His Jealousy Sent Me Straight To The Ivy League Chapter 01
I’ve been running the anonymous Instagram page Northgate Confessions for three years.
In those three years, I’ve seen it all: cheating, bullying, and inappropriate relationships between students and teachers that should have stayed behind closed doors.
On the final day of college application deadlines, I planned to post one last update before shutting down the page for good.
At 11:50 p.m., an anonymous account sent me a DM.
“I changed the college application of a girl I grew up with.
For three years, I’ve known she likes me.
But she always acts like she’s better than everyone, and she’s always tutoring me and the girl I actually like.
Now she’s applying to the same school I am, and because of her, the girl I like might not get in.
I switched all her applications so she’ll have to spend a year at community college with the girl I like. That’s fair, right?”
I stared at the screen, my chest seizing.
Then, a few more messages.
“But we did grow up together. It’s not like I don’t have a soft spot for her.”
“Admin, post this for me. If she sees it in the last ten minutes, she’ll have time to fix it, and she can still go to college down south with me.”
“If she doesn’t see it, well, then I guess she’s just unlucky.”
I took a breath, ready to refuse.
The next second, he sent a meme.
An ugly cat throwing a punch.
I had drawn that meme myself.
I had only ever sent it to two people.
One was Conrad.
The other was Mallory.
…
My hand jerked, and I nearly dropped my phone.
The person behind the anonymous account was Conrad.
I immediately switched to the Common App.
Conrad had deleted every Southern school I’d listed.
Emory was gone.
Duke was gone.
Vanderbilt was gone, too.
In their place stood three schools.
Harvard.
Yale.
Princeton.
All Ivy League.
I stared at the screen, my hands turning to ice.
Conrad knew my stats cold.
GPA 4.0. SAT 1520.
Those numbers gave me a solid shot at Emory, and maybe a long shot at Duke.
But Harvard and Yale weren’t gambles I could afford to take.
He wanted me to end up with no acceptances this year.
Another message popped up in the anonymous chat.
“Admin, are you there? Are you going to post it?”
I gripped my phone tighter and glanced at the top right corner of the screen.
11:51 p.m.
Nine minutes before the system closed.
I didn’t answer him.
I went straight to the application portal, typed in my password, and opened the edit page.
The few seconds it took to load felt long enough to make me want to smash my computer.
At last, the page appeared.
The same three schools.
Harvard.
Yale.
Princeton.
Another message came through from the anonymous account.
“I think you of all people should understand. You’ve been running this page for so long—you’ve seen every kind of story.”
“Some people think that just because they get good grades, they deserve everything.”
My throat went tight as I read that line.
The person Conrad meant—the girl who “always acts like she’s better than everyone” while “tutoring him and the girl he actually liked”—was me.
The person who had liked him for three years was me.
The one he thought should step aside was me, too.
And he had no idea he was saying all of this directly to my face.
11:52 p.m.
I clicked the first-choice slot, deleted Princeton, and tried to switch it back to Emory.
A verification box popped up.
*Please enter the code sent to your phone.*
I hit send.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Nothing.
I hit send again.
A notice appeared on the page: *This phone number has reached today’s verification limit.*
When Conrad changed my applications, he had used up all my text verification attempts.
11:53 p.m.
I switched to the appeal portal.
The system prompt stated that application edit appeals required an ID upload and a photo of me holding the ID, with a review time of twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours.
I had seven minutes left.
The anonymous account kept sending messages.
“Forget it. You don’t have to post it.”
“It doesn’t really matter if she sees it or not. I was just giving her a chance.”
“It’s been eight years. I didn’t want things to get too ugly.”
I stared at the words, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
Conrad actually thought he was giving me a chance.
First, he sabotaged my applications, then he left a message on an anonymous page. If I happened to see it, I’d have a slim chance to save myself.
If I didn’t see it—
then that was just my bad luck.
11:55 p.m.
I tried a third option, dialing the admissions office emergency number.
Busy signal.
At this hour, no one was going to pick up.
I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling.
My mind was a chaotic blur, but one thought cut through the noise.
When Conrad used up all my verification codes, he must have thought he had everything under control.
He knew me too well.
He knew I wouldn’t run out in the middle of the night searching for a public computer, and he knew I wouldn’t find some other workaround in the final minutes.
The only variable he hadn’t accounted for was this anonymous page.
He thought I would see his message.
What he didn’t know was that I was the admin.
Another message came in.
“One last question.”
“A girl likes a guy for three years and never says a thing. She just stays by his side, ‘helping’ him with school.”
“Do you think she’s pathetic?”
11:57 p.m.
I still didn’t answer.
I frantically searched for Emory’s application code.
All that came up were ads for paid college consultants.
I went back to the appeal page.
Useless.
11:59 p.m.
12:00 a.m.
The college application portal officially closed.
I covered my face with my hands and cried.