog came over and started sniffing, Calum stroked his back, running his hand all the way down the dog’s tail.

“I like the way his tail feels after he comes back from the groomer’s,” he said, gripping onto it tightly until the dog whimpered. I swallowed, forcing myself to look away.

After a half hour, Calum grew distracted and pulled out his phone, like he thought I was going to write the application for him.

Frustrated, I went to the other room where Mrs. Fuller was on the phone. “Are you sure she’s the most qualified person for this?” she said in a whisper, obviously talking about me.

When I got back to the kitchen, I said firmly, “All right, Calum, enough of this. Time to get to work.”

An hour later, Calum had written a few activities he enjoyed—a video game called Halo, golf, and Tarantino movies. It was a start. When we were wrapping up, I noticed that Calum was staring at me with a peculiar expression. “You have really nice eyes.”

I sat back, disquieted. “That’s…nice. Thank you.” I forced a smile and focused on packing the notebooks and pens.

But Calum kept staring. “So you’re the one taking the SAT for me in March, right?”

“What?” I looked at him, confused. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” DuPont had never mentioned an SAT. Plus we looked nothing alike. And also, that would be wrong. And illegal.

“My mom said they have special testing centers where the proctors work for us.”

I went still. I could feel my heartbeat in my chest. “No…um, no, that’s not something I’m doing.”

Calum shrugged, pushed his chair back, and left the table. Disturbed, I went into the other room to find Mrs. Fuller, but she was facing away. “What’s unfair is what they do for these athletes,” she says into the phone. “I mean, the football team? What a bunch of Neanderthals. ”

I shrank back, but she kept chattering on, unaware of my presence. “Can’t we say he’s a golf recruit or something? Squash?” Who was she talking to? It couldn’t possibly be Professor DuPont. He wouldn’t be okay with this kind of thing. Would he?

I turned to leave and my foot bumped a side table, sending a delicate lamp rocking. I quickly reached out to catch it. Mrs. Fuller spun around. Her eyes went wide, and she dropped the phone to her side.

“Oh! You’re done! Here, let me write you a check.”

“That’s all right, Professor DuPont will—”

“Nonsense.” She pulled out her checkbook and was scrawling with a pen. “A little something extra for the hassle.”

She came over and handed me the check. I wanted to tell her I would not take the SAT for her son, and I was done helping him write his application—he clearly wasn’t interested in doing so. If Professor DuPont knew they were cheating to get into Princeton and through their involvement with the foundation, he could get fired. The school took academic dishonesty very seriously. I could get expelled.

“Thank you so much, Maya.” She ushered me toward the door. “Matthew tells me you’re one of his brightest. He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you. Anyhow, I look forward to seeing you next week. Oh, and while you work on the essay—feel free to call me with any questions.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I expect you’ll do a stellar job.” I felt dizzy from her perfume.

After we parted ways, and I was halfway down the walkway, I glanced at the check in my hands. The amount was for ten thousand dollars.

My hand flew to my mouth.

Though it was only a piece of paper, it felt heavy. I remembered how hard I’d worked to get into this school, raking through thick prep books, taping sticky notes with vocab words on the bathroom mirror. But this kid—this little shit who had clearly never worked a day in his life—was going to pay his way in? And they wanted me to do all the work for him?

I wanted to tear up the check. I hated that they thought—that Professor DuPont thought—I could be bribed. I had to prove them wrong.

But then I thought of my sister and firmed my jaw. It’s not my fault the world is unfair. People like the Fullers had the money to donate a building if they wanted to. They’d get that kid into the school with or without my help. But I’d only be able to help Naomi if I helped Calum. Besides, one more legacy applicant wasn’t going to change anything.

Drawing a breath, I delicately placed the check in the zippered pocket of my bag. Oh, I am the most qualified person, Mrs. Fuller, and this’ll be the best damn essay you’ve ever seen.

—

I took the sat for Calum the following week and acedit.

It gave me a sick sense of pride, knowing that I belonged here more than a kid like Calum Fuller. That I, a girl from nowhere, with no parents, no money, could get into a place like this on my own, and Halo -playing-Tarantino-loving-pimple-popping Calum Fuller needed all the help he could get.

This wasn’t a meritocracy, not at all; it never had been. Life wasn’t fair. Unlike what my mother believed, hard work alone wouldn’t make me successful. Like my mother, I’d held the Ivy League schools up on a pedestal since I was a child, thinking only the best and brightest, only the hardest workers, were blessed with the opportunity to study here.

But boy was I wrong. This school, with all its prestige, was a system run on favors, big and small, like every major institution in this country, and, you know what? I could play this game too. I was a small, a very small, piece of the problem. I had my sister to take care of. My promise to her superseded everything else.

In the weeks after, I met with Calum twice weekly and filled out the rest of his application while he played Angry Birds on his phone. His mother had given me the content for it—Calum took care of her when she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Though I saw no evidence of the cancer—in fact, Mrs. Fuller looked exceedingly healthy, her skin rosy as ever, as if she’d just come back from the spa—I convinced myself it was true and wrote the essay while thinking of my own mother.

Whenever I’d feel guilt creeping up my throat, I swallowed it, tamped it down. This was a job. That was it. I was doing this for my sister. If I didn’t do it, someone else would.

The week after I’d turned in Calum’s application, I got a call from Goldman Sachs and nearly leaped with excitement: Mrs. Fuller had gotten me an internship with her friend, a managing director. It paid well and would be essential training for a future analyst position.

—

One night that week, I was in the Sterling Club library after everyone else had left, surrounded by textbooks. I was days behind on studying for our upcoming exam, but my bank account was full—with twelve thousand dollars.

But my tutoring job also meant I’d spent less time talking to my sister. Last week, Aunt Ella called to tell me Naomi was refusing to go to school.

“I don’t know what happened,” Aunt Ella said.

But when I called my sister, she wouldn’t tell me either.

“Are you getting enough to eat?” My voice was controlled, but my hand clenched the phone so hard it hurt.

“Yeah.”

It took another half hour to get Naomi to tell me what happened: She’d taken the bus back from school and was doing her homework when a woman had knocked on the door. Aunt Ella was still at work and had told the kids not to answer if she wasn’t home. But the woman knocked harder and wouldn’t go away. When Naomi answered, the woman said she was a neighbor, wanted to check in to make sure an adult was in the house. When she found out it was just Naomi and the older boys, they had gotten upset with her. Naomi was shaken by it. She didn’t understand what she’d done wrong, and the woman had scared her.

“But it’s okay now,” Naomi said.

“Why didn’t you tell Aunt Ella?”

“Bryan said not to.” Bryan was the older of Ella’s boys.

I took a deep breath. It was impossible to get through to her over the phone. It would be better if we were together; I could hold her hand, look her in the eye, tell her it’s okay. But really, I didn’t know if it was okay—if the neighbor called CPS, Naomi could end up in the system, and there was no telling what would happen to her then. I could hear her muffled crying, and it was like a knife through my chest.

With new determination, I returned to my reading. Twelve thousand dollars wasn’t enough for an apartment, food, and healthcare. I needed to find a way to make more.

Several hours later, I put my head down on my arms and drifted off.

—

I woke with a start to a rattling sound. the window next to me was open, shutters banging in the wind. Lifting my head from my arms, I slowly blinked awake. Where am I? Mahogany shelves filled with books, a cavernous space. The library. Sterling Club’s library. I pulled my jacket over my shoulders. It’s freezing in here. That’s when I noticed I wasn’t alone.

I jolted upright. A dark figure was standing in the doorway.

“You fell asleep.” I recognized Marta’s voice. She stood illuminated in the doorway, next to a bucket and mop.

“Yeah, s-sorry,” I stuttered. “I don’t know what happened.”

I scrambled to pick up my books and shoved them one by one into my book bag. Marta didn’t move from where she was standing, watching me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, swallowing the knot in my throat. I remembered how Cecily had snapped at her when we were getting ready for Winter Formal. Since then, I’d noticed other members either ignoring her or being rude, acting like she was their mother, there to pick up after them. I didn’t like it, so I’d gone out of my way to be kind to her.

She blinked once and took a step forward into the library. The look on her face was usually cold and unemotional, but today there was something different about it. “Mr. DuPont is away for business…I was cleaning his office and found this.” She held up a tiny gold earring. I was pretty sure it was Lila’s.

“I think I know whose that is—I can give it back to her.” I stood slowly and walked over to her to take the earring. I glanced at the clock. Two-fifteen a.m. ? Oh god. “I should get going. It’s late—”

“Wait.” Marta looked panicked. “You’re friends with this girl, yes? The girl with the red hair?”

I nodded slowly, wondering what Marta knew.

She stepped closer, lowered her voice. “I’ve worked here many years, many many years…and I know what goes on with him.” Her eyes narrowed. “But this is the worst I’ve seen.”

Lila must have been in some sort of trouble with Professor DuPont…“You may want to warn her to stay away,” she continued. “If it’s not already too late.”

Her words sent a shiver through me. I remembered the bruise on Lila’s temple the night I ran into her outside the library. How I’d caught them together in his office and suspected Professor DuPont and Lila were having an affair. I’d thought they were sleeping together; I didn’t think he was hurting her. But then again, how well did I really know this man?

And that was what Marta was implying, wasn’t it? If things weren’t going well between them, what was I supposed to do? Was it my place to bring it up?

It was the first time I realized that Professor DuPont might have been abusive. Violent. And yet, everything in me wanted to dismiss what Marta had told me as hearsay. It didn’t mesh with the image I had of Professor DuPont. She must’ve been mistaken. “I’ll talk to her,” I said.

Marta turned to leave, but when she reached the door she looked back. “In all my years working here, I have never forgotten to lock a door to an office…I would be fired if I did.” The way she said this and the way she was looking at me were weighted with meaning.

—

The door to Professor DuPont’s office was unlocked, as Marta had implied.

As I carefully approached his desk, my heart was beating so hard, it could have broken my chest. Did he have cameras in here? I didn’t see any, but it always felt like he was watching.

Careful not to disturb his neat stacks of papers, I opened the top drawer and pulled out a notepad where he had scribbled a list of items:

- Dry cleaning

- Deposit checks

- Thursday 2pm Marsden

Marsden. I remembered the strange look on Lila’s face during initiations when Professor DuPont had handed her the envelope with that name on it.

I tried the bottom drawer. Inside were at least a hundred file folders with familiar last names. St. Clair, Ling, Miller, Jones —members of Greystone.

Inside the one with my last name was a picture of me, the same one that was used for my Princeton ID, and scanning down, I saw that it had all my information, the address where I grew up, my mother’s and father’s years of birth…and death. And—I gasped—a photo of them. I stared at the photo—it must have been taken around the time my father died—and felt dizzy. How did Professor DuPont have this?

I opened another folder labeled Bain. In Alex Bain’s file was a photo of him and his mother along with a note: Senator Bain to invest 5M.

I was sliding it back in when something else caught my eye: the edge of what looked like a photo. Tugging on it, I found it was not one photo but many. There was a picture of Daisy and me from the lingerie party, and another of Kai, Cecily, and Daisy doing lines with Alex Bain. All from Daisy’s camera.

—

Later that morning, I knocked hard on Daisy’s door. When she opened it, I flew past her. “Did you know about this?”

I took out my phone and showed her the pictures. “There were files on all of us.”

Daisy scrolled through my phone, her face turning paler and paler as she did. “Shit.”

“Did you lose your camera?”

Daisy sighed. Shook her head.

“Then why does he have these?”

Daisy hesitated. Then she said, quietly, “We just wanted to get Alex kicked out of Sterling, and DuPont had said—pointedly—that he couldn’t do that without evidence. We were just trying to take some incriminating photos…” She shook her head. “But after you left…Alex got really messed up, and we had to take him to the hospital…” Her voice drifted off.

“Oh shit.” I stared at her. This was bad. “Is he okay?”

She nodded. “He’s suspended for now. But he might get expelled. Professor DuPont is on the review board.”

My legs felt numb beneath me. I sank down onto the couch. Now that she’d said it, I realized that I hadn’t seen Alex since that night in mid-December.

Daisy sat down beside me, lowering her voice. “Look, Maya. I know this is new to you, but this is how this world works…A lot of people here are extremely connected. Sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people in the world. Sometimes our alumni need things, and we find ways to help them.”

“So you knew about this?” My voice rose. I couldn’t help but be angry with her for not telling me what that party was really for. “There was something else in the file too—a note about Senator Bain investing five million dollars? Do you know what that’s about?”

Daisy sighed. “It’s a new investment fund, opened by a Greystone alum, one of Professor DuPont’s friends. Only the mega-rich are invited to join…I think there’s some kind of five-million-dollar minimum and guaranteed return of fifteen percent. I’m pretty sure both Kai’s and Cecily’s parents invest. It’s probably a bribe to get Matthew to sway the review board into letting Alex stay.”

I dropped my face into my hands. It felt like my whole world was collapsing. “Jesus Christ. This is so wrong.”

“I don’t know, lots of people open investment funds…I mean, really, how do you think the club can afford all of this? Surely you don’t think it’s all sitting in a savings account somewhere—it’s all invested.”

“So DuPont is okay with his students doing drugs to get someone expelled, helping friends pay their kid’s way into the school, backchanneling for investment funds, probably sleeping with at least one student…I mean, Daisy, you realize that these photos are essentially blackmail, right? And not just for Alex, for you and Cecily and Kai too.”

Suddenly it felt as if the whole room had turned on its side. I did wonder how we seemed to have endless resources. “There must have been a hundred files in his desk.” And thanks to the Calum situation, I know exactly what blackmail Matthew will be saving in my file…

Daisy shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

—

The following Thursday, I waited outside Professor DuPont’s classroom, checking the clock on the wall every ten minutes. Where is he? It was almost two o’clock and if he didn’t leave now, he’d be late for his meeting with Marsden. My anxiety rose as the minute hand ticked closer to the hour.

As I was about to give up, Professor DuPont came rushing out of the classroom. He brushed right past me, almost knocking my coat from my hands, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I gathered my things and followed close behind as he cut across campus. His long legs carried him fast, and I practically had to run to keep up, until finally, he disappeared into Nassau Hall.

It took me another thirty minutes before I found a plaque on the wall that read Thomas Marsden, Dean of Admissions .

Professor DuPont was seated with his back to me across from a large man in his fifties. The man clenched and unclenched his hands on top of the desk as he listened to what Professor DuPont was saying. I leaned closer, but I couldn’t hear a word.

“Can I help you?” A voice behind me made me flinch, and I spun around. A woman wearing a cardigan and reading glasses stood before me clutching a cup of coffee.

“Uh—yes, actually, no. I have a meeting with Mr. Marsden at three o’clock, and I was a little early.” I held my breath, praying the lie would sit well.

She glanced at her watch and frowned. “You’re quite early.”

“I’m always early. They say fifteen minutes early is on time.” I gave her my best smile as I cringed inside.

She sighed. “There’s a chair down the hall, if you’d like to have a seat.”

“Thank you, good idea,” I said. “I’ll go over there in a minute.”

She gave me one last side-eye and continued down the hall.

When I turned back, Professor DuPont was handing Marsden a check, they were shaking hands, and that was when I noticed the man’s finger. On it, a Greystone ring. Matthew was working directly with the dean to let anyone through that Greystone wanted. He didn’t even need me to help Calum. He must have done it just to have dirt on me, and I’d played right into his hands.

My chest burned as I ran away from the office and down the hall. I heard the door swing open. “Excuse me.” But I didn’t slow down. I sprinted down the hall toward the exit and shoved open the doors.