by Abbi Waxman
“No. Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m terrible at it, but I’m learning. I also took up ballroom dancing, but I didn’t enjoy it AND I was terrible at it, plus it always resembled a giraffe dancing with her baby.” She laughed. “I met a nice guy, though.”
“A baby giraffe?”
She nodded. “Yeah. We have fun, nothing serious.” She leaned forward. “When did you stop having fun?”
I stared into my drink. “I don’t know. Work used to be fun, Emily used to be fun, but lately neither is exactly a barrel of laughs.”
“Well, then your current plan clearly sucks. I’ve got no idea why you’re sticking to it so religiously.”
My phone pinged, and I turned it over. “It’s Emily, she’s saying good night.” I smiled at Helen. “I’ve stayed up later than my teenager, that’s a first.”
“Good. Shake it up.” We looked at each other, then she said, “But now, I expect, you’re going to bed, too, so you can kiss her good night.”
I stood up. “Yup. Way past my bedtime.”
Helen stood, too, and we hugged. I wondered if I felt like a baby giraffe and asked her the question I ask every time I see her. “Are you still glad you never had kids of your own?”
She nodded. “I get a new class of kids every year, when on earth would I have had time for my own?” She was serious for a moment. “Besides, actual children grow up and go away, whereas mine arrive fully grown and are much better at staying in touch.”
Friday
Rhinebeck, NY, and Poughkeepsie, NY
8:00 a.m.: Theme breakfast: Challenges!
10:00 a.m.: Bard College
Drive 48 minutes to Poughkeepsie
2:00 p.m.: Vassar College
Drive 1 hour and 30 minutes on the E3 College Coach to NYC
5:00 p.m.: Check into hotel in NYC
21
EMILY
When Mom came up last night, she was a little drunk, I won’t lie. I could tell because she walked into the closet instead of the bathroom, but also because she threw herself down on the bed and wanted to chat.
Normally I’m down for chatting, but dude, I was tired and I had a lot on my mind. I tried to let her down gently.
“Emily,” she’d said into the bedspread. “Do you ever wonder about life?”
“In what sense?” I’d replied cautiously.
She lifted her head and looked at me owlishly. “In the lifeyness sense, like how it keeps going and you sort of go along with it because, you know, it’s life and what’s the alternative, not anything good, so you meander along and suddenly you’re old and then you’re dead and what is it all really about?”
I went for something neutral. “Sure.”
“Me, too,” she said, then laid her head down on the pillow and started snoring. I pulled off her shoes and covered her with a blanket, then climbed back into bed. Then I got out, hunted through my bag for earplugs, and tried again.
Now, this morning, she was clearly hungover and feeling weird. I tried to be kind.
“Do you want me to bring you something up to eat, Mom? You can sleep in.”
She shook her head, regretted it, and covered her eyes for a moment. “No, I’m good. What’s the theme?”
“It’s circus tricks. We’re all going to do circus tricks.”
She gazed at me in absolute horror.
“I’m joking,” I said, “it’s challenges.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Almost as bad, although I am a walking example of overcoming.”
She got to her feet, reached out for me to balance herself, and then tottered into the bathroom.
* * *
• • •
I’m not sure what got into Cassidy’s cornflakes, but she was in a Bad Mood. It could be that veterinarians were hogging all the tables again, which meant she had to coordinate one big conversation rather than drinking coffee in peace and quiet.
“People,” she said. “This morning we are talking about challenges. You”—she pointed to Alice—“you start. Let’s hear what challenges you face, shall we?” Then she went over to the coffee station and poured herself a bucket-sized cup of coffee.
I was next to Will. I leaned over. “What’s up with her?”
He turned his head to whisper in my ear, which tickled. “Dinner last night was a disaster. I’ll tell you after.”
Alice cleared her throat, glanced nervously around the circle, and said, “Um, I guess I’m challenged by the patriarchy.”
Casper coughed into his hand, “Bullshit.”
I turned and looked at Will, but he closed his eyes and shook his head. Later, he mouthed.
“I’m sorry?” Alice didn’t look very sorry.
“I said bullshit,” said Casper. “You are a girl, yes, and as such you face some institutionalized sexism, but you are about as protected as it’s possible for a girl to be. You’re white, you’re wealthy, you’re pretty, you’re healthy, and yes, that rhymed, but the point I’m making is you’re a special, special princess. The patriarchy will make an exception.”
“Hey, I had acne in eighth grade,” replied Alice hotly. “It needed lasers.”
Casper frowned at her. “And daddy got you lasers, didn’t he?”
I looked at my mom, who had taken a cup of tea to her chair and then leaned back far enough so she could fold her arms and rest her chin in her hand. She returned my gaze and shrugged. Then she leaned over and whispered, “I guess we missed the worm-turning convention.”
“Hey, where’s Alice’s mom?” I asked, looking around. Mom shrugged again.
* * *
• • •
It turned out, I learned later, that dinner at the Beekman Arms had Not Gone Well. Right at the beginning Cassidy had stood up and addressed the table.
“I’ve had a report from several colleges that a parent on this trip attempted to influence admissions staff by offering bribes.” There was a shocked silence. “Literally, cash bribes.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Casper’s mom.
“Nor me,” said Will’s dad. “I don’t have a bribe to offer, unless it’s offering to install shelves or something.” No one was laughing.
Sam’s mom asked, “Did they say which parent it was?”
“No,” said Cassidy. “As I said before, E3 has a stellar reputation, and they were doing me the courtesy of informing me rather than the FBI. I doubt they’ll give us a second chance if it happens again.”
Dani Ackerman spat out her drink. “The FBI? Why?”
“Because bribery is a federal offense.”
“But they wouldn’t take the bribes.”
Looooong silence.
“Or so you just said,” Dani added weakly.
According to Will, the rest of the dinner had been pretty stony.
* * *
• • •
Of course, I didn’t know that during the breakfast. After Alice and Casper’s little spat, it was Will’s turn and he, at least, tried to lighten the mood.
“Um, challenges. Let’s see. There are the obvious ones, like my relative impoverishment, but to a certain extent those are counterbalanced by my education and incredible personal charm.” He coughed. “And my impressive vocabulary.”
I laughed, but no one else did. Then it was my turn. Because I didn’t know what had happened, I opened my mouth and stuck my foot right in it.
“I guess the biggest challenge is getting into college, right?”
Casper snorted. “Yeah, unless you bribe your way in.”
I frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“You might not,” he said. “But other people could.”
I was confused. “But isn’t that sad? All this stress and effort to get into college. How can it possibly be worth it?”
“I don’t know,�
�� he replied. “At your school they apparently like to cheat on exams and bribe admissions people, so you’re the perfect person to explain it to us.”
I turned to Will, who didn’t say anything at first, but then said, “Casper, Emily didn’t cheat or bribe anyone, don’t pick on her.”
“But maybe she understands why her people think it’s okay to game the system, while the rest of us work our butts off.”
I opened my mouth to say whoever these people were, they weren’t my people, but Mom beat me to it.
Still leaning back, she said, “I’ll tell you why. Most parents don’t think it’s okay to bribe or cheat, but we’re constantly told that getting our kids into a good college will be some kind of insurance against the future. Our influence over your lives is coming to an end, and we’re desperately trying to do one last thing to help you out.” She took a sip of tea. “We’ve spent the last sixteen years preparing you to be adults, and when we look at the future, it’s pretty clear it’s a crapshoot. If a fancy college degree will help you, fair enough, let’s obsess about that.” She finished her tea and got up to get more, muttering, “It’s utterly pointless, of course, because the world could end tomorrow, or you could get hit by a bus, but it’s all we’ve got.”
There was a long pause, then I said, “Yeah, what she said, I guess.”
Then the door opened and two guys in suits came in. Everyone swiveled to look at them. Cassidy stood up.
“This is a private group,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Cassidy Potter?”
“Your last name is Potter?” said Casper, unable to stop himself.
“Yes,” she said, “and you are?”
“I’m Agent Feld, and this is my colleague Agent Larsson. We’re from the FBI.” He showed his badge; all of us were riveted.
Cassidy went red; this was clearly her worst nightmare. “Is this about the cheating?”
“Yes.” Feld nodded. “We’re looking for . . .”
“She’s not here,” said Cassidy. “I guess she’s still in her room.”
“Emily Burnstein.”
Now everyone turned and stared at me.
“Oh,” said Cassidy, running out of steam. “Well, she’s right over there.”
22
JESSICA
This whole thing would be a lot easier if I weren’t hungover, I’ll be honest.
When Agent What’s-His-Nuts said Emily’s name, I had a cup of fresh, hot tea in my hand and had to fight the ill-advised impulse to throw it in his face, grab my kid, and head for Mexico.
Then I realized a mistake must have been made somewhere.
“I’m Jessica Burnstein,” I said. “I’m Emily’s mother. What’s going on?” I kept my tone polite, I’m a professional. I glanced at Emily and wasn’t reassured by her expression. I’ll be honest, she looked guilty. I wasn’t sure what of, though, so I smiled at the nice FBI people.
“I’m afraid we need to talk to Emily alone, Mrs. Burnstein.”
“She’s a minor,” I said, “you can’t talk to her alone.”
“Actually, we can,” he replied. “Unless she requests you be present, which she has the right to do.”
“Is she being charged with anything?”
The agent was surprised. “No, ma’am, only questions.”
Emily spoke, and her voice was pretty firm. “I have the right to an attorney, correct?”
“Yes, of course, but we’re not charging you with anything. I said that.”
Emily stood up. “Well, even so, I’ll happily answer your questions in the presence of my attorney.” She walked towards the door.
The FBI agent said, “Who’s your attorney, Ms. Burnstein?”
“She is,” my daughter replied. “Come on, Mom. Let’s do this.”
EMILY
In a way it was almost a relief when the agents said my name. I mean, not really, but the whole thing had kind of been hanging over me. I wasn’t sure why the FBI was involved, but maybe it was because I was in a different state? I don’t know, I’m not a lawyer. That’s what Mom’s for.
Which is another thing. Until that moment I had never considered the benefits of having a mother who was a lawyer. I hadn’t planned on ever needing a lawyer, frankly. We left the breakfast room and walked into the lobby. To my surprise, the agents headed to a coffee place outside, and Mom paused, too.
“Wait, where are we going?”
Agent Feld looked surprised. “To Starbucks.”
“You don’t want to take her somewhere private?” Mom was getting irritated because she was confused, a state she really doesn’t have a lot of experience with.
He shook his head. “Honestly, Mrs. Burnstein, for the third time, she isn’t being charged with anything, we just have a few questions.”
“It’s Ms. Burnstein, and these questions couldn’t wait till we got back to Los Angeles?”
He was mildly embarrassed. “Well, we wanted to talk to her in person, as the agents in Los Angeles had handled it up to now.”
It was a little awkward at the checkout, because they asked me if I wanted anything to eat and they had those birthday cake pops, which I freaking love, but being questioned by law enforcement while holding a pink cake pop with sprinkles seemed wrong. Such a bummer.
We sat down. I looked at Mom. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
She suddenly got it. “Wait, is this about the cheating thing at school?”
I nodded.
She was silent for a moment, which I knew wasn’t a good sign. Her eyelid was twitching; she was about to go nuclear.
“Mom . . .” I tried to say.
But it was too late. She blew. “Emily Elizabeth Burnstein, why on earth would you cheat? You know I don’t care about your grades. I just want you to do your best.”
“I know, Mom . . .”
She interrupted me. “Cheating is never the answer! I thought I raised you better than that! I could have gotten you tutors! My god, what is your father going to say? Or my father? You were a Girl Scout, for crying out loud! Why would you risk your future for a stupid test? You’ll never get into college now! I mean”—her voice was loud, and the whole coffee shop was listening to her freak out; I was having zero luck getting a word in—“your record will be sealed once you’re eighteen, so I guess we could try . . .”
“Ms. Burnstein,” said Agent Feld patiently, but she ignored him.
“Thank goodness I quit,” she said suddenly. “We’ll leave the country. Or I’ll take the job with Ostergren and move to Baltimore.” She turned to the agents. “Do you need to Mirandize her? What’s the charge? Do you have witnesses?” It turns out there is a middle ground between harassed mother and polished lawyer, and it’s harassed lawyer. It was almost adorable, but not quite, on account of the incredible loudness.
“Ms. Burnstein!” Agent Feld put on his big-girl voice. “Ms. Burnstein, Emily didn’t do anything wrong. She isn’t being accused of cheating.”
Mom gazed at him. “She’s not?” She stared at me. “You didn’t cheat?”
I shook my head and may even have smiled a little bit. “No, Mom, I’m not the cheater.” I took a deep breath. “I’m the snitch.”
JESSICA
Well, this was unexpected.
It turned out Emily overheard some girls in class talking about a guy who’d approached them online and offered to sell them the exam paper for the upcoming AP Statistics test. One of them was a friend of hers, and when she asked Emily for her opinion, Em said it was a terrible idea. Which of course it was. Em pointed out that (a) they had no way of knowing if the paper was real, the College Board (who administers the APs) is pretty freaking uptight about exam papers; and (b) they were jeopardizing their futures by cheating.
“The thing is,” Emily said, leaning across to the FBI agent
s, one of whom had lemon cake crumbs on his chin, “they were all pretty decent at stats anyway, it wasn’t like they were going to fail the AP. But they wanted to do better.”
“So you called the cops?” I was sitting there pretty stunned, I’ll admit it. After the embarrassment of accusing my innocent child of cheating, I’d kind of kept my mouth shut.
Emily shook her head. “No, I wanted to stop them from cheating, but I didn’t want them to get into trouble and have it ruin their transcript or whatever.” She shrugged. “All they’d done was talk and think about it, they hadn’t even agreed to meet the guy.”
“So you told the principal?”
“I wrote a note,” said Emily. “I didn’t want to get caught snitching, either, although that doesn’t seem to have worked out very well.” She blushed suddenly. “I had Anna write it, I’m sorry. I knew they would recognize my writing.” She tried a small smile. “I told you penmanship wasn’t going to pay off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She frowned at me. “You’re a lawyer. You’re a mandated reporter, right? You would have to tell the authorities.”
“I guess. But aren’t teachers?”
“Yes,” said Agent Feld. “The principal dealt with her students as she saw fit, then she contacted the LA field office and told them what the girls had told her about the man offering to sell them the papers. One of the girls agreed to wear a wire for us and meet the guy, and the LA office managed to catch him and get him to turn on his coconspirators. It’s a much bigger problem than Los Angeles.”
“Well, how did you know I wrote the note?” Emily looked worried.
“Your principal made an educated guess, she said. It could only have been someone who knew all the girls, it was reasonable to assume she was also in the Statistics class, and someone who had—her phrase—a strong moral compass.”
We all regarded Emily, who was clearly torn between being pleased her principal thought she was a good person and being pissed off she was perceived as a Goody Two-shoes. No teenager wants to be told they have a strong moral compass; they might as well wear a hat with a propeller on it.