But Hudson, my half brother, who’s ten years older and the product of my dad’s first marriage, has ruined all of these things for me. He’s tatted out, more ink than skin, and more than a dabbler on the pharmaceutical front, and I don’t think he’s ever listened to a word my mom and dad have said.

He and I share a little DNA, and not much else.

My parents’ worst nightmare—and to be fair, maybe mine, too—is that I turn out like Hudson, who didn’t go to college and instead goes to rehab on the regular.

My mom taps the SAT book.

“So what was your last score?”

“About the same,” I say, and my eyes fill and I fidget with my wet head. This is a lie: My score seems to be going down, not up. “I swear I’m studying as much as I can. I really am.”

Here’s what I want to say instead: It turns out I’m stupider than we thought and I’m sorry.

“Aunt Candy says she knows a guy who can help.”

“Another tutor?” I try to keep the whine out of my voice. Senior year has barely started, but between Mandarin five days a week and my volunteer work at the Reading and Resource Center, on top of studying and homework, I’m already burned out. I would cut down my volunteer hours, but it’s the only extracurricular activity I actually enjoy. Cesar, my first-grade little buddy, is my favorite person in the world after Shola, and I refuse to let him down.

“Not a tutor. An admissions consultant.”

“That’s what Mrs. Oh is for. I thought Wood Valley doesn’t like us to hire privately.” Last week, I had my first meeting of the year with the Wood Valley college counselor, Mrs. Oh. She patted my hand, like she was a doctor about to tell me I had only three weeks to live, and said, “Honey, I think this application list has too many reach schools. With your numbers, we need to be more realistic.”

Then she asked me what I was hoping to get out of my college experience. I couldn’t tell her the truth. That I’m looking forward to fraternity parties and football games and if it doesn’t happen before, a not-so-traumatic loss of my virginity.

“This guy is supposed to be the absolute best. He’s based in New York, but he’s flying in to LA to meet with us. He’ll come up with a list of schools, he’ll help us with our applications, and he’ll edit our essays. He advocates behind the scenes.” I don’t comment on my mom’s creepy use of the words us and ours like she is applying too.