The baby starts to stir, so Mrs. Oh increases her rocking. It had never occurred to me that Mrs. Oh could be a mom. Then again, I never think of my teachers’ outside-of-school lives. It’s like they cease to exist as soon as I leave the Wood Valley front doors.

“So you think I could get into a place like SCC?”

“Who knows? At a certain point, it’s all a crapshoot. You’re not a legacy, right?”

“No.”

“Well, that would have helped.”

“You can say I won’t get in. It won’t hurt my feelings. I think my parents are being unrealistic,” I admit.

“Listen, are you the strongest candidate from Wood Valley who has SCC on their list? Of course not. It’s a super-popular school among our student body, and your grades aren’t stellar. But do I think you should still apply and cross your fingers? Yeah, why not? Maybe they’ll take more of us this year. Maybe they’re fans of My Dad, My Pops, and Me, or they’ll think your parents could one day be generous donors. There are all sorts of calculations here that we’re not privy to.”

I feel the ickiness I always feel when anyone suggests I might be treated differently because of my parents, like there’s no such thing as my earning something on my own. And then I tell myself I don’t care. If my mom starring on a sitcom in the early aughts is what pushes some admissions person over the edge, so be it.

I am Joy Fields’s daughter.

It’s not like it’s a lie.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Now

“Why are you keeping me locked up?” Isla asks. “If you hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t the one who got arrested around here.” We’re in the kitchen at seven a.m., the only chance to talk to our parents before the army of suited professionals arrive. They come hungry and mean, like a zombie apocalypse.

We’ve been home from school for an entire week, and Isla’s itching to get back to Wood Valley. When she’s not reading legal blogs, she catches up on homework and reads the day’s class notes, which she gets emailed daily by her friends. I, on the other hand, haven’t cracked open a book. I don’t see the point.

I’ve sent Shola more texts, and Levi, too, and each time I hit send, I feel an irrational surge of hope that never gets rewarded.