Every Time I Check My Score, It Resets to Zero Chapter 08

If I handed over the evidence directly, there was a good chance they would write me off as having another psychiatric episode and send me straight back to the hospital under an involuntary hold

I turned and walked to a run–down internet café two blocks away.

After paying a ten–dollar deposit, I found a computer in the corner.

I plugged in the USB drive.

My fingers flew across the keyboard as I packaged the photos of the agreement, the bank record,

and the fake score portal code together.

Then I uploaded the files at the same time to major social media platforms, local forums, and the

State Department of Education complaint email.

The post title was simple.

[Complete Evidence Chain Showing Brookhaven’s Top SAT Scorer Elena Chase Had Her Score and

Admission Stolen by Ethan Lowell.]

I scheduled it to publish at two o’clock that afternoon.

That was exactly when the citywide senior–year awards assembly would be held in the auditorium

at Brookhaven Central High School.

Once I finished, I pulled out the USB drive, wiped my browsing traces, and left the internet café.

Now I still needed one last card to play.

A recording of someone admitting it out loud.

I took a cab to Brookhaven Central High School.

The guard at the gate recognized me. He sighed and let me in.

Because of the awards assembly, the senior building was empty. All the teachers were gathered in the auditorium beside the field.

I knew Mr. Hale had one habit.

Before every assembly, he liked to smoke a cigarette in his office.

I went straight to the third–floor administrative office.

Then I pushed open the door.

Mr. Hale sat in the leather office chair, adjusting his tie in front of a small mirror.

The moment he saw me, his face sank.

“Elena, what are you doing here? Go home.”

I closed the door behind me and walked to his desk.

“Mr. Hale, I don’t want to live anymore,” I said, my eyes reddening, my voice shaking.

Mr. Hale frowned and stood.

“What kind of nonsense is that? You’re clearly not recovered yet.”

“I know,” I said, staring straight at him. “I know you helped Ethan take my place.”

Mr. Hale’s hand stopped, his tie pulled crooked.

He stared at me, panic flashing through his eyes, but he quickly steadied himself.

Then he walked to the water dispenser and filled a paper cup.

“Elena, did you forget to take your medication today?”

“I saw the agreement,” I cut him off. “Garrett Lowell paid my parents four hundred fifty thousand

dollars.”

I stepped closer

“How much did he pay you to make you bold enough to switch the barcodes on my answer sheet?”

The second he heard the word agreement, Mr. Hale’s hand trembled around the paper cup.

Water spilled onto his dress shoes.

He turned back to me, and the kind mask on his face finally tore clean off.

The man changed faces faster than flipping a page.

“So what if you saw it?” he sneered, crushing the paper cup and tossing it into the trash. “Your parents signed that agreement voluntarily. Those fingerprints are theirs.”

He planted both hands on the desk and leaned toward me.

“You think finding the truth means you can turn this around? With what?”

“In everyone’s eyes, you’re just a mentally unstable girl who lost her mind after failing college

admissions three years in a row.”

“Even if you go to the police and report me, who would believe the ramblings of a psychiatric patient?”

reached out and shoved my shoulder, his voice thick with mockery.

“Accept your life. Blame the family you were born into. Blame yourself for standing in Ethan’s way.”

I took half a step back and avoided his hand.

Then I dropped the worthless act from my face.

A cold smile curled my lips.

“Mr. Hale, did you forget what this office used to be used for?”

I lifted my hand and pointed toward the device on his desk.

It was the control console for the schoolwide PA system.

And the switch was on.

Mr. Hale followed the direction of my finger.