“Olivia—”
But I don’t let her cut in. “Thank you for standing up for me there with Margot, but it’s a little late. And frankly, I can’t believe you, talking to me like everything is normal when you’re playing happy family on the defense side. What the hell, Avery? I know you’re a messy bitch, but this really plumbs the depths of ethical lapse.”
Avery crosses her arms over her chest, a wall erected with a cocked hip and half sneer to fortify the ramparts. “Are you finished?”
I give a terse nod.
Her expression falters slightly, as though she hadn’t really expected me to give her the chance to talk.
“I’m sorry about what happened with Claflin. Really, about everything. I was a shitty friend. And person, a good half of the time. I’ve mellowed a lot in California. I’m out, first of all. Got a fully public girlfriend and everything. College cliché.” She smiles to herself. “You’d like her. Eva is kind of intense, really into doing the right thing. Simpatico.”
I do a double take. “Wait, why would you threaten to out Stina for being gay if you’re also gay?”
Avery snorts. “Never happened. Stina and I were dating. I asked her to do me a solid and recommend you for editor, and she did. When Autumn found out and got suspicious, Stina covered my ass.”
“You call making you seem like a homophobic sociopath covering your ass?”
“I didn’t say I was smart. I regret it now. I regret a lot of things, truth be told. My priorities have shifted. And I know it’s important to make amends.” She offers her hand, and I take it, too shocked by an Ivy—Avery, of all people—actually apologizing.
A phone trills, and Avery pulls back with a groan. “That’ll be Mommy Dearest checking in. Look,” Avery continues with surprising sincerity, “I’ve got your back. When I’m on the stand, I’ll tell the truth. You didn’t do anything. You earned your spot at Harvard. And I’m sorry about that, too. Being so shitty about it. To Emma, too.” She grimaces.
I find myself comforting her. “We all have regrets. And Emma…was complicated. I’m the moron who didn’t realize the extent of it until she was gone. I still wonder all the time if she ever even liked me.”
“We all liked you, Liv. Enough to have you around. We just…didn’t treat you as nicely as we could have. Never got really close. It sucks, and I’m sorry.”
We push out of the bathroom door, and the phone chimes again. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Avery yanks her phone from her bag but then looks confused as she sees there’s no notification.
I pull my phone from my pocket and realize it was my phone going off.
“Aves, actually…” I trail off, eyes glued to my screen, raking over the new email icon. My notifications are cluttered, so there’s no text preview. I hover my finger over my in-box. Suck in cool air through my nose, brace for impact. Then I tap in and read through squinted eyes.
I scan the email twice to ensure I’m not hallucinating. A shuddered breath escapes, and I make an undignified yelping sound.
“Olivia, are you okay?”
“I got in,” I choke out. I’m crying, good tears.
“Where?”
“Smith,” I say. “Full fucking ride.”
Avery rushes forward, pulling me into a tight hug and shrieking congratulations into my ear. It’s surreal, celebrating with her. Fitting, though. After all we went through in the name of college admissions. Naturally, it would end here.
I’m going to be a Smithie. I let the realization settle in. Because I’m going, aren’t I? Nothing UMD can offer will match it, and that’s if I get in. And Smith is twenty miles from Claflin, because the universe loves some irony.
“But how?” Avery asks. Even now I’m not sure if she sees me as her equal.
I shake my head. I owe it all to Emma, in the strangest way. And to the only person other than Ethan who knew unequivocally that I had nothing to do with the SAT scam: Kaila Montgomery.
“Kaila’s mom is the dean of students at Smith College. Kaila and I kept up with each other, and she told me to apply to Smith and she’d take care of the rest.” True to her word, here I am. Kaila’s very last fuck-you to Emma Russo and Claflin Academy just might be the making of me.
Avery hugs me again, and I’m so stunned I let her.
“Avery!” a voice calls down the hall. I tense, expecting Katherine Montfort, but instead a dirty blonde in a jean jacket marches over, stops just short of us.
“Hey, Kim,” Avery says. This Kim does not look at all like the sort Avery Montfort would deign to speak to. Maybe California truly has mellowed her.
“We have a conference room at the Marriott rented for tonight so we can do your postmortem on the trial so far. Good?”
“Yeah, just has to be after dinner with the Wicked Witch of the West.” Summoned like said witch, Avery’s phone finally does ring again, with the famous string riff from The Wizard of Oz. Avery huffs. “I have to go. See you later!”
I don’t know if she means me or Kim.
Now alone, Kim sticks out her hand for a shake. “Olivia, right? Kim Swanson, Super Blue Pictures. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Shit. This is the documentary.
“Oh, hi.” I hope I don’t sound too strained.
“I understand your reluctance to participate, but I promise you I’m not a vulture. It’s not about vilifying any of you, but about a system. I’m offering you a chance to tell your side of the story. The scholarship student who got screwed.”
I can’t help my surprise. “You know about that?”
“Avery told us everything. It was her idea to get in touch.” Kim senses my hesitation. She fishes in her purse for something. “Here’s my card. We’re in the Quincy Room at the Marriott all week from five, doing one-on-ones. Stop by if you change your mind.”
I take the card to appease her. Problem is, all documentaries have bias. Can I trust that this one will be biased in my favor? I’m doubtful. Avery must have lost her mind to have agreed to participate. Then, of course, she got the brunt of the Atlantic article fallout. They parodied her on SNL. The documentary is probably image resuscitation for her.
But after the trial, will I need some PR life support as well? Tyler’s lawyer seems determined to dredge up all our dirty laundry.
I tuck the card into my bag, just in case. Now to call my mom and let her scream my ear off about Smith.