“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “It’s not your fault you earned one more point than I did, and you’re right. It sucks to lose by so small a margin, but I can’t hold a grudge this long over one stupid point, right? Fair’s fair and all that. The thing is, it wasn’t fair.”
“The hell it wasn’t,” I say, unable to hold back. “How could you possibly think I cheated? We had to surrender our phones. They practically strip searched us. What? You think I hid the answers in my beard?”
She rolls her eyes. “When the results were posted, I saw that someone beat us both by a large margin. Turns out it was Josie, no surprise. I was bummed to get third, but I wouldn’t have given it another thought until my adviser made an offhand comment about how many people sat forthe test. She said she was impressed that I earned the third highest spot out of the hundred and four applicants. But I counted heads when we were in there, and there were one hundred and five of us. It didn’t take much digging to figure out what you did.”
“Please, Claire, enlighten me. Did I magically make myself appear there?”
“You didn’t use magic,” she says. “You utilized your privilege. The deadline to apply had passed two weeks before the exam. The original list had one hundred and four names and ID numbers. You weren’t on that list. And yet, you were on the final version that was updated less than twenty-four hours before the exam. All of Bainbridge’s athletic scholarships had been scooped up by then, but you’re a hotshot athlete, an asset to the team. They couldn’t lose the chance to have you on the roster, so they bent some rules and let you sit for the test.”
I’m processing her words when she balls up her trash and stands. “No one likes losing,” she says, “but it’s part of life and I can deal. What I can’t handle is favoritism. I think I made that clear yesterday.”
She walks out of Drip before I can make sense of everything she’s said. I haven’t seen her since she left Florida the day before I did. And yes, I sat for the scholarship test the day after I toured Bainbridge, but I didn’t cheat. I was invited to take the test.
My mind is going a million miles an hour and I realize I’m just staring at the door she vacated a few moments ago. Jake Lanza, our baseball team’s star pitcher takes a seat at a nearby table and gestures toward me. “Don’t look too wrecked, Santos. You dodged a bullet on that one.” The guys he’s with chuckle, but I’m not laughing.
I try to focus on the notes on my screen, but nothing is making sense. I’m all tangled up in my feelings for Claire—fascination, frustration, and attraction. Her accusations don’t add up, but there’s no doubt that she believes them. She thinks I cheated the system and she’s been holding onto that anger for years. There’s no way her version of events is true, but how can I get her to see that? She really hates my guts.
I give up on studying and decide to check in with Gramma to see how Ma’s doing. When I take my phone off Do Not Disturb, though, it lights up with a million notifications from my group chat with the team. Jesus. Did Norris and Coach come to blows? Did Mickey burn down his new digs? What else could possibly go wrong this semester?
Ollie: Shit, Santos, are you okay?
Will: Yeah man, that fucking sucks. We’re here for you.
Those texts make sense. Van must’ve told the guys about mom’s fall. But the next few just don’t compute.
Dean: She did you dirty, man
Mickey: I can’t believe this shit. Is it true?
Van: I think so, but it’s kinda shitty how she put it all out there. You good, dude?
Rosco: I’m not defending her, but the backlash has been nasty. Some dickhole dumped a bunch of trash right in front of their door this morning. They couldn’t leave without cleaning it up and it was fucking gross. Holl was almost late for student teaching.
I feel like I’ve landed in some parallel universe where everybody is clued in on shit except for me.
Pete: What are you guys talking about? I’ve been off campus for twelve freaking hours. What did I miss?
Ollie:You didn’t see Claire’s piece in the paper?
Santos: No. Did she give someone bad advice? What the hell has everyone so worked up?
Three little dots appear and then a link pops up.
Will: I hate to say this, Santos, but I think you should read Claire’s article.
I click on the link and begin reading. Every word is like a punch to my gut.
Imagine basking in the sun all day and having fun all night. Imagine a world without consequences and a party that never ends. Imagine a life with no responsibilities and all of the rewards.
If that sounds like paradise or even the best summer vacation you could fathom, you’re wrong. It’s not some daydream world. It’s reality for the athletes who study marine biology at Bainbridge University’s Minimester at Marine World.
Actually, study isn’t the right word. The athletes aren’t hitting the books. They’re spending their days poolside and reaping the benefits of other students’ hard work.
The Marine Minimester has been a staple at Bainbridge and a feather in the university’s cap since its inception in 1995. What started as an opportunity for a select group of deserving students to get hands-on experience has morphed into a program that caters to the elite and turns a blind eye to bad behavior.
For proof of the corrupt practices, you only need to take a look at the lottery system used for selection. It was first introduced in 2002, due to the program’s overwhelming popularity. Interested students submit their name and student number and the lucky ones are chosen randomly for the trip. At least, that’s what’s advertised in the course selection guide. I submitted my name for selection for the past three years to no avail. I never gave it much thought. After all, there must be hundreds of interested students each year, right?
There are. A record 874 students participated in the lottery this year. Of the 100 students chosen, a staggering 71 are Bainbridge athletes. A wild coincidence? Not hardly. According to a student who has attended the once-in-a-lifetime experience three separate times, the software program that’s advertised as random, is anything but. Studentnumbers that belong to athletes are flagged and selected first. Remaining spots are offered to those peons among us who can’t score a goal or steal a base or make a three-point shot.
