“If you take the alternate exam, people may learn why.”
Amara’s stomach tightened.
“Why would they?”
“Westbridge gossip.”
“Student volunteers.”
“Social media.”
Evelyn said:
“I need you to understand that some people may claim you got special treatment because you helped me.”
Amara laughed once.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Amara looked toward the torn form.
“People were going to think something anyway.”
Evelyn nodded.
“What do you want?”
The question sounded simple.
It was not.
Amara thought.
Then:
“The same test.”
Graham looked toward her.
“Equivalent test.”
“Not easier.”
“Same time.”
“Same rules.”
“No private tutor.”
“No private room because I helped you.”
Evelyn said:
“You need a private room because the exam must be secure.”
Amara grimaced.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I want whatever another candidate in a verified emergency would get.”
“Nothing else.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Good.”
Then Amara added:
“And I want to know whether anyone else was denied the petition because somebody like Grant told them it didn’t exist.”
The adults looked at her.
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“That’s the good question,” Rochelle whispered.
Amara looked toward her.
Her father’s phrase.
Rochelle smiled.
Evelyn noticed something pass between them.
She did not ask.
Instead she opened her notebook.
“I’ll find out.”
The Rolls-Royce remained outside for fifty-three minutes.
By then half the street knew.
When the Harcourts left, Mrs. Kim walked over before the vehicle reached the intersection.
“Amara.”
Rochelle immediately said:
“No.”
Mrs. Kim stopped.
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was bringing muffins.”
She held up a container.
Rochelle took it.
“Thank you.”
Then shut the door.
Caleb laughed until he choked.
The emergency committee approved Amara’s alternate exam at 2:16 Sunday afternoon.
Monday.
8:30 a.m.
Independent testing center.
Different questions.
Same blueprint.
Four hours.
Amara stared at the email.
Then closed her laptop.
Rochelle frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“You have an exam tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You’re not studying?”
“I’ve studied eleven months.”
Rochelle smiled.
“Finally.”
Amara went to bed at nine.
She woke at 4:30.
Of course.
At 5:15, she was reviewing calculus.
Rochelle walked into the kitchen.
Said nothing.
Removed the textbook from Amara’s hands.
Closed it.
Made eggs.
At 7:10, a black sedan stopped outside.
Not the Rolls-Royce.
Foundation transport.
Amara stared through the blinds.
“No.”
Rochelle checked the email.
“They said transportation provided.”
“I can take the bus.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone will say—”
Rochelle turned.
“Everybody is not in this kitchen.”
Amara stopped.
Her mother continued:
“You missed the first exam because public transportation became part of an emergency.”
“The foundation is required to control conditions for the alternate.”
“You taking their car is not corruption.”
“It is logistics.”