The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant. Joanna Wiebe
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what makes him your benefactor. And, besides, people don’t just pay tuition here.”
“Well, Cania surely can’t be the world’s first free private school.”
“That’s not what I mean. Tuition here is beyond cold, hard cash.” Nonchalantly, as if it’d be odd to be perplexed by such details, he lays it on me. “Your dad had
But my dad doesn’t have any money. Even a couple grand is a huge stretch for him. Of course, I don’t tell Pilot that.
“Look, my dad told your dad about this place, which is a serious no-no. Secrecy is key—that’s the only way to keep this place from turning into a slum.” Grinning to take the edge off, Pilot explains that Villicus invites every student to Cania, which is why Villicus was stunned when my dad called him out of the blue and demanded he let me in. “When my dad told your dad about Cania, he broke the school’s code of secrecy.”
“There’s a code of secrecy?”
“When you’re dealing with rich screwballs, there are always codes for everything. You’ve gotta know the secret handshake, wear the club jacket, or flash the ring to get in anywhere worth getting into. Things have to be impossible to attain and insanely private for guys like my dad even to consider them. Even the people in that fishing village aren’t allowed to cross the line to come on the school grounds. It’s that exclusive here.”
I recall the red line I hopped over this morning. “Yeah, my Guardian mentioned something about not ‘fraternizing with the villagers.’ That seems extreme and sort of mean.”
“I think a marketer would call it exclusive.”
“I think a villager would call it mean.”
“You’ll never know. Because you’re not allowed to fraternize with them, remember?” His white teeth flash. “Anyway, there’s only one person our age in that whole village, so it’s not exactly like you’re missing out on a bunch of hot dudes drinking the town dry every weekend.”
Just ahead, some guy with his face painted white and his lips painted black—totally Goth—leans against the guys’ dorm building and waves at us.
“Speaking of hot dudes, there’s my roommate, Jack,” Pilot says, taking my hand and yanking me toward him. “He’s a senior, so don’t worry, he’ll be nice. You’re not a Big V competitor for him.”
Beaming through black lips, Jack turns to us as we approach. His dark gaze skips over my body and lands oh-so-obviously on my enormous ’fro. “Wow, either your PT is to raise rats in your hair or you lost a bet.”
“Annie, meet Jack,” Pilot says.
“It’s just Anne, actually.” I give Jack a slight wave. “Nice makeup. Does Halloween come early in Maine?”
Jack smirks and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Okay, Afro Girl, you can stay.”
“Lucky me,” I mutter with a small smile as he releases me.
“I was trying to explain tuition to Annie.”
“Ah, yes,” Jack says, pulling out a cigarette and peering at me as he lights it. “Tuition. Not your usual twenty grand a semester.”
I almost choke on my own saliva. The idea that my dad could pay anything close to that sort of fee is—it nauseates me.
“How much is it?” I ask, hiding a grimace.
A thin curl of smoke escapes Jack’s lips as he chooses his next words with what seems to be great care. “Let’s just say that if you want your kid to get in here, you pay. Big time.”
Shooting a sharp look Jack’s way, Pilot adds, “Traditional tuition wouldn’t set Cania apart enough. Ivy League schools want the best, and Cania Christy does what it takes to prove it’s producing the best—from the ridiculously motivated valedictorians it churns out to its code of secrecy to the slightly inflated tuition it charges.”
“So how much is it?” I repeat. Just as I do, Harper and her posse stroll by, flicking their hair over their shoulders in perfectly timed unison. Is it wrong to want them to topple over in their six-inch Louboutins?
With equally tight grins, Pilot and Jack both shrug.
“If you have to ask, Annie, you can’t afford it,” Pilot says, chuckling.
By the time I head to Gigi’s, crossing that red line again and trying hard not to look at the house the beautiful Ben Zin calls home, I’m exhausted. If the tiny, wobbly little cottage felt at all like home to me, I’d collapse on my bed and nap until dinner.
But it doesn’t.
And the fact that Teddy’s standing in the doorway, with his notepad in one hand and my abandoned coat in the other, watching my every move as I walk up the gravel path, doesn’t help.
EVEN AS NIGHT FALLS, THICK FOG STILL DRAPES THE island like the whole world’s sadness has been sucked into this one spot and manifested as a permanent damp mist, which is turning light pink with the fading light of dusk.
I’m about to spend the school year in this dreary place, but it’s not the weather I mind. I’m already getting used to it, almost as if I should have been born on the East Coast. I’ve always made my fun among the shadows, lived my life under a heavy cloud of mourning. This fog? This isolated island? This is nothing.
It’s the people that’ll take some getting used to.
Like Villicus, who, I can’t help noticing, acts like he’s running a reform school, not a prestigious prep school. And Teddy, who has spent the evening knocking on my bedroom door, sticking his pimply face in, assessing my activities, and reminding me that we’ll determine my PT before bed. During the World’s Most Uncomfortable Dinner—just Teddy, Gigi, me, and yippy Skippy—Teddy asks how my parents met, how we responded when my mom was first diagnosed bipolar, how much my dad knows about his clients at the funeral home. Pushing away his plate after just two bites, he schedules my first bi-weekly call with my dad for this Friday. All the while, Gigi just looks on uncomfortably, as if she is reconsidering her decision to let me and my Guardian stay. (Can’t say I blame her.) And Skippy—I thought that dog hated me! But Skippy barks at Teddy with such force and for so long, he actually loses his voice. It’s only when Gigi turns in early, a shaking Skippy under her arm, that I feel calm for the first time in hours.
Until Teddy comes knocking on my bedroom door.
“We must get to the matter of your prosperitas thema,” he says as he enters my room and looks slowly around. His voice squeaks often, like he’s still going through puberty. “We shall declare and document it right now.”
“Right now? Do you think you know me well enough to make a call like this already?”
“It specifically says in my Apprentice Guide that the subject’s PT must be declared within twenty-four hours of arrival on the island.”
“You’re an apprentice?” My sucky, creepy Guardian doesn’t even have any experience?
“Never mind that. Stand and face me.”
I’ve barely risen from my chair when Teddy scoops my hands into his clammy mitts. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“So I may proceed with the reading.”
“The