Considerably less sexy. Infinitely more intriguing, though.
She tried to do some actual work. Now that Tristan had left for the day, she thought that the quiet would help her concentrate.
It did not.
She kept thinking about Zeke and Rebecca.
During her undergrad, thirty thousand years ago to the day, a fellow student had copied her project, which had been worth a whopping 40 percent of their final grade. The project was also what Ivy was planning to use for her grad school application.
The student, who Ivy had actually liked, hadn’t even bothered changing a single word—outside of the author name, that is.
There had been an inquiry, and both of them claimed the other had plagiarized their work.
Ivy had provided the review board with all of her reference material, thinking that this would be more than sufficient to clear her name. But the board dragged their feet, and Ivy got nervous.
Gene had heard this in her voice, knew something was wrong.
Pried the information out of her.
Ivy asked him not to step in on her behalf, but Gene did what Gene did.
The next day, the review board accepted Ivy’s story and expelled the other student. But rather than feeling vindicated, Ivy felt dirty. She imagined a situation in which the roles had been reversed: her dad hadn’t been Princeton’s most venerated math professor, but the other student’s father had. What would have happened then?
The school would have expelled Ivy.
She hadn’t cheated, she knew this, but it still felt wrong to submit this work for her grad school application.
Three nights—that was all the time that Ivy had before applications were due. She slept a grand total of six hours during this interval.
Ivy finished a new project, though, and was promptly accepted into the program. No idea what happened to the other kid.
As much as Ivy knew of Zeke Godfrey and his eight-figure power broker father (or was it nine?), she knew little of Rebecca Quinn, and spent the next hour looking into the student.
Great marks—excellent. High school valedictorian. Ran track in high school, made the Princeton junior varsity team. Won a scholarship. Raised by a single mother—this much, Ivy had to intuit from the application.
If push came to shove, who would the review board side with?
Rebecca Quinn or Zeke Godfrey?
More specifically,DevonGodfrey, whose smiling face was plastered all overThe Daily Princetonianfor multiple seven-figure donations.
If Dr.Moorehead decided to take the cheating to the next step, Rebecca would have no one in her corner.
Except for Ivy.
That might hold some sway.
Ivy pulled back from her computer and rubbed her eyes. She’d accomplished next to nothing today.
Again.
And whatever ‘sway’ she might have would evaporate if Dr.Moorehead found out just how little actual work she’d completed on her project.
Clay Fellowshipblah, blah, blahor not.
Her phone lit up.
No ring—good.
