by Katie Zhao
Happy testing,
The Proctor
The one who traded conscience for grades.
A chain of memories stirred in my mind. Traded conscience for grades. That choice referred to me. Someone knew what I’d done. But how could anyone have found out about my secret?
And how could Principal Bates, who’d watched me deliver that speech last night on behalf of the junior class, who’d watched with pride, now gaze at me with suspicion?
“Principal Bates, you know us,” I said. “We’re some of the best students in the junior class. You can’t possibly think that—that this anonymous tipper can be trusted? That we had something to do with Jamie’s death?”
Bates regarded me with a calculating expression. “I don’t have any other leads. Do you, Nancy?”
“I . . .” I scrambled to think of something, anything, and then an idea struck me. That strange text message. “Get out your phones,” I told my friends. “That text we got last night—that’s the proof of our innocence.”
Realization dawned on each of their faces. In a flurry of movement, in unison, we took out our phones, opened our recent text messages, and showed Bates our screens. He leaned over, frowning.
“Everyone got this weird message last night from a restricted number,” I explained. “We thought it was spam at first—”
“—but it isn’t,” Krystal gasped. “Someone—the true culprit—was warning us about Jamie’s death. ‘The end of Jamie’s era.’ See?”
“This proves we aren’t the criminals,” Alexander said. “Why would we spam ourselves with a weird warning like this?”
“I’ll have to investigate this matter further myself. I’ll ask one of you to give me your phone, please.” Bates held out his hand toward Krystal, who drew her phone back protectively.
“No way. I need this. You can’t—” She faltered under Bates’s stern gaze, and meekly dropped her phone into his outstretched palm.
“You’ll get it back by the end of the day,” Bates reassured her with a stiff smile. “I’ll be taking a look, but I’m sure that message is unrelated to Ms. Ruan’s unfortunate death. And speaking of phones, the anonymous tipper also sent in an enlarged photograph—of you four with Jamie.”
Bates slid a piece of white computer paper in front of us and flipped it over. It was that picture of the five of us, the same one that’d been posted to Tip Tap, blown up to show more detail. To show that it was unmistakably us.
“We’re obviously being framed,” I said quickly. “The real culprit is the one behind the texts, who tampered with the presentation last night at the—” My voice faltered as a horrifying realization punched me in the gut.
The point of including my revenge note in the presentation wasn’t to threaten the school with Jamie’s death. The point was to threaten me. What I’d written about Jamie in my Diss Diary was enough to make me look guilty of harming her.
Maybe enough to frame me for the crime.
“That picture doesn’t prove anything,” Alexander interjected, saving me the challenge of coming up with words when my mind had gone blank with panic.
“No,” admitted Bates. “But it gives us a place to start our investigation. If my memory serves correctly, the four of you are some of Jamie’s closest friends.” His eyes bored into ours, as though trying to see right through our souls.
I tried not to let my terror show in my face. Clenched my shaking fists in my lap. I had to find the true culprit. Had to get my Diss Diary back.
Otherwise, I was sure whoever was behind this would blame Jamie’s death on me.
“Actually, we . . . we haven’t been close to Jamie in a little while,” Krystal admitted in a whisper, staring at her boots.
“Have you questioned the girls’ volleyball team for information? They might know. Jamie was their captain,” Alexander suggested. “Or . . . Quiz bowl?”
“We plan to investigate all potential leads,” Bates said matter-of-factly.
I turned toward the three faces that had grown so familiar to me over the years, almost as familiar as my own. Alexander. Krystal. Akil.
Alexander was like me. A poor scholarship student. Murder was the last thing that’d be on his mind. Krystal and Akil were clean, perfect rich kids. I couldn’t imagine either of them doing what Bates was insinuating.
“Well, you know there’s no way we could have done this, Principal Bates,” Akil said, as though the idea were ridiculous. “Yesterday afternoon, right? I’m sure we all have alibis. I was—”
“Wait,” I cut in. “We were together. Jamie asked us four to meet her after school yesterday afternoon. We went, but she never showed up. Maybe by then she already . . . she . . .”
“In other words, nobody can confirm your whereabouts yesterday afternoon?” asked Bates.
We exchanged nervous looks. Out of the blue, Jamie had asked us to meet her, and despite everything, we’d gone, of course we’d gone, because something had seemed off. Had she known something was about to happen to her? Had she been calling for our help, and we’d been too late to save her?
“Well, nobody at school can confirm our alibis, but maybe someone who saw us in the park yesterday can verify that we were there?” Akil put in feebly.
“How can you be so sure a student murdered Jamie?” Alexander asked. “What if it was a stranger, or—or someone else? An adult?”
“Let’s not conjecture any more, please,” Bates said. “If any of you uncover additional information, please report it to me immediately. You’re dismissed. And please, don’t speak of this meeting to anyone else.”
I shot up from my chair, heading for the door.
“Oh, and when further news goes public—which it will, despite my efforts,” I heard Principal Bates call after us, “please . . . be careful with yourselves.”
I fought the strangest urge to laugh. As if we, of all people, didn’t know how to be careful. As if we hadn’t spent our entire existence crafting the careful, perfect lives our parents had mapped out for us.
A lot of people had been angry with the Ruans after the embezzlement scandal had broken. What if one of them had been angered enough to murder Jamie? Who hated her—and wanted her out of the way—that much?
Too many names came to mind. Too many bridges Jamie had burned, classmates whose spines had snapped under her Burberry leather boots as she climbed her way quickly, mercilessly, to the top. Peers who’d waited for her to fall apart in the aftermath of her father’s arrest.
I could still picture Jamie’s sometimes sweet, sometimes gleeful smile. Eyes, burning, when she spiked the volleyball and scored a point. Eyes, glittering, as she snatched the top score out of someone else’s fingertips.
Maybe someone in this school—even one of us—really did have the motivation to get rid of Jamie.
If Bates had asked if we’d ever thought about getting rid of our friend, we would have said no.
We would have been lying.
FEBRUARY, JUNIOR YEAR
I was always lying. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t in order to fit in. Pretending was so much easier than being who I really was. Because the real me, the real Nancy Luo in all her imperfect glory, wasn’t allowed to exist in the rules of this world.
No matter where I went—school or Chinatown or even home—I could never quite shake the feeling of being different. Foreign and unwanted and unwelcome.
But I’d never felt as out of place in my life as I did at Jamie’s seventeenth birthday party. Hanging back behind a car, I stared up at the huge, imposing home that was the Ruans’ family house in the Hamptons. My hands fidgeted absentmindedly with the beads of the pearl necklace I wore. It belonged to Mama, one of her few treasured pieces of jewelry that she’d brought with her from China.
I watched Jamie’s guests, some I recognized as my classmates, and some older-looking strangers. They mingled in front of her house, admiring the garden before heading inside. They were all dressed to the nines, the girls donning designer gowns and the guys
sporting fancy suits. I wore a simple black Vera Wang dress, which Krystal had given me when I’d confided in her that I had nothing to wear to Jamie’s party.
My free hand gripped the wrapped present I’d brought for Jamie. A warm, fuzzy beanie that I’d knit myself. It had taken me over a month to complete, and I’d accidentally poked myself with the needle too many times to admit. Now, I felt like a fool for even bringing it. Jamie was bound to get tons of flashier, expensive gifts. What if she opened mine and laughed in my face?
I knew my friends were inside that huge house somewhere, but the urge to leave overwhelmed me. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t belong here. I turned on my heel, already composing an excuse to text Jamie about being too sick to attend her party.
“Nancy! You made it.”
Too late. Cursing my heels for impeding me from a speedier escape, I winced and turned around. A sinking sensation filled the pit of my stomach at the sight of Jamie Ruan walking toward me. Wearing a long, strapless green gown and a pair of huge emerald earrings, she was the picture of elegance, a model who’d stepped outside the pages of Vogue. The scent of her Dior J’adore perfume wafted from her body.
Next to Jamie, I must’ve looked like a frumpy little girl. Still, I mustered a smile and raised the present toward Jamie. “Happy birthday.”
Jamie accepted the gift with a wide smile. “Thank you. You’re late, though. Everyone’s already here.” She linked arms with me and forced my immobile body forward. “I want you to meet my extended family. You’ve never met them before, right?”
“No.”
“Get ready, ’cause there’s a lot of them. They flew in all the way from Shanghai for my birthday, can you believe it? Usually my parents and I have to go visit them for my birthday every year.”
“Every . . . year?” My heart sank. I grew more aware than ever of the ocean of different that existed between us, as vast and intimidating as the ocean that separated my relatives from me.
Jamie could visit her family, the place she’d come from, every year. Hell, her family was so rich that she could visit whenever she wanted, unlike me.
If Jamie noticed my sour mood, she ignored it. She squealed, “Oh, look—there’s my uncle!” She all but steered me up the polished front steps and through the doorway of her huge house, where the sound of chatter and laughter overwhelmed me. Jamie tossed my present, my hand-knitted gift, haphazardly onto a table right inside the entrance.
Silver candelabras decorated staged tables straight out of a Conde Nast magazine, and high above our heads hung a glittering white chandelier. Everywhere I turned, reminders of Jamie’s family’s wealth. Everywhere I turned, reminders that I was different.
Growing up in America, I’d always been too different. I’d never really fit in. Here was no different. I didn’t belong in Jamie’s world. And the people who didn’t belong in Jamie’s world—they ended up forcibly removed.
People like Em.
No. No, I didn’t want to remember that. I blinked the memories back. Took a deep breath.
Jamie placed me in front of a smiling, balding man who looked like he was in his fifties. She introduced me to so many of her relatives, my head was spinning. There were at least a dozen aunts and uncles, and five or six cousins, most of them older than we.
For a moment, I could almost feel what it would be like to have her world, her life. My anger ebbed as I allowed myself to pretend that these were my relatives. That they’d flown in to celebrate me and my birthday.
When Jamie’s uncle smiled at me, I almost fooled myself into thinking he was my uncle.
“This is Nancy. She’s my friend. Her mom’s the housemaid,” Jamie said brightly in crisp, perfect Mandarin.
The light in my—no, Jamie’s—uncle’s eyes dimmed a little, as did his smile. That smile, I knew. That smile, recognizing that I was beneath him.
The brief bliss of stepping into Jamie’s life was replaced by mortification.
As if Jamie’s family would ever accept me. Not when even my own hadn’t. I wanted to sink through the marble floor. Why did Jamie have to mention that Mama was her housemaid? Was it to make me look bad? To show her relatives that I was some poor charity case of a girl, some fool who’d bring a handmade gift to a lavish party?
Someone who would never belong?
I took a few deep breaths. This was Jamie’s birthday party. I couldn’t make a scene here. Couldn’t give them more reason to think badly of kids like me, kids who came from nothing, who had nothing but their own grit and nobody but themselves.
As Jamie continued speaking to her uncle, I glanced around, trying to spot my friends. The Ruans had pulled out all the stops, naturally. Bright, colorful lights were strung along the walls, and servants bustled in and out of the room, carrying an array of Chinese and American cuisine on their platters: Peking duck, veggie platters, dumplings, cherry pie.
There, near the fruit plate at the end of the table. I locked eyes with Alexander, who was standing next to Akil and Krystal. Part of me had hoped that he’d look and feel as uneasy as I did, as the only scholarship kids at a gathering for some of the wealthiest families around. But his suit and tie fit his form so well, and he lounged in a state of perfect comfort.
Alexander waved me over. Gladly, I navigated through the crowd to join my friends.
“Nancy, where’ve you been?” Krystal said. She was the height of fashion, sporting a gold and white Zimmermann dress. She clutched a Birkin bag in one hand and a plate of fruit in the other. “The rest of us got here a while ago.”
“Um . . . traffic,” I lied.
“Well, at least you look great.” Krystal gave my outfit an approving look. “Doesn’t she, boys?”
When Krystal glared at him, Akil choked on a piece of fruit. “Oh . . . y-yeah. Yeah, that’s . . . that’s a dress.” I swear I could hear Krystal rolling her eyes.
“You look really great, Nancy,” said Alexander.
I beamed. “You, too.”
“That’s how you compliment someone,” Krystal said, clucking her tongue at Akil. “Take notes, Patel.”
Akil let out a nervous laugh, and then promptly dropped his plate, where it shattered on the floor, scattering food and glass everywhere. Squeals erupted around me. We dove out of the way.
“No worries—I’ve got it.” A nearby butler pushed past us, broom and dustpan already in hand.
“Akil, are you okay?” Alexander asked.
Akil’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. His eyes were wide and sunken, with dark circles under them. “Y-Yeah, fine. Probably had too much coffee earlier.” There it was, that nervous guffaw. Coming out shakily. Coming out wrong.
After a moment, Krystal spoke in a voice of forced normalcy. “Anyway, I got some good news today.” She smiled, but it wasn’t her true smile. This one didn’t show teeth. “I got my acceptance email into the James Hale Summer Law Internship Program.”
“That’s great, Krystal!” Alexander said, and we congratulated her.
“Yeah, my parents were really happy when I told them,” she said. And it was a weary smile, a smile of relief, that painted her face.
“Are you happy about it, though?” I asked before thinking.
Krystal’s lips parted, and she stared, just stared. A brief silence, interrupted by a familiar tinkling laugh behind me—Jamie’s.
“Nancy’s on an academic scholarship,” Jamie was saying.
I whirled around at the sound of my name to find her speaking to a group of her relatives.
“Isn’t that great? Sinclair Prep is so generous to its poor students. Plus, Daddy pours so much money into the school, I bet we’re funding part of Nancy’s scholarship too.”
“Your father is so generous,” a middle-aged woman echoed. “He’s always been.” Nods around her, murmurs of confirmation.
“Daddy is proof that if you work hard, you can do anything. Anyone can make it to the top in the States, as long as they aren’t lazy.”
And Jamie�
�s smile, the smile that could cut you open, flashing amid her crowd of admirers. Jamie’s smile, finding me, and widening.
I couldn’t take it any longer. The lights, the chatter, the fake-ness. Jamie shoving her superiority in my face. Jamie’s whole family flying to the States to celebrate her birthday.
In that moment, I wished I were Jamie. Wished I could slip inside her skin, even if only for a day. To know what it was like to be handed everything on a silver platter. To be allowed to “make it.”
I didn’t want to be Nancy Luo anymore. I, who couldn’t afford an actual gift for Jamie. I, always below, gazing up at the impossibly faraway top, no matter how hard I worked.
Tears, tears were falling. Blurring the faces of the partygoers.
“Nancy?” Jamie’s blob-like face turned toward me. “Something wrong?”
“Get away from me.” A voice, a growl, that took me a moment to recognize as mine. Our classmates’ eyes snapped toward me. And the whispers rose once more. But I didn’t care if Jamie’s and my fight became the source of school gossip.
I only cared about this burning fury balled up in my chest. This fury that had been smoldering for months—maybe years—waiting for its moment to explode.
Jamie seethed. “Excuse you? It’s my birthday. So if you want to throw a temper tantrum, at least throw it somewhere—”
“You’ll never understand what it’s like to be me,” I snapped. “You—you have everything.” You can erase anything—anybody—unpleasant from your life. “Your life is the American dream. And I—”
I have nothing but shards, the shattered remains of an American dream that would always lie beyond my family’s grasp. That was what I wanted to say, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead I choked out, “I’m leaving.”
I stormed out of the party, Jamie’s shouts of anger following me out the door.
At home, I went straight to my room, straight to my drawer.
These hands, lifting my Diss Diary, crafting a final entry, the only entry that mattered.
These hands, tattooing a promise onto the page, tattooing it on my skin.
Red ink running, red ink bleeding.