PART 2: I lied to my dad and told him I had failed the entrance exam, even though my score was 98.7
The phone pressed so hard against my ear that the plastic casing groaned. Mr. Sanders’ words didn’t just chill me; they paralyzed me right there in the velvet-draped foyer of the Beverly Hills banquet hall. Through the double glass doors behind me, the clinking of champagne flutes and the smooth, jazzy rhythm of a live…