Page 17 of Ruthless Court

Another video loads.

A fountain surrounded by flowers.

Then a library that looks like a cathedral.

Then football players walking past students carrying violins, robots, and surfboards.

Malibu Barbie and Harvard?

It sounds ridiculous.

It also looks warm.

I glance toward the window.

The weather app says negative eight, but the windchill makes it feel like negative twenty-six. Tomorrow morning, I’ll step outside and the cold will seize my lungs before I make it to the bus stop.

My father thinks I’m going to a state school.

That I’ll get an MBA.

Then I’ll help him open a gym where another generation of boys can become his entire life.

I return to the Stanford video.

“Palm trees sound pretty good,” I whisper.

My college application dashboard is still open in another tab.

I add Stanford before I can think too hard.

Then UCLA.

Pepperdine appears in the suggested results, all ocean views and white buildings above the Pacific, so I add that too.

Three application fees appear.

I almost close the page.

Instead, I search for waivers.

That leads me to financial-aid forms, supplemental questions, scholarship databases, community foundations, private grants, and several websites designed by people who hate teenagers.

I create a spreadsheet.

Deadline.

Amount.

Essay requirement.

Recommendation letters.

Income restrictions.

By one thirty in the morning, I have seventeen possibilities saved.

By two, I have a new folder labeled CALIFORNIA ESCAPE PLAN.