But she’s there. She stands and shakes my hand firmly, making me feel a little like she’s the adult and I’m the kid who just arrived for an interview. Even as I’m working out how to explain why I’ve come, she beats me to it.

“My mom said you wanted to talk about what happened sophomore year?”

“Not exactly. I’m here about the photos,” I say. “Not just yours. Other photos of girls your age. Circulated. Sold, too.”

She looks away. “None of my friends did that kind of stuff.”

“But did you ever hear about it?” I ask her. “Did you know other girls who did?”

“People tell stories,” Amy says slowly. “I don’t listen. Half of what people say is a lie, and everyone would rather believe the lies sometimes. Like, how come if a guy has sex he’s a hero, but if a girl does everyone says she’s a slut? It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t,” I say, hoping that will prompt her. But she just picks at the corner of the table with a chipped nail, avoiding my eyes. “So you never heard about something called the Game?”

Amy looks up. “Sure, I heard about it,” she says. She sounds genuinely confused. “But that had nothing to do with the pictures.”

I stare at her.

“The Game was about the scholarships,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Jennings is the one who recommends students for the scholarships.” Misha. “But everyone knew it didn’t always work that way.” She looks embarrassed. “There were…parties. Events for the girls who wanted to be considered.”

Tatum Klauss’s words in the hospital come back to me. The parties were only for the girls.

“There were always people from Optimal there. You know. Older people.” Her eyes briefly lift to mine.

“Older men,” I say, and she nods.

“So that was the Game,” she finishes. She chips at the edge of the table with her fingernail. “To try and get selected.”

“How?” My throat is so dry I can barely get the words out. “What do the girls do to get chosen?”

“I never went,” she says. “I wasn’t pretty enough.” A sad smile skates briefly across her face. “I guess that’s why when the whole online thing happened, I was flattered.”

“So the Optimal Scholarships aren’t about grades,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

This makes her bark a laugh. “Are you kidding? Half the girls who get scholarships are barely passing until they get special tutoring through the program.”

I can picture it now: Misha and the parade of girls in trouble, girls who see this as their only chance. I close my eyes, gripping my chair, finally understanding: how she might then have controlled them, used proof of these past mistakes to manipulate and intimidate.

“Besides, have you seen them? They’re always the prettiest girls in school.” Amy shakes her head. “You know how they call the scholarship kids the Optimal Stars? Some of the guys in school had a different name for them.”