Page 21 of Ruthless Court

Stanford University.

Me?

The girl sitting beside me glances over, but I lock my phone and slide it beneath my leg.

I don’t tell anyone.

Not in chemistry.

Not at lunch.

Not when Dad picks me up outside school with Brandon already in the passenger seat because he needs extra work before Friday’s game.

I sit in the back and watch frozen buildings pass the window.

That night, I open the financial-aid estimate.

Stanford gives me more grant aid than I expected. A lot more.

It still leaves travel, books, personal expenses, and part of the family contribution. Numbers large enough to scare me, but not large enough to kill the dream.

I could work on campus.

Tutor.

Apply for more outside scholarships.

Live on cereal.

Sell a kidney.

I might make it work.

Mom is folding towels in the laundry room when I finally tell her.

I close the door behind me.

“Can you keep a secret?”

She looks up slowly.

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? No.”

“Then yes.”

I pull out my phone and show her the letter.

She reads the first line.

Her hand flies to her mouth.

“Hannah.”

“Quiet.”

“You got into Stanford?”