#FairGraduateAdmissions has brought upon you, and that you are concerned about the movement gaining even further momentum. As you know, I’m one of its most prominent activists, and played a signi cant role in its inception. You probably see me as an enemy, but it doesn’t have to be like that.

’

ff

’

@WHATWOULDMARIEDO I d like to o er you a deal. I m open to help shift the narrative toward STC, and to tell my followers and collaborators that the demands of

#FairGraduateAdmissions are excessive. That while there might be a need for reform, we do need

standardized testing, and therefore it would be in our best interest to work with companies that already exist to improve on instruments that are already widely utilized. Of course, I would not be doing this for free.

My real name is

, in case you need to look up my

credentials. I am open to hearing your offers.

I blink at my screen, floored. Then I scroll up to read the public comment Green

made

on

top

of

the

screenshots.

@JgreenSTC

#FairGraduateAdmissions activists and the universities and institutions who take them seriously should read what @WhatWouldMarieDo, one of their leaders, asked of me. This is the real agenda of this movement: extortion.

@JgreenSTC At STC we’ve decided not to make this

individual’s identity public (for now.) We’re consulting with our lawyers and keeping our options open. In the meantime, time to reconsider where you stand

#FairGraduateAdmissions.

I feel light-headed. Because I haven’t been breathing. I force myself to inhale some air, in and out and in again. This has to be photoshopped. Yes.

There’s no other explanation. Very well done, but . . . in grad school Annie photoshopped a tentacle coming out of her butt. Anything’s possible, right?

I sit at my desk, noticing that lots of people I’ve talked with recently have blocked me—do they believe this rubbish? They can’t possibly. They know me. Right?

MARIE: Shmac, I just saw the STC shitshow. Have you?

I bounce my foot and wait for his answer. Minutes later Rocío comes in and starts sliding stuff into her backpack. When I say “sliding,” what I mean is “aggressively throwing as though she’s practicing her pitch for an upcoming stoning.”

“You okay?” I ask, regretting it even before the words are out. I’m probably too anxious to help her with whatever she’s going to tell me. “No.”

Shit. “Is Kaylee okay?”

“No. She feels like crap.” She zips up her backpack, forcefully sliding her arm through one of the straps. “All the work we’ve been doing for

#FairGraduateAdmissions, flushed down the toilet because one of the leaders outed herself as a damn crook.”

I freeze. Of all the conversations, I cannot imagine one more uncomfortable, untimely, unpleasant—lots of Uns.

“I—I saw,” I stammer. My mouth is dry. “But . . . is that even true? It’s probably something made up—”

“I bet it’s not. People kept saying that STC’s screenshots were fake, so he gave proof to some

#FairGraduateAdmissions leaders. Marie really did slide into this guy’s DMs and asked for money. She fucked us over—she was the one who started

#FairGraduateAdmissions, so we won’t be taken seriously any longer. That means lots of horrible things for lots of good people—and even for some evil ones. Like me. I’ll have to spend thousands of dollars I don’t have to retake a test that’s less valid a predictor of my ability to succeed in grad school than the number of mummified scorpions I own. Which is seven, by the way.” Her voice breaks a little on the last word, which in turn breaks my heart. She looks away, but not before I can see the lone tear sliding down

her face. “I won’t get into Johns Hopkins. I’ll be a jobless failure while Kaylee goes to grad school and forgets all about me.”

I stand. “No. No, it won’t happen—”

“I’m just so disappointed.” She takes a deep breath, shuddering and despondent. “You can’t trust anyone. The world really is a vampire.” She shrugs, backpack bouncing on her slim shoulder. “You should stop doing that, by the way.”

“What?” I follow her gaze. She’s staring at my hand, where I’m furiously twisting my grandmother’s ring.

“Yesterday I spent fifteen minutes arguing with Guy about whether you’re married. That’s what happens when

you wear other people’s wedding rings, Bee.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Did Guy find out? He did seem a little distant today, but I thought he was just nervous about tomorrow’s demonstration. Should I go find him to explain?

“You going home?” Rocío asks.

“No, I . . .” I was supposed to leave with Levi, as usual. But I don’t think I can pretend nothing happened, and telling him about this mess seems . . .

well, I could, I guess. If there’s someone I could trust with WWMD, it’s Levi.

But my shitty mood as I try to wrangle my online identity is probably more than he’s bargained for. “Yeah, sure. I’ll walk with you.”

I shoot Levi a quick text about the change of plans and fall in step with Rocío. He doesn’t answer until I’m home, asking me if everything’s okay, if I want him to pick me up, if he should stop by. A few seconds later, Shmac finally replies:

SHMAC: Yeah. I saw.