Chapter 3

"Emily Wertheimer, this is a formal notification. Due to your failed security clearance and the flag on your file, all your applications have been voided."

The call came from the Admissions Office the next morning.

"Can I still apply to other schools?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"To be honest, your file is currently locked. The security clearance flag follows your record wherever it goes—which means… even if you apply through regular admission, you'll most likely be rejected."

Dad propped himself up and grabbed the phone. "Then what's she supposed to do? She can't even retake her tests and reapply?"

"That depends on each institution's review standards. We can't make any guarantees."

"You're ruining her future!"

"Sir, we're just following procedure. If you have concerns, please go through the proper appeal channels."

Click… click… click…

The line went dead again.

The hospital room fell silent for a long time.

Dad pounded the bed railing with his fists, over and over. Mom rested her head by his bedside, quietly sobbing.

I stood by the window. It felt like everything that happened yesterday was already a lifetime ago.

"Emily." Dad's voice was hoarse and raw. "It's all our fault—we couldn't do a thing for you. Do you hate us?"

"No."

"I can't even protect you…"

Over the past few days, this sixty-something-old man had broken down more times than I could count.

"Dad, stop." I turned to face him. His legs were suspended in traction, and his hair had turned mostly gray overnight.

Mom picked up an apple to peel, but her hands were shaking too much. The apple slipped and rolled across the floor.

That afternoon, I went home by myself.

I started reaching out to other schools on my list. But their responses were eerily identical.

"Hello, Emily. I'm an admissions counselor at Opnette University. Unfortunately, due to the risk flag on your file, we cannot consider your application this year. We recommend resolving your file issue first."

I called three or four schools. They all gave me practically the same answer.

At nine that night, my deskmate Lily Strand called.

"Emily, are you okay? Don't let those messages in the group chat get to you…"

"Lily, I'm fine. But I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Keep an eye on Tyler Brooks and his family. I'm done sitting back and doing nothing."

There was a few seconds of silence on her end.

"They're behind this?"

I stared at the congratulatory banner hanging at our front gate—the one celebrating my test scores. Now it was trampled into the mud.

"I heard Tyler got into the National Defense Academy by one spot behind me. You really think that's a coincidence?"

Lily's voice dropped to a whisper. "I get it. But Emily, what are you going to do? Is there anyone left who can help you?"

A breeze drifted through the window. I looked around our run-down home—a world away from the celebration just two days ago.

"There's one more thing I can do."

"What?"

I pulled a small box from under the cabinet and dusted it off.

"I'm going to make the whole country hear my side of the story."