“He died,” I say inanely, because I don’t know what else to say. I did have a pony. Well, actually, a horse. I liked the petting him part way more than the riding.

“I outgrew that in the last year or two. Even before this all happened, I knew to be ashamed of those feelings. Just because you were so rich and had everything, you guys weren’t better. Or even happier actually. I knew that,” Shola says, her eyes watery, but tears do not fall. Shola will not let them.

“Remember that day you and Levi told me you both had private college admissions counselors?” Shola asks.

“You were astride your favorite unicorn float. You can have it, you know.” I don’t tell her that recently, on one of my insomniac zombie strolls, I went outside and deflated it in the middle of the night. I was tired of looking at its jaunty horn, tired of thinking how sad it must be without Shola around to ride it. I don’t tell her this, because I realize it’s both insane and embarrassing.

“To put where, Chlo?” Her voice holds that slow simmer, and I feel like an idiot all over again, forever and always. Shola doesn’t have a pool.

I am the monster, I think.

“I went home that day and I cried. I hadn’t let myself think about it before you said it, but I must have known that you had a private counselor even if you didn’t talk about it. I mean, of course you did. You paid for everything else,” Shola says, and then sees my stricken face, and despite everything, she tries to spare my feelings. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I say. There’s no point in being offended by the truth. She’s right. I had tutors and specialists and advisors, long before I ever met Dr. Wilson. My mom once took me with her to see a special alternative doctor to make sure we were both pooping in the optimal position. At the time, it seemed like a totally valid use of our time and energy; now, I wonder if too much money renders you helpless. Leaves you feeling like you can’t even take a crap on your own without consultation with an “expert.”

Guilt fills me; I’m saturated with it, because I really see us from the outside looking in. Our brazen entitlement. How we thought the normal rules didn’t apply. How we thought we had earned all of our own good fortune and manipulations.

“You always used to say that my family was weird, and I used to laugh, because we are weird, but I think what you really meant was your family is gross and self-indulgent. I realize we are that too,” I say.

I examine us from Shola’s vantage point.

Our deck was stacked, even before we stacked it some more.