“Mrs. Oh is pissed. She’s been getting anonymous phone calls from parents trying to sabotage other kids’ college applications,” Shola says, whispering, because Mrs. Pollack is making the rounds. I read notes over Shola’s shoulder: Thematic tie in to consciousness of guilt and whether R. actually “owns” his actions. Does he truly atone? What about S.? I have no idea what any of that means. She might as well be speaking Yoruba, which, incidentally, she can understand. Reason #495059 why Shola should and will get into every college she applies to.

“Seriously? This is a thing that people do?”

“Yup. Happens a lot. Rumor has it that Axl’s mom anonymously reported that Simon was arrested for underage drinking last year but his parents got the charges dropped. She called from a blocked number, but Mrs. Oh totally recognized her voice. It’s super nasal, like if a pug could talk.”

“Why would Axl’s mom do that?”

“I guess the hope was that Mrs. Oh would be required to notify the colleges Simon applied to.” Shola raises an eyebrow, like she’s not at all surprised, cynicism being on brand.

“But Simon and Axl are best friends. They do everything together.” I try to imagine my parents, who have clearly lost their minds about the admissions process, resorting to that kind of direct sabotage, especially targeted against someone I care about, like Shola. They would never. Not in a million years.

“Apparently they’re applying to the same schools, have pretty much identical applications, because they do all their extracurriculars together. Except Axl is number fifteen in the class and Simon is fourteen, and his parents are like super-entitled bazillionaires, so…” Shola shrugs, as if this is all to be expected when rich people play a zero-sum game. It occurs to me that maybe she’s not a cynic but a realist.

I still don’t understand why they make the stakes feel so high. Maybe it’s because where we end up going to college is on the final parental report card. Maybe our parents have grown accustomed to the adult equivalent of A pluses in the rest of their lives. Or maybe they truly buy into the foolish belief that where you end up going to school defines who you are and who you will one day grow up to be.

“Everyone has gone bananas,” I say. I look over to Axl and Simon. They are mid-debate with Levi, who apparently has strong views on epilogues. Levi catches my eye, smiles, and then goes back to his argument. I think back to Saturday night, and my hand reflexively touches my neck.

Even if I somehow manage to avoid being dumped before summer, Levi and I have a built-in end date. No one who looks like Levi—and who also happens to be cool and smart and kind—goes off to Harvard with a long-distance girlfriend.