Chapter 2

I walked into the gymnasium, the air thick with nervous energy.

Students hunched over desks, whispering last-minute facts.

I found my assigned seat, my stomach churning.

Not with test anxiety, but with a strange, cold resolve.

Ms. Evans, our guidance counselor, gave her usual pre-exam pep talk.

"Do your best, seniors. This is a great opportunity to see where you stand."

I almost laughed.

If she only knew.

The exam booklets landed on my desk with a soft thud.

I stared at the cover, "Scholastic Aptitude Test - Practice Form C."

My past self would have her pencil poised, ready to conquer.

This self just wanted to make it through.

The proctor called, "You may begin."

Pencils scratched, pages turned.

I opened the booklet.

Section 1: Reading Comprehension.

I skimmed the first passage, then deliberately picked the most illogical answers.

Math. My strongest subject.

I looked at a complex algebra problem.

I knew the answer in seconds.

Instead, I filled the bubbles with a random pattern.

For the grid-in questions, I wrote "1234" or "0."

Then came the essay.

In my first life, my essay was praised, then scrutinized, then used as evidence against me.

This time, I wrote two sentences.

"Tests are not the only measure of a person's worth. Sometimes, not trying is a valid choice."

I put my pencil down.

An hour passed. Two.

Students around me scribbled furiously.

I just sat there, staring blankly ahead.

The proctor, Mr. Henderson, frowned as he walked past my aisle.

He paused by my desk.

"Everything alright, Sarah?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mr. Henderson. Just finished early."

He looked surprised. I was always one of the last to finish, meticulously checking my work.

When the time was up, I handed in my booklet, a wave of perverse relief washing over me.

I walked out of the gym, blinking in the sunlight.

Tiffany Hayes was preening by the water fountain, Chad Wilson at her side.

He had his arm around her, just like in my memories.

My heart gave a painful lurch.

A year. I' d secretly dated Chad for a year.

He was charming, popular, an aspiring musician.

He' d said he loved me.

Then he' d thrown me to the wolves to boost his own image with Tiffany.

Tiffany, the rising social media star, her "girl next door" vlog a carefully constructed lie.

She saw me walking towards them, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Well, well, if it isn't Sarah Miller. Finished early? Feeling confident?"

Her voice was sweet, laced with poison.

Chad looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, then it was gone.

He just grinned, a handsome, empty smile.

"Yeah, Sarah, you probably aced it like always."

I didn't say anything.

I just looked at him, at the boy I thought I knew.

The pain of his betrayal, so fresh from my past life, was a sharp ache in my chest.

I walked away, their laughter echoing behind me.

I had to know if this was really happening.

If Tiffany was already... stealing.

But how? How could she replicate my work if I was deliberately failing?

A new, chilling thought began to form.

What if she wasn't just copying answers?

What if she was copying my thought process?

But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

I needed to see the results.

I needed to know what I was up against this time.