“You’re getting texts too?” I ask. It hadn’t occurred to me that Isla, who had nothing to do with any of this, whose only crime is being my sister, would also be targeted. Will everyone forget about this by next year, when it’s her turn to apply?

“Just shut down those accounts. The lawyer told Dad to tell us yesterday but he forgot,” Isla shouts. “And then turn off your phone.”

“He forgot?” I ask, as if that’s inconceivable, even though it makes total sense. My online life was no one’s priority yesterday, not even mine.

Instead of listening to Isla, I open Instagram, and as I’ve been doing for the last week since I was accepted, I check in on the SCC Class of 2024 page. Before, I’d scroll through looking for a potential roommate, or potential friends, or to marinate in the idea that it was official: I was going to a kickass school.

Today, clicking over is a very bad idea. I need to learn to listen to my little sister.

Photos lifted from my account are posted everywhere with comments that are as cruel as the texts.

You better not come bitch or we’ll be waiting for you

Screw her and screw her mom and screw SCC

I hope she rushes and then dies of alcohol poisoning

There’s a meme with a picture of my face Photoshopped onto a cartoon water polo player, a ball being smashed into my face, even though I apparently applied as a pole vaulter, not a water polo player.

Two totally different things.

Apparently, it was Ignacius Smith Wollingham, IV, a name I’ve only recently learned, who was the one who applied to Yale as a pretend water polo player.

There are a bunch of gifs of my mother on My Dad, My Pops, and Me, mostly from the episode when she’s arrested for trying to break into her own house. But in another one of the memes, my mom’s in stirrups giving birth in the pilot, but instead of baby Lil’ Missy, out comes out an emoji poo with a name tag that reads: Chloe Berringer, dumbass p.o.s.

“Chloe,” Isla yells from the next room. “Seriously, stop looking. Shut it all down.”

I have no idea how she knows through the wall what I’m doing. Maybe she does have second sight.

I keep reading. No one is supportive. Not a single person even suggests the possibility that I did not know.

No one says Hey, leave her alone. She’s only a kid.

The world has decided I’m a spoiled, entitled lying bitch—bitch is the word used most often—which makes me wonder idly what the boys who’ve been caught up in this are being called. Did the rest of my fellow scandalees also wake up feeling scared and heartbroken and blindsided, but also like they’re officially the stupidest person in America?