Take the Fall(52)

“I saw the assignment, or I never would’ve—” I stop, grit my teeth. I’m mad at Gretchen, but this is my own fault. I let it happen. I was so careful until I got into Penn, and then I got lazy and let my guard down. “How bad is this? Could I—could they take away my scholarship?”

She puts her pen down. “I’ll get on the phone with the university and try to explain . . . but this is serious. It looks like the site was actually set up to accept payments.” She shakes her head and frowns. “Did you ever make a profit from it?”

“No. Of course not. I didn’t even know she’d made it functional.”

She exhales. “I’ll set up a meeting with the ethics teacher later this morning, though this is especially difficult with Gretchen—without her here to clear this up.” She picks up her phone, drumming purple nails on the edge of her desk. “I’m sure the people at Penn heard what happened . . . in the news.”

Minutes drag by. Ms. Dixon places calls, waits on hold, and I sit flashing hot and cold between rage and fear . . . until guilt takes over and the cycle starts again. Finally, Ms. Dixon gets through to the Penn admissions office, but she ends up getting voicemail and has to leave a message.

“Is there anything else we can do?” I ask.

“We’ll have to wait for a call back.” She reaches for a pad of paper to write me a pass. “I’ll get everything straight with Mr. Hanover and have you paged as soon as I know something.”

I bite my lip. “What if I go talk to them, in person? Would that help?”

She raises her eyebrows. “It might.”

It’s probably a dumb idea, but if it makes any difference pleading to the dean with my own eyes, I’ll do it.

I’ve got everything to lose.

I dig my nails into my legs, trying to remember Dina’s schedule. It’s almost four hours between here and Philadelphia. My mom would never let me go alone, but if I pick a day the diner is slow . . .

“How about Monday? Do you think someone would see me then?”

She purses her lips. “It’s short notice. And I’d have to excuse you from your classes . . . but I’ll find out.”

I look at the clock and stand abruptly, but hesitate in front of her desk.

Ms. Dixon waves me on. “There’s no sense waiting here, Sonia. Get to class. I’ll catch up with you once I know what’s going to happen.”

What’s going to happen. I pick up my backpack and head for the door, but my vision clouds in a rush of panic, betrayal—anger. Gretchen pushed and pried until I gave her those essays. And now she’s not even here to admit this is her fault. I swallow hard, shame rising in my throat, because it’s not like I can stay mad at her now. But it was set up three or four weeks ago—right after I chose Penn over Stanford. After she declared she’d keep us together.

“Sonia?” Ms. Dixon calls over my shoulder.

I look back.

“I’ll be damned if they take that scholarship from you. I don’t know anyone who deserves it more.”

My mind is completely preoccupied by the time I make it to my locker. I only notice Aisha and Derek making out in a doorway down the hall because Kip snaps their picture and they protest. Haley walks by and waves, but hurries past me into a classroom. Reva is kneeling in front of her locker, not looking at me. I’m vaguely aware that Kirsten’s not here—she’s been waiting in front of my locker the past two mornings—but all I can really think about is Penn. I’ve envisioned myself there so often, the future seems like a big blank hole without it. I barely notice the rectangular card that flutters to the floor when I open my locker until some well-intentioned guy from my gym class picks it up and hands it to me.

“You dropped this.”

I’m searching my bag for a calculator, pencil in my mouth, but I grab the card with my free hand. “Thanks.”

I look at it, but I don’t get it. It’s a postcard of Hidden Falls. A classic photo of the less-lethal autumn waterfall sprinkling over the ledge, framed by yellows and reds and golds. The shot is angled in such a way that you can see water rippling toward the surrounding rocks in the pool below. Postcards just like this are sold all over town. We might even have this one by the register at the diner. I’m not sure why it was stuck in my locker until I turn it over.

A

LONG

WAY

DOWN

The words are dark, almost blood red, scrawled down the back in block letters. My first inclination is to drop the card again, throw it out, set it somewhere I don’t have to look at it, but I can’t seem to unclench my fingers. An anxious feeling comes over me—like maybe someone’s watching. I swallow, my mouth dry, and raise my head. The first person I see is Marcus. He’s a few lockers down, staring at the postcard in my hand. Our eyes connect and his face mirrors everything I’m feeling. His skin is pale, his eyes wide and scared. I press the card flat against my chest, as if hiding the words might somehow make them cease to exist.

The fire alarm starts ringing. I jump, confused why everyone is flooding into classrooms when clearly we all need to exit the building.

Now.

But there isn’t a fire, it was just the bell.

A dark voice whispers in my ear. “Girls’ room, end of the hall.”

My feet move on autopilot purely because they’ve been given directions. When I push through the door, there are a few people at the counter, chattering something about updos and dresses, but then they see me, and the bell rings a final time, and they filter out quietly, one by one. I listen to my breath for half a minute, half a lifetime, and then the door pushes in and I realize I’m still holding the postcard to my chest.