Tyler must realize it, too. A rough force barrels into me from the side. He wrests the gun from me, returns to his stance, and I’m looking at a gun pointed my way again. I am an idiot, letting my guard down, concentrating on Avery. Like she could save me. Tyler winces, giving the gun a squeeze.
“We’ll say you purposely threw your own scores to hide your test-taking ability. They won’t be able to prove otherwise.” Tyler cocks the gun with his good hand.
“Fine!” I shout. “You assholes. If you’re going to shoot me, then I deserve to know why. Why did you kill Emma, Tyler?” I’m half-desperate to buy time, half-serious about needing to know.
“I have to admit, I’m curious, too,” Avery chimes in blithely. I really, really hate her.
Tyler’s eyes narrow in consideration. Then he shrugs.
“I already told you. You’re just not as smart as you think you are. Did all that investigating and couldn’t put two and two together.”
“Tipton?” I wager.
Tyler barks a cold laugh. “I didn’t care who Emma slept with. We were open. I didn’t own her. I’m a feminist, you know.”
I can’t tell whether he’s serious or fucking with me. He’s smug enough that he might think it’s true.
“But.” He stops to chuckle to himself. Waggles the gun at Avery and me. “You Ivies really made it difficult, you know. Taking everything for yourself. Do you know how hard it is to be a rich, above-average white guy in college admissions?”
Avery snorts, her expression cracking into one of amusement. Tyler whips an icy glare in her direction.
“Oh, wait, you’re being serious? Sorry.” The apology is perfunctory. I can tell Avery is still rife with the bemusement I’m full of as well. But I’m hiding it better. I haven’t become a master actor—I just know that Tyler is deadly serious. I’m too scared to play around.
“Emma and I should have been co-captains of the FIRST Robotics team, but she wanted it for herself. It’s important to support women in engineering, plus she was my girlfriend, so I deferred. Besides, I did everything else right. Perfectly. Rowing captain, championship winner, created a nonprofit, launched an app, near-perfect GPA.” He pauses, seeming to grind his teeth, then takes a steadying breath. “You know, my SAT score wasn’t perfect, but fine. Emma dearest, or whatever asshole replaced me, fixed that for me. I’m smart, and capable, and fucking talented. But rejected from Cornell ED. Because I’m a white guy. And Emma, fucking Emma, gets into Harvard? Her GPA was barely higher than mine. And I carried her in FIRST. Drummed up half the business for her SAT scam, too. I’m the entrepreneur. The planner.”
He’s spitting fury, and Avery and I let him talk. And he does. He’s comfortable now.
“You know Milo got in? He got a four on his AP Physics exam. I got a five. It’s because he’s a quarter Latinx, so he got to tick that box and had a leg up on me.”
Oh, great, now comes the racist-tirade portion of his confession. We all know there’s a racist undercurrent to college admissions hand-wringing anytime someone like Tyler doesn’t get what they want. But hearing it spoken so plainly is…uncomfortable. He’s not done.
“Your boy Ethan? Half-Black, so Harvard. Snooped that out on Tipton’s computer when I planted the earring in his office. And, of course, Sierra. Yale.”
I think that if Sierra were here, she’d have punched Tyler in the face already, and this would be over. Except, no, she wouldn’t, because she’s done everything in her power to fight ugly stereotypes, and here Tyler is, insinuating that everything is easier for her because of her race. She earned her spot at Yale. What a dick.
“If I got to tick one of those boxes, you know I’d get in. It’s just not fair.” Tyler pouts like a literal toddler throwing a tantrum.
“So, what? You get Emma’s captain position? Revenge on her for taking what you wanted?” I’m still trying to understand.
“No, that’s not it at all. It is what it is. My GPA, résumé, SAT score. It’s all about the essay. That’s what let me down. Let us down.” He indicates Avery, who bristles.
Me, my insides are constricting, shriveling up as realization dawns. “You killed Emma so you could write a fucking college admissions essay?”
The psycho asshole smirks. “Megan is wrong about grief essays. You watch. Emma’s death has showcased my sensitivity, my strength. Grit.”
I’m stunned into silence. Avery makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat and then lets loose. “What the fuck! Are you hearing this?”
“What’s the matter, sis? You wrote about the same thing. Not as well as me, though.”
I dig my fingers into my palm to stop myself from correcting his grammar. He’s a sociopath.
“Did you ever think that maybe you didn’t get into Cornell because they saw right through you? That maybe you’re just mediocre.”
Avery’s words spark a flash of white-hot anger. Tyler’s mask slips, charm leaking from him, and all that’s left is cold derision.
“I almost killed you, you know. I narrowed it down to the two of you. But I had to consider who would make for better essay fodder. Emma hid her sins better than you did. She made a better victim. Nobody mourns the mean girl.”
“I’d rather be a bitch than a sociopathic murderer. You’re done, Ty. We got you.”
For a second I’m confused. What happened to Avery conspiring in my murder to save her from being SAT scam collateral damage? Then I see her draw a phone from the back pocket of her pants.
“Your passcode was easy to guess,” she says, tossing me my phone. “Sorry for pretending to want to murder you.” Then to Tyler: “Say hi to Detective Cataldo. She’s been listening attentively to your confession.”
“That won’t hold up in court,” Tyler scoffs, but his bravado is false. I can see the panic in his eyes.
“No, it won’t. Recording people without their consent is illegal in the state of Massachusetts, so we didn’t bother. But the point is, she knows. You don’t get to lie anymore.”
I am momentarily awestruck by the sheer unadulterated badass bitch that is Avery Montfort. I was right to never underestimate her.
But there is still the matter of Tyler and the gun. He raises it with his left hand, tries to anchor his grip with the other hand, but grimaces. I seize the opportunity, charging forward in my best impression of a football player. I hit his chest, and it’s like barreling into a solid wall; Tyler grunts but doesn’t fall. So I punch him between the legs and wrest the weapon from his hand as he winces in pain. Then both Avery and I stand over him, skillet and gun poised, until the police arrive.