my final interview for the Am

gue university, everything

n notes, my heart thumping a st

into my room. She lived with us, wi

weet smile that never

ous,

mitted, trying t

holding out a steaming mug. "It'll hel

s acted s

r. I was nai

l. It tasted a little bitter,

ing I knew,

in m

. My head felt like it was stuffed

seiz

p was open on a

as my scholarsh

lled with paragraphs copied directly from

knocking

ecurity!

mittee members, they all barged in. Someone,

aptop, the fak

riented and in a

ir faces. Disgus

plagiarism, of

In front o

ified.

. Miller, he

ther, Mrs. Vance, she w

He believed I was

n me. Said I wasn't

Mark Olsen,

my rock, my

aid, holding me while I crie

o him, so

nd out I was preg

ms gone, I relied

ff to Yale, to Harvard, to

Raising our child.

e savior I t

passed. Fi

ike it had been

g, I came

m the living room.

her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I got the s

d. A cold,

g. But honestly, Jess, her usefulness is about ov

ld sha

el. The plagiari

tup. A cruel, c

dn't b

out of the house. I did

s. A horn

, no

ed, a sharp

s flew

y bedroom.

eamed throug

mmered agai

r creak

in, holding a

t same fake-sweet smile on her f