Chapter 4

The morning of the SATs dawned bright and clear. I felt a calm I hadn't experienced in what felt like two lifetimes. I knew this test. I knew the questions, the format, the rhythm.

Ethan, on the other hand, practically vibrated with a manic energy. He was dressed sharply, a stark contrast to his disheveled appearance the night before. He caught my eye as we lined up to enter the testing hall, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"Ready to witness greatness, Ava?" he stage-whispered. "Top scorer, right here. Full ride to Stanford, just watch."

His confidence was absolute, almost unhinged. It wasn't the nervous bravado of a typical student. It was the certainty of someone who believed they already knew the outcome. My suspicion about his rebirth solidified. He knew. He remembered acing it before.

What he didn't know was that I remembered everything too. And I was prepared.

The test began. I moved through the sections with methodical precision. The familiar questions, the passages I'd analyzed before. It was almost boring, if not for the undercurrent of my simmering revenge.

I glanced at Ethan a few times. He was scribbling furiously, a focused frown on his face, but there was an air of triumph about him already. He thought he had this in the bag. He thought he was reliving his past glory, a glory he believed I had somehow, eventually, stolen from him.

Hours later, we emerged, blinking in the sunlight.

"Nailed it," Ethan declared, stretching expansively. "Every single question. That scholarship is mine."

Brittany clung to his arm, beaming. "I knew you could do it, E! We're going to be set."

Sarah joined me, looking drained but relieved. "How do you think you did, Ava?"

"I think I did well," I said, a small, genuine smile touching my lips.

The wait for the results was agonizing for most. For me, it was a countdown.

When the scores were released online a few weeks later, I logged in calmly. Near-perfect. Exactly as before. Offers from Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and, yes, Stanford, began to flood my inbox within days.

The school held an assembly to announce the top achievers. The principal stood at the podium, beaming. "And our highest scorer, with a truly exceptional result, setting a new record for our school..."

Ethan stood a little straighter, a self-satisfied smirk already forming. He was picturing his name, the applause.

"...is Ava Chen!"

The applause was deafening. I stood, accepted the certificate, and smiled graciously.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan. His face was a mask of disbelief, then dawning horror. His smirk had vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed shock. He looked at his own score report, then at me, then back at the report. Abysmal. Utterly, shockingly bad.

The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Or perhaps, my father's "educational consultants" who'd reviewed past SAT papers for "anomalies" had subtly flagged the exact version Ethan had memorized, leading to a different, much harder, variation being administered at our center this time around. A little detail I' d suggested he look into.

He couldn't understand. He knew he'd gotten them right.

Humiliation washed over him in visible waves. He was supposed to be the star, the scholarship winner. Not me. Never me.