“No kidding. I had a stress dream last night that the Littles tanked the ISEE and didn’t get into Wood Valley and I didn’t get in anywhere, not even my safeties,” Shola says. “Then my parents made us form a family singing troupe to make money, like the von Trapps.”

“You could work the Santa Monica pier,” I suggest.

“I could spray myself gold and stand on Hollywood Boulevard. Be a human statue,” Shola says. “I’m tall enough.”

“It’s all going to be okay, you know,” I say. “Everyone ends up where they’re supposed to go.”

“How very Zen of you, Chlo.” Shola jots down more notes about the book, somehow managing to have a full conversation with me while simultaneously processing the thematic underpinnings of Crime and Punishment.

“Just so you know, I’d never call the school and tell them about the time you pocketed that nail polish from CVS,” I say.

“That was an accident!” she says, eyes wide. “And I returned it.”

“I know. You went up to the cashier and offered to pay double,” I say, and laugh.

“Whatever. I’m a Goody Two-shoes. This is not new information.”

“It’s annoying. You don’t even let me copy off you,” I say, trying to grab her notebook, which she blocks with an elbow. “What’s the good in having a genius for a best friend if you don’t let me cheat?”

“Somebody’s got to keep you honest,” Shola says.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Now

On the forty-second day of what I’ve come to think of as my house arrest, Mrs. Oh calls on my new cell. I have no idea how she got the number, though I’m guessing through Isla. For a minute, I wonder if I should hang up and call Kenny. Could I incriminate myself with Mrs. Oh? Could she be subpoenaed to testify against me or my mother or both of us? Could she already be working with the authorities to entrap me?

“Chloe. First of all, are you okay? How are you holding up?” Mrs. Oh asks, and the concern in her voice, the fact that she might actually care how I am, instead of hating my guts like the rest of the world, makes me want to weep with gratitude. I’d assumed she was furious with me. Wood Valley, which used to be known for their academic rigor and astronomically high percentage of Ivy admits, is now synonymous with the college cheating scandal. Since the news broke, Mrs. Oh’s letter last fall, the one in which she complained about parents behaving badly in the admissions process, has gone viral, prompting an op-ed in the New York Times about the death of empathy and how unethical parenting is creating a generation of entitled monsters.

It was strange and disorienting to realize they meant me.

I’m the monster.

And just as strange and disorienting to realize they weren’t wrong.