Influenced by Eva Robinson (best free ebook reader TXT) 📗

But cheerful blues, of course. So we don’t harsh everyone’s mellow.”

Peter crossed to the trio, a crooked smile on his face. He wore thick-rimmed glasses that stood out starkly against his pale skin and a white T-shirt. “I’m not sure we want to subject our friends to our music together.”

Rowan wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “But the love in our harmonies would shine through. Peter is one of my very best friends.”

For some inexplicable reason, Hannah felt a sharp twinge of jealousy. She ignored it and held out her hand to him. “Hi, I’m Hannah. High school friend of Rowan’s.”

He shook her hand, firmly but quickly. “Peter. Assistant professor, department of education.”

Rowan leaned into him. “I first met Peter at a costume party where he was dressed up as Princess Leia. Gorgeous.”

Peter shrugged. “I look good in a gold bikini.”

“And Hannah here,” Rowan went on, “was our class valedictorian, and now she’s a brilliant psychologist. And she has all kind of wonderful ideas for our marketing.”

Hannah didn’t feel like a very brilliant psychologist—not when she was about to start taking money to make up disorders for rich people.

She smiled. “I thought maybe if Rowan took a portrait of a promising student from Rindge, she could post a caption about what the teen center would provide for her. Someone already eighteen would be easier, permissions-wise. Maybe give some details about the kinds of help available, the tutoring, the arts classes. A goal of how much money Rowan’s trying to raise, how it’ll help the students with their specific needs—applying for college, SAT tutoring, all that. And we could try to run viral contests so it’s shared.”

Rowan grimaced. “I don’t want to sound like a total jerk, but photos of teenagers isn’t really my brand. I do sound like a jerk. Okay, maybe I could get someone to shoot from behind, sort of in the distance, just standing on the ground of the building site? Shot from behind but with really lovely sunset lighting. And then…” She waved a hand. “Whatever you said, Hannah.”

“Brilliant,” said Peter. “I like the bit about the SAT tutoring. I mean, the inequality is just so glaring, right? We have some students paying thousands of dollars for classes that make their scores go up hundreds of points. The kids who can afford it get extra time. With private testing, if you pay the right psychologist, you can buy the results you want. My ex-boyfriend was one of those psychologists, and he had to go.”

Hannah felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She’d soon be writing a report explaining that Isobel—Rowan’s younger sister, who had no discernible disability—absolutely needed double the time on the SATs because of executive functioning issues she’d invented.

Of course, she could never admit to it, but she wanted to scream at him, to justify herself. “I’m sure those psychologists aren’t intending to be unethical. You know, it’s like that psychiatrist who diagnosed everyone with bipolar at Mass General. Was he part of some nefarious plot? No, it’s just that everyone has biases that color how they interpret things. When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail…” She trailed off. “And all that.”

He spread his hands, palms up. “And the end result was a bunch of kids on liver-damaging medications that they never needed. To me, when it comes to morality, intentions don’t matter as much as how it affects the real world.”

Rowan gave him a playful shove. “Peter, can you smoke a bowl or something and get back to us? Go back to your ‘I’m a Creep’ song.”

His eyes crinkled when he laughed, but Hannah still felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. He wouldn’t care that she had to make a living, would he? Everyone was so quick to judge these days. “Well, you certainly have an interesting perspective,” said Hannah, but it sounded hollow, angry.

A heavy silence fell over them, the air thinning. Hannah forced a smile. Why did she care? Probably because she knew he was right. “Anyway,” she added, “the college boards are generally terrible. If we got rid of them, it would solve a lot of problems.”

“Well, no arguments from me,” said Peter. “But there’s stuff going on you would not believe. Wealthy people are just buying their way in.” Peter took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not talking about the SATs. That’s just the stuff people know about. I’ve heard a rumor from one of my students that there’s a serious academic fraud situation going on. People are completely buying their way into the Ivies with bribes and favors. The student wouldn’t tell me who was involved, but I plan to find out.”

Hannah felt a chill ripple over her. Was he talking about what she was doing?

Rowan rolled her eyes. “There’s no conspiracy. Money’s always paved the way to acceptances. If your parents donate a few million dollars, you’re more likely to get in. You can read all about it, in fact, in the angry comments on my Instagram photos. They’ll explain to you exactly why I’m actually an idiot who didn’t deserve to go to Harvard.”

Peter shook his head. “This is different.”

Hannah arched an eyebrow. “Well, what is it?”

Peter pressed his lips together, then pretended to zip them. “I’m not ready to say anything yet.”

Stella glared at him, seemingly irritated that she wasn’t being let in on the gossip. “Well, who else knows about it?”

He smiled. “You know what? I’m going to shut up and play my guitar again. Any requests?”

“Bob Marley,” said Rowan.

Hannah was desperate to know what he was talking about, but Peter was already walking away.

“That sounds like quite the conspiracy.” Stella flicked her flowery hair behind her shoulder, staring after him. Then she turned to the table, plucked a strawberry tart from a plate, and dropped it on a napkin. “Anyway, moving along, please try this. I just picked these berries from my garden, maybe a little early. But I swear, it tastes like heaven.”

Hannah pulled it from