“Of course no one goes around telling people. Not that anyone should be embarrassed—it’s all perfectly legit—but you know how teenagers are. They like to keep this stuff on the DL, as you kids say.”

No one says that, I think.

“Why should those other kids have an advantage that you don’t?” Dr. Wilson asks. Clearly he has dealt with a lot of wealthy parents, because there is no quicker way to fire mine up than to suggest someone else is getting something that I’m not. That’s how Isla and I ended up with a private meditation teacher and etiquette lessons and kidnapping insurance. That’s how I ended up at Wood Valley in the first place. All my parents needed to hear was that it was the “best school in Los Angeles.”

No one stopped to think whether it was the best school for me.

“Shola didn’t get an accommodation,” I say, and Dr. Wilson glances at my parents with an unspoken Help me here.

“That you know of,” my dad says.

“Dad!”

“Also she’s black,” my dad says, with a knowing look to Dr. Wilson. “She’ll get in wherever she applies.”

“Dad!” I say again, this time louder. I know it’s hard having a stupid kid, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be a racist jerk.

“What? I’m progressive. You know that. I think Shola’s great. And we need diversity. But let’s not pretend it doesn’t give her a leg up.”

“Or maybe she’ll get into every school she applies to because Shola’s third in our class and a National Merit Scholar. And a genius.”

“Maybe this one should think about pre-law,” Dr. Wilson says, and laughs, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. I wonder if he even remembers my name.

“We’re getting off track here, sweetheart,” my mom says, and her performative tone—slightly louder than the moment calls for—makes clear I’ve lost this fight, not that I’m sure what we’re even fighting about. It’s the voice my mother used to use on Lil’ Missy, the seven-year-old kid on My Dad, My Pops, and Me, in the beginning of each episode, when she’d misbehave adorably. It’s the voice she uses when we are out in public and I’m embarrassing her. “This is not about Shola, whom we love, of course, and who I hope gets into any college she wants. This is about you, darling, and us doing our jobs as parents to make sure you don’t get left behind.”