I turned off my cell phone—the hate texts and the morning show requests started almost immediately—so I can’t call Shola or Levi. Then again, I can’t imagine what my friends could say that would make me feel better at this point: Sorry your life has turned into an episode of Breaking Bad?

“I’m heading over to the courthouse. The top guy from Dinnison and Cromswell is meeting me there. And my banker is standing by for bail.”

Bail. That’s a word we’ve only ever used in relation to Hudson, and even then, as far as I know, only once or twice. Plus, Hudson has always faced state charges; my mother has, apparently, been arrested for federal crimes. I don’t know what the difference is, but from the way my dad’s voice pitches up, frantic, I gather federal is way worse.

My dad crosses the room, steps over my outstretched legs. Isla’s been glaring at me on and off all morning. What she wants to say but with uncharacteristic self-control hasn’t said yet: If you weren’t such an idiot, none of this ever would have happened.

Isla has ranked in the top five of her class since she started at Wood Valley. Whenever I was studying for the SATs and struggling with a question, she’d glance over my shoulder and say, “Duh, it’s C.” When she wasn’t looking, I’d check the answer key in the back. She was always right.

“They say likely anywhere up to a mil. When we first heard, I called around yesterday. But I don’t know. We didn’t expect this. There were guns. Semis, I think. What does it matter? We should sue them. Emotional distress. Child endangerment. Violation of privacy. I mean, Chloe, her whole life is ruin—” My dad freezes, suddenly remembering I’m in the room. But I’m not following what he’s saying. I’m stuck at “I called around yesterday.”

CNN has informed us that there is a two-hundred-page criminal complaint publicly available online. So much for privacy. I haven’t found the courage to click on it yet, but I bet Isla has.

According to the New York Times, forty-five people have been arrested alongside my mother. From what I can gather, the charges are conspiracy to commit mail fraud and conspiracy to commit honest services fraud.

I have no idea what any of these words mean when they are put together in that order.

But I do know that my mother is being accused of fixing my SAT score and paying bribes to get me into SCC.

My idiocy is right out there, in the open, for the whole world to see.

As I watch my dad stride one more time, back and forth, my stomach revolts.

I sprint to the bathroom and throw up.

CHAPTER FOUR

Then