I have a test later in the day. I hate statistics. I hate anything with numbers. My stepsister Emily can do math in her sleep. She’ll help me from time to time. It’s nice that we’re in the same grade. I return the favor by going over all her language arts and composition class papers. Emily and I are opposite in almost every way.

It’s a day-by-day thing for us to grow closer. At first it was super awkward, but all that tends to slip away when we’re helping each other with schoolwork. She hangs out with the super popular kids at Bradford Prep, and she’s on the cheerleading team. In the fall, she’d cheered for the football team, which apparently is a big deal, but now she cheers for the basketball team. It’s often that she hangs out with the people from those groups at school. She’s part of the popular clique, which has no appeal to me.

I stick more to myself, but this is my first and only year at Bradford. It sucked to start a new school my senior year, but I could see how happy my mom was. It wasn’t as though I was some social butterfly in my old school, either. I’ve always been more of the quiet and shy type.

“Have you given any thought to those acceptance letters?” Mom asks.

“Not really.” I shrug. Tomas and my mom had me apply to a handful of colleges. They wanted me to be able to have options.

I thought they were crazy with some of their suggestions, and that it was ridiculous for me to even try to get into the Ivy League schools. Yet I took their advice and applied anyway. I don’t know why I was shocked that I not only got accepted to all of them but was offered scholarships. It didn’t take me long to put together that it was probably due to Tomas.

Mom starts to poke more, but thankfully Emily enters the kitchen, drawing their attention to her.

“Morning!” she chirps with a bright smile on her face.

She is in her cheerleading uniform, so that means she’ll have a game tonight. I’m stuck in the standard white collared polo and dark blue and burgundy striped skirt. I wear sneakers with it. The other girls at school will wear freaking heels. The sounds of clicking fill the hallways throughout the day. They aren’t any old heels either; most of them cost more than a month's rent in our old apartment. But the kids that go to Bradford don’t have to worry about money. If they did, they wouldn’t even be at that school. Everyone knows the only reason I am is because of Tomas. I’ve heard that whispered in the halls a time or two. I’m the outsider who doesn’t fit or belong.