Page 19 of All These Beautiful Strangers
“Yeah, we have sort of a . . . repository of essays, exams, et cetera, for every teacher, every class, going back, like, decades. Every A contributes to it and every A is free to use it at their discretion. It’s what got me through Mrs. Morrison’s American Literature class last year with a solid A minus. Mom and Dad were so proud, they sprung for new rims for my Porsche.”
“But aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught?” I asked.
Knollwood’s zero-tolerance policy when it came to cheating meant automatic expulsion. Plus, Mrs. Morrison and a lot of other teachers had recently started running every paper that was turned in through an online service that automatically checked the essay for plagiarism, analyzing the paper against material on the web and other papers previously turned in to its database.
“We’re working on a way around that,” Dalton said. “It’s just software, and you can beat it if you know what you’re doing.”
My mind instantly went to Jude Bane—the computer nerd who was one of my fellow A initiates. Was that why the A’s had included him? Were they looking for him to hack the system?
“But in the meantime, as long as you use papers from far enough back, you should be fine. They’re too old to be in the database, and it’s not like Mrs. Morrison is going to remember every paper on Plath that she’s ever read.”
“True,” I said.
Dalton leaned back in his chair. “Any plans for homecoming?”
“My whole family is coming in for the game against Xavier,” I said. “My dad is an alum. My uncle Teddy is too—well, sort of. I think Uncle Teddy technically got expelled before he graduated, but my grandmother Eugenia doesn’t like to talk about it. But anyways, my cousin Piper is checking out Knollwood because she might go here next year, so her whole family is coming. What about you?”
I spotted Stevie out of the corner of my eye, coming around the nearest bookshelf. She stopped short when she saw Dalton at our table and did an excited happy dance, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. I discreetly shook my head at her, and she busied herself pretending to look for a book in the stacks while she very obviously eavesdropped on our conversation.
“My mom’s an alum, too,” Dalton said. “But she won’t be able to make it, probably. Work keeps her pretty busy.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said.
Dalton shrugged. “Actually, though, when I was asking about your plans for homecoming, I was referring to the dance, not the game.”
I heard Stevie squeal and then try to cover it up with a coughing fit. I ignored her.
“Oh,” I said.
“Are you going with anyone?”
“Well, I always go stag with the girls,” I said. I pointedly turned my head a fraction so I couldn’t see the frantic gestures Stevie was making in my direction, like she was trying to land a plane.
“The girls?” Dalton asked.
“Yeah—Drew, Stevie, Yael. It’s always kinda been our thing,” I said.
Freshman and sophomore year, the four of us had gone to homecoming together. We’d gotten ready together, we’d danced together, and when the dance was over, Stevie and Yael had dragged their mattresses into my and Drew’s room and slept on our floor. Not that any of us got much sleep. Mostly, those nights consisted of our staying up until dawn laughing and drinking cooking sherry that Drew had co-opted from the dormitory’s kitchen.
“What about you?” I asked. “Who are you taking?”
Dalton shrugged. “Haven’t asked anyone yet. Maybe I’ll try the whole stag thing.”
“Psh,” I said, and rolled my eyes. Royce Dalton without a date? I couldn’t picture it.
“What?” Dalton asked, the corner of his lips twitching up sheepishly. I tried not to think about how cute he was when he smiled, the way it made my stomach drop like I was standing on top of a high ledge glancing down. “You don’t think I can hack it for one night alone?”
“I think there are at least a hundred girls at Knollwood who are dying to go to the dance with you, and to not ask a single one of them seems a little rude.”
“Oh, so I need to ask someone for the greater good?”
“Oh, please,” I said. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t enjoy yourself. There’s gotta be at least one girl at Knollwood you’d want to go with.”
“Well, I was going to ask you, but you already have three dates, so it appears I’m too late,” Dalton said.
I rolled my eyes again. Dalton was such a flirt. I pitied the girl who took him too seriously.
“Yes, it’s too bad,” I said. “But you can’t really mess with tradition.”
