The Ivies - Alexa Donne Page 0,11

did, didn’t you? Fuck.” Sierra rubs the bridge of her nose, shakes her head. “You cannot tell Avery. Not today. She’s already off the rails.”

“Is it that bad?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

Sierra throws me a look communicating her distaste. “God, and now I’m in the middle, too. I wish you hadn’t told me.”

That lights the spark of annoyance in me. “Oh, I’m so sorry for telling you, my friend, my good news.”

Sierra softens. “I’m sorry. It’s just…Avery will crack me like an egg.”

“You mean Margot will crack you like an egg and then tell Avery,” I offer. Every dictator has her spymaster. Margot has an uncanny ability to root out secrets. “You’re a better actress than I am, anyway. I’m the bigger risk.”

Sierra doesn’t disagree with me. “We need time to practice. You can say you were deferred at Penn and then apply RD to cover your ass. I’ll pretend we never had this conversation. By April, no one will be the wiser.”

I let it sink in for a moment that she’s essentially saying I cannot go to Harvard, period. Defiance curls in my gut, but then I push it down, like always. That can’t be what she means. A friend would never expect me to give up on my dream for, what? Avery’s pride? Before I can ask for clarification, my phone screeches, dances across the desk surface. Sierra’s chimes from her bag. We both have the same text from Avery:

Emergency strategy session, my room, NOW!

“I think we’re out of time,” I say, swallowing thickly. When Avery calls the Ivies to assembly, we don’t keep her waiting.

* * *

—

We meet in Avery’s dorm room. She has a single, of course, the best money can buy, and she also has a state-of-the-art projection system so we can watch movies—or whatever else—on a giant screen. Avery’s room is boarding-school-catalog perfect: lavender Kate Spade carnation comforter piled high with a gaggle of decorative pillows, whimsical vinyl wall decals, a cascade of fairy-light picture clips, and even custom royal-purple curtains. Plus, a Harvard pennant next to a poster of Lexa from The 100, Avery’s sole basic-bitch piece of décor. We got it at Hot Topic sophomore year. The faculty in residence ignore the contraband espresso maker atop the dresser, as well as the wine fridge in the closet. All Ivies group hangs happen here, the nicest room on the floor.

When Sierra and I arrive, the lights are down and the List is projected onto the wall across from Avery’s bed. Margot controls the laptop, creating a new subsection of the Google Docs spreadsheet under the headline Regular Decision.

“Good, you’re here,” Avery greets us. “Have a seat.”

We do, on a love seat Avery brought with her to “fill out the room.” Margot is in the desk chair, which is springy and ergonomic, not Claflin issue, and Avery takes the bed as we wait for our final member, Emma.

My eyes scan the top part of the List. There are twelve names of our marks—I mean, classmates—whose GPAs, class ranks, clubs and leadership positions, test scores, and finally ED application plans we’ve meticulously tracked. A few we targeted specifically, a bit of manipulation here and there to increase our own odds. Not a lot, in the grand scheme of things, but enough.

My own name jumps out at me from the Ivy assigned column, and my stomach turns, though I remind myself that nothing we’ve done is that bad. Avery always knows what tiny ripples will create the biggest waves, pushing us to the top. I asked her once where she came up with her ideas, and she answered darkly, “Big Pharma is a fascinating business.”

Between my office access and Sierra’s computer skills, we ensured that the Ivies always got the best teachers and spots in coveted AP classes. I planted a story or two in the Ledger, while Margot stirred the rumor mill as needed. Avery “accidentally” passed on incorrect notes when someone missed class for being sick, while Sierra and I were always good for innocently remarking to an RA that we’d seen Rebecca Ito or Diana Klein sneaking in just shy of 5:00 a.m., indicating an off-limits overnight in the boys’ dorm. With enough demerits for illegal fraternization, students were docked club hours. Miss too many and there went your president title or lead role in the musical. Crafty stuff.

I never minded when we exposed a plagiarist or cheater, and we were always careful