“It’s still weird.” Again, I use a safer word. Weird. Not wrong. How can my getting into college of my dreams be wrong?

It’s not.

“Shola will be fine. You deserve this, baby. Here, I got you a present.” My mom hands me a professionally wrapped box. The paper looks like an old-timey map, pretty enough to frame. I carefully open it up, and inside are two SCC sweatshirts.

“Why two?” I ask.

“One is extra small and preshrunk, to wear with jeans and stuff. The other is looser, more comfy, for hanging out at home. I also got a couple for Dad and me. I’ve been saving them for months.”

I’m touched by her enthusiasm, if not a little disturbed by her confidence. I decide to save the extra-small for Cesar, who is going to freak that I’m staying in town.

“Thanks,” I say. “For everything. You and Dad have been really supportive.”

“You did it, sweetheart. Not us.” She cups my cheeks and kisses me on the forehead. “Dinner at least once a month. I’m not joking.”

—

Later that night, Shola texts.

Shola: Just wanted to say again, I’m so so happy for you.

Me: Thanks! I don’t know what to say about you and SCC. I bet they thought you were too good for the school. They didn’t want to hurt their accept percentages

Shola: I’m over it. Bigger problems now. The Littles didn’t get into Wood Valley. We found out today

Me: WTF

Shola: My parents are freaking out. Like full Balogun meltdown

Me: What’s the backup?

Shola: There’s no backup. Our local public school sucks. We hoped they’d get in because of sibling preference

Me: Siblings always get in

Shola: Apparently not when they need fin aid

Me: Seriously?

Shola: Welcome to the real world, Chlo

Me: Maybe you guys should move to a better school district?

Three dots appear, and then disappear, and then appear again.

I wish I could erase what I’ve just written. Of course they can’t just pick up and move to a better school district. I’m an idiot.

Me: Sorry. Ignore that

But Shola doesn’t write back.

—

Later, I get what might be my very first text from my half brother.

Hudson: Heard about SCC! How much did Mom and Dad have to pay to get you in there?

Me: Very funny

Hudson: Kidding! Happy for you lil sis. Go Trojans!

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Now

When my parents finally shuffle into the emergency room waiting area, Isla and I have already been waiting for two hours and have been given no new information despite multiple attempts to break the front desk lady. I’ve flipped through the Instant Pot recipe magazine, even though (a) we don’t own an Instant Pot, and (b) we have Cristof.