“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’sunfairis what they do for these athletes,” she says into the phone. “I mean, the football team? What a bunch ofNeanderthals.”
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 forten thousand dollars.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Though it was only a piece of paper, it felt heavy. I rememberedhow 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 wantedmeto do all the work for him?
I wanted to tear up the check. I hated that they thought—thatProfessor DuPontthought—I could be bribed. I had to prove them wrong.
But then I thought of my sister and firmed my jaw.It’s notmyfault 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, Iamthe most qualified person, Mrs. Fuller, and this’ll be the best damn essay you’ve ever seen.
—
I took thesat 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, andHalo-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 thehardest 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 playedAngry Birdson 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 thatweek, 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.
