Page 22 of Ruthless Court

“Mom.”

She makes a sound between a laugh and a sob, then wraps both arms around me.

My mother has never hugged halfway. She crushes me against a stack of warm towels and cries into my hair.

“I can’t believe this.”

“I can. I wrote the essays.”

She pulls back and holds my face between her hands.

“Stanford.”

“I know.”

“No one in our family has gone anywhere like that. We went to state schools. Your father and I thought Wisconsin was fancy.”

“I also got waitlisted at UCLA.”

She starts crying harder.

“Stop. I can’t tell him with you looking like this.”

“What would you study?”

“Archaeology.”

Her forehead wrinkles.

“Since when?”

“Since the application asked.”

“Hannah.”

“I picked the most obscure serious thing I could find. Ancient ceramics. Dead trade routes. People digging through dirt and arguing about broken bowls.”

“You hate dirt.”

“I hate gyms more.”

Her smile fades.

Not fully. Enough.

She looks back at the acceptance letter.

“Your father is going to be so proud.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“He’ll be shocked, but⁠—”

“Mom.”

She stops.

I take the phone from her and lock the screen.