“Waiting is not the hardest part,” Isla says, and shivers, like it has occurred to her for the first time—though much more likely, it has occurred to her again, again, again—that things may not go the right way. That the reason they haven’t let us see Hudson is because he is dead.

Dead, I think, which is a word that has a soft click, like a closed door. Dead, dead, dead.

“No, it’s not,” I agree.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Then

When I get home from school, the living room is full of cardinal and gold balloons, SCC colors, which are coincidentally similar to those of Gryffindor, and a giant sign hangs from the archway: CONGRATS CHLOE!

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” I say, even though I know my parents didn’t actually go to Party City or make the sign. This is all Carrie.

“It’s not every day your baby gets into SCC,” my mom says, getting up from the couch, where she’s highlighting a script—likely the new My Dad, My Pops, and Me reboot—to hug me. “We are so proud of you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“I still don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. We know you’re staying in LA, so pinky-swear that you’ll have family dinner with us at least once a month.”

“Mom,” I say, pretending to whine, but of course I’m grinning. Los Angeles is my home, and no one is making me leave.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone.” My mom shimmers with excitement, her eyes big and round and thrilled. I feel the glow too, a warmth in my belly, like I’ve eaten a good meal. Not pride, exactly. Satisfaction.

“Mom. Chill.”

“What? It’s SCC! This is a big deal. A huge deal. I’m allowed to be proud of you.”

“Okay, be proud. But like, don’t broadcast it.”

“Whatever. When have I ever been chill?” she says, and then starts chanting, “SCC! SCC! SCC!”

“Shola got wait-listed,” I say, and my mother’s face closes for a minute, a studied blankness that comes in handy when she needs to play dense on TV. The calm before the punch line. Then it opens up again, a computer rebooted.

“That sucks, but hasn’t she gotten in everywhere else?”

“Pretty much. She was hoping for a scholarship. It’s weird, right? That I got in and she didn’t?” I don’t know what I want my mom to say. I used the word weird, but I think what I mean is wrong. It’s wrong that I got in and Shola didn’t.

“Who knows how these admissions people think? Maybe they realized there was no way she’d accept. It hurts their admissions percentages to let in someone who they know will go elsewhere. It’s not like it’s one for one. They don’t directly compare you.”