Every Time I Check My Score, It Resets to Zero Chapter 07

With a retch, I spat the pills and the milk into the trash can.

Bitterness clung to the back of my tongue.

So this was why my memory kept breaking apart.

Two of those pills a day were enough to make a perfectly normal person slow, confused, and

forgetful.

Thank God I had barely eaten dinner; vomiting on an empty stomach was miserable, but at least

there was nothing to digest.

The morning of the SAT had been the same.

I went to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth with water.

The girl in the mirror was pale, but her eyes were sharp and cold.

They had used medication to control my mind.

They had used a fake website to destroy my will.

They had used a false psychiatric report to block every path I had to appeal.

This could not have been something a few people came up with on a whim.

It required planning Careful planning.

And it required connections inside the school, the hospital, and maybe even the education

department.

I wiped the cold water from the corner of my mouth and quietly opened my bedroom door.

The living room was dark.

A thin line of light leaked from under my parents‘ bedroom door.

I pressed myself against the wall, slowed my breathing, and moved silently toward their room.

“You put the money away, right?” Dad’s lowered voice came through the crack in the door.

“It’s in a fixed–term account,” Mom said, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “Garrett said Ethan has already reported to Eastbridge. The enrollment paperwork went through without any problems.”

“Good. Four hundred fifty thousand dollars. Add that to what we made from selling the last two spots, and my brother won’t have to worry about a down payment or getting married in the future.”

“I’m just scared. Elena is smart. What if one day she figures it out?”

“What’s there to be scared of?” Dad gave a cold snort. “On paper, she’s a psychiatric patient now.

Do you think the police are going to believe a girl with a record like that? Hale has people at the education office. All the surveillance footage and answer sheets have been swapped out. There’s no

evidence left.”

I stood outside the door.

My fists clenched.

So my three years, my youth, my entire future, were worth only four hundred fifty thousand dollars

to them.

They had made me take the test year after year, selling my scores to someone else, all to save money for my brother’s future house.

My own parents had joined hands with outsiders and cut off my life.

I turned and went back to my room.

From the bottom drawer of my desk, I took out a box cutter.

At three in the morning, snoring came from the master bedroom.

Holding the box cutter, I walked into the living room.

My target was the locked drawer beneath the TV stand.

That was where they kept our legal documents and other important papers.

I slid the tip of the blade into the gap beside the lock and pried hard.

With a click, the drawer popped open.

Inside were a bank record and a private agreement.

By the moonlight, I unfolded the agreement.

It stated clearly in black and white that Party B voluntarily transferred Elena Chase’s college

admission record and SAT score to Party A’s son, Ethan Lowell.

Party A, Garrett Lowell, would pay Party B four hundred fifty thousand dollars as compensation.

There were signatures.

There were fingerprints.

I took out the backup phone and photographed the agreement and the bank record.

Then I put everything back exactly where it had been and closed the drawer.

By morning, I had changed into my old clothes and smoothed down my hair.

I opened my door and walked up to Mom while she was making breakfast.

“Mom, I’m going to the warehouse,” I said dully..

She froze for a second, then smiled so hard the corners of her eyes creased.

“Good. Good girl. Buy yourself something decent for lunch.”

I opened the door and walked downstairs.

The early fall sun was almost blinding.

When I reached the entrance of the apartment complex, I did not go to the bus stop.

Instead, I turned in the opposite direction.

I stopped in front of the local police precinct.

My reflection stared back at me from the glass doors.

I touched the backup phone in my pocket.

No.

I could not report it here.

If they could fake a psychiatric diagnosis and tamper with surveillance footage inside the education department, then how could I know this precinct was not already paved with Garrett’s money?