“She uploaded it under her name,” Miss Garcia said quietly.
My throat closed up. I felt as if I were watching someone rob a grave in real time.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to have to.”
“She uploaded it under her name.”
***
Brittany sat on the couch scrolling on her phone; Natalie cleaned as if it were any other day.
“You took my essay,” I said as soon as I walked in.
She glanced at me and smirked.
“You’ve got the grades, Halle. You’ll survive. Relax.”
My stepmom folded her arms.
“She needs the scholarship more than you do. Stop being selfish.”
“You took my essay.”
“Selfish?”
I said it back as if it were a foreign word I was trying to pronounce.
“You heard me.”
I stood there for a second, waiting for one of them to back down. Neither did.
***
The following morning, I walked into the counselor’s office with accusations, handwritten drafts, and a stack of index cards from my brainstorming. Mrs. Pratt listened, nodded, and made a little tent with her fingers.
“You heard me.”
“Halle, I hear you. But Brittany says you helped her write it, and your stepmother confirmed that over the phone. This is a family matter.”
