Chapter 3

The next day, I approached Tiff. I looked nervous, hesitant.

"Tiff," I whispered, making sure no one else was too close. "About the SAT... maybe I... maybe I was wrong."

Her eyes lit up. "Wrong how?"

"My mom," I continued, lowering my voice even more, "she... she said she might be able to... you know... get some insight. But it' s super risky. Super, super risky."

I made sure to look terrified, like I was confessing a terrible secret.

Tiff' s expression was pure, unadulterated greed. "Insight? You mean... the actual questions?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "She said... she might be able to get them. For me. But if anyone found out..."

"No one will find out!" Tiff hissed, grabbing my arm. "I swear, Sarah. Your secret is safe with me. Absolutely safe. When can you get them?"

"I... I don't know. Soon. She said she'd try."

I had her. Hook, line, and sinker.

A few days later, I "reluctantly" handed Tiff a neatly printed document.

"These are them," I whispered, my hands trembling for effect. "All sections. Questions and answers. My mom... she caved. She said this is the only time. And you cannot tell anyone where you got these, Tiff. Promise me."

Tiff snatched the papers, her eyes scanning them rapidly. A wide, triumphant grin spread across her face.

"I promise, Sarah. Not a soul," she said, but her eyes were already calculating.

I knew Tiff. "Not a soul" meant "not a soul until I can figure out how to profit from this."

And profit she did.

Within days, whispers filled the hallways. Tiff Reynolds had the "guaranteed answers" to the SAT.

The price? Steep.

Designer bags for the girls, cash for the guys, favors of all kinds. Mark Johnson was her enforcer, collecting payments, making threats.

I watched it all, a silent observer. I saw the desperate faces of students handing over their parents' money, the smug looks of those who thought they' d bought their way into their dream schools.

Every transaction, every whispered conversation, was a nail in Tiff' s coffin.

My mother, also reborn, also remembering the hell of our first life, was playing her part. She' d "accidentally" let me see some "draft questions" that were, of course, the exact questions for the upcoming SAT. She knew what I was doing. We never spoke of it directly, but her quiet support was a rock.

She also subtly encouraged me to apply for the Westinghouse Science Talent Search, something I' d ignored in my first life, too consumed by SAT prep and pleasing others. This time, I poured my energy into it.