“Why does that sound so familiar?” I mused aloud, unfolding the top sheet.

She grabbed the other side. “Because it’s one of the New England performing arts private schools that feeds into Barrington.”

“Oh, right. Oakengates. It’s in Massachusetts.”

“Yep.”

“That’s a really good school,” I said automatically, and she pressed her lips together tightly. “Which I’m thinking you already know . . .”

“Yeah.”

A few moments spent tucking in the top sheet.

“That’s weird,” I said at last.

“What is?”

“That they’re going to a private school in New England, like I am. I mean . . .” I chuckled. “It’s not as if there’s some sort of long-established educational pipeline from Christmas, Oklahoma, to exclusive New England boarding schools.”

“Not weird. Your mom helped Billie and Linda find Oakengates. She helped them secure the musical scholarship, too.”

She took up the bedspread.

“Oh. That makes sense, then. She helped me apply to Barrington, too.”

“Yeah. I know.” She started to smirk, but it didn’t hold the same edge. Instead, it felt . . . sad. “And now you wanna throw all that away. Like it’s nothing.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is true, Finley!” She gripped the bedspread tightly, anger suddenly coming off her in waves. “Everything comes so goddamn easy for you that you don’t appreciate what you got.”

“Hey!”

“No!” She pointed her finger at me and I shut up. “Do you have any idea what I would give to be where you are? To have the opportunities you’re going to have when you graduate?”

Now I was getting pissed. “Well, maybe you should’ve applied.”

“I did apply, you little shit! How do you think your mom found out about Barrington in the first place?”

“She works in education—”

“I told her about it! I did.” She jabbed her own chest for emphasis. “I did the research and I brought her the big shiny catalog and I asked her to help me with my application because she knows about what schools look for.”

The big shiny catalog. Shit. A cold dread came over me.

“She . . . didn’t help you?”

Maybe she heard the fear in my tone because her voice calmed and she shook her head. “No, she did. She helped. Then she asked me if I was okay with telling you about it, too.”

Relief flooded. I wasn’t sure how I’d react if my mom had done something to block Ayisha’s application. But then I frowned. “Is that why you’re so mad at me all the time? Because I got in and you didn’t?”

Her eyes pierced me. “Oh, I got in. Full scholarship. Happiest day of my life. But then Mamma found the acceptance package and . . .” She stopped talking and dropped her gaze, the memory clearly upsetting.