Chapter 181: Chapter 116: Anya: Do I Have to Transition Too?

Some cops with a twisted sense of humor, upon identifying a homeless person as a gang member, would even dump them in a rival gang’s territory.

But these students wouldn’t know any of this. Some of them probably didn’t even know homeless people existed in this country.

Meanwhile, as Li Wei was driving home, Anya sat in a conference room, boredly twirling a pen.

Seated at the head of the table was the school’s ace college admissions consultant, a former admissions officer from Princeton, Ms. Patricia Wood. She pushed up the tortoiseshell glasses on her nose and scanned the four girls sitting around the Harkness Roundtable—their families consisted of Wall Street hedge fund magnates, name partners at prestigious law firms, and, of course, Anya, the daughter of a top Eastern European oligarch.

"Ladies, I hate to be the one to pour cold water on you, but the situation this year is even more severe than last year."

Ms. Wood turned on the projector, which displayed last season’s admissions data models for Harvard, Yale, and Stanford.

"Simply being ’excellent’ isn’t enough anymore. A transcript full of A’s, a 1580 on the SAT, even a national-level piano award—in the eyes of the admissions office, these are as commonplace as Coca-Cola off an assembly line. What the Ivy League needs now is—"

She wrote three letters heavily on the whiteboard: DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion).

"Your backgrounds," Ms. Wood said, bluntly pointing to everyone present, "the so-called WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) or traditional elite class, are now the biggest negative factor in admissions. You’re seen as the beneficiaries of a privileged system. Therefore, we need to construct a new narrative."

A regal-looking girl with a face full of freckles sitting next to Anya, Tiffany Rockefeller, frowned. "So? Are we supposed to go to Africa and dig wells? Three people already did that last year."

"No, that’s too cliché. And it’s easy to get slapped with the ’white savior’ label. Admissions officers these days really hate that kind of condescending, charitable vibe."

Ms. Wood pushed up her glasses and said, "I suggest you do a field research project on ’structural racism.’ Hmm... for example, New York’s neighborhoods are segregated by wealth and class (Tiffany Rockefeller and another girl exchanged a look and a smile), creating an invisible wall between rich and poor areas. You could pick an angle to expose this phenomenon. For instance, the South Bronx or Brooklyn’s Sunset Park area are both excellent locations for your investigation. You’ll just need to be careful about your safety."

A silence fell over the conference room.

Another girl across the table, a blonde whose father was an executive at Goldman Sachs, looked troubled. "But... the South Bronx? It’s really dirty there, and the crime... Are we supposed to go film Black and Latino people with our cameras? I don’t think my bodyguard would even let me get out of the car."

"This is for Harvard, Jessica," Ms. Wood said coldly. "If you want that acceptance letter, you need to demonstrate your ’courage’ and social conscience."

"Is there... an easier way?" Jessica asked, biting her lip. "Like, donating a lab? Or..."

"A donation would have to be at least seven figures, and they’re scrutinizing them very closely these days. It’s easy to get exposed by the media," Ms. Wood said elegantly as she closed her folder. "Of course, there is another shortcut. If you’re not willing to experience life in the slums, then you’ll have to play the identity politics card."

"On the current application forms, gender identity and sexual orientation are huge bonus points. If you’re not just wealthy white women, but also part of the LGBTIQCAPGNGFNBA community—especially if you’re transgender or non-binary—then you’re a minority. This can offset some of the negative stereotypes that come with your family’s wealth."

As she said this, she gave Anya an inconspicuous glance.

In Russia, a country where homosexuality is considered illegal, for Anya, the only daughter of a top Russian tycoon, to build a narrative around this would be a major victory.

The class bell rang.

Anya packed her bag and walked out of the 19th-century academic building in a daze. The students around her, dressed in Ralph Lauren uniforms, were discussing whether to go to the Hamptons for the weekend or Puerto Rico for the holidays.

"Hey, Anya!"

Tiffany Rockefeller quickly caught up, linking her arm with Anya’s, her eyes shining with excitement.

"I think Ms. Wood was totally right. Going to the South Bronx is practically a death wish, and it stinks there."

Tiffany lowered her voice. "I’ve decided. Starting next week, I’m going to have the school change my pronouns to ’they/them’ and identify as non-binary. Then, in my application essay, I’ll write about the suffocation and struggle I feel in this binary society."

She glanced at Anya and said matter-of-factly, "You should do it with me, Anya. We’re besties. If we ’come out’ or announce we’re trans together, we can vouch for each other. It’ll seem more authentic. We can say we found our ’true selves’ with each other’s support."

"Transition?" Anya blinked, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Just for Yale?"

"Please, it’s Yale!" Tiffany rolled her eyes. "And it’s not like I’m asking you to actually get surgery. We just change our pronouns, cut our hair short, and wear some androgynous clothes. Once we get our acceptance letters, we can just ’rediscover’ that we’re women during our sophomore year, right? It’s called strategy."

"Let’s transition together," she said. "Yale will definitely accept us. Please, you don’t want to go to a garbage school like Cornell or Duke, do you?"

"I have to transition too?" Anya asked, pointing to herself. "I was actually thinking of doing the field research."

"Oh..." Tiffany blinked, a little disappointed. "Then I’ll go ask Jessica?"

"Go ahead," Anya said. "I don’t have any plans to transition for now."

She didn’t take the matter to heart, instead telling Li Wei about it like it was a joke.

Li Wei: South Bronx? Sunset Park?

Li Wei: You should’ve said so earlier. I know that area well. I can take you. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Anya saw the message on her phone and couldn’t help but hum a little tune.

She thought back to what Ms. Wood had said and shook her head to herself.

The next day, the moment Li Wei’s Porsche 911 pulled up in front of her building, Anya eagerly threw open the passenger door and jumped inside.

"Darling! I missed you so much," she said, staring at Li Wei without blinking. "We haven’t seen each other in six days and fourteen hours. Did you miss me?"

"Of course. Do you still want to get ice cream later?" Li Wei said with a smile. "What did Auntie Kaja say?"

"Not today," Anya said, pulling the car door shut, looking a little down. "I got my period yesterday. Let’s just go home after we finish the survey in Sunset Park. My stomach really hurts."