Reborn on Mock SAT Day

My eyes snapped open to the blare of my alarm, October 17th. Senior year. Mock SAT Day. A familiar, suffocating nightmare.

For a second, I didn' t know where I was, then the cold dread washed over me: I was back. Back to that exact day. The beginning of the end.

I remembered it all: the accusations, Tiffany Hayes' smug face, Chad' s betrayal, my mother' s tears and worsening cough, the crushing weight of a ruined future, my own descent into despair that had culminated in unspeakable suffering.

I had meticulously sabotaged myself this time, purposely failing the mock SAT to avoid repeating history.

But when the scores were posted, Tiffany Hayes had a near-perfect score of 1580.

Even more terrifying, she had replicated my unique, deliberately flawed math solutions-down to a random doodle I' d made. How? How was she inside my head?

This wasn't just cheating; it was invasive, a violation of my very thoughts. No more.

This time, armed with my father' s secret tech empire and a former military intelligence expert Mr. K, I wouldn't be the victim.

I was going to expose her, reclaim my life, and save my family from the nightmare she' d already put us through once.

My eyes snapped open.

The alarm blared, a shrill, familiar sound.

For a second, I didn' t know where I was.

My bedroom. Sunlight streamed through the curtains.

My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs.

Today.

The date. I fumbled for my phone, screen lighting up.

October 17th. Senior year.

Mock SAT day.

No. It couldn' t be.

This day, this exact day, was the beginning of the end.

A cold dread washed over me, so intense I felt sick.

I remembered the accusations, the smug look on Tiffany Hayes' face.

Chad, my Chad, standing beside her, his arm around her waist.

The shame. My mother' s tears. Her worsening cough.

The endless, crushing weight of a ruined future.

I sat up, my body trembling.

This wasn' t a nightmare.

This was real. Again.

My head spun. How? Why?

It didn' t matter.

I was back.

Back before it all went wrong.

A second chance.

The thought was a tiny spark in a vast darkness.

But the trauma, it was still fresh, still raw.

I could still feel the cold linoleum of the institution floor, the dull ache of despair that never left.

The day Tiffany graduated, the day I...

I shook my head, pushing the memory away.

Not this time.

I wouldn' t let it happen again.

The alarm was still screaming. I slammed my hand down on it.

Silence.

My breath came in ragged gasps.

Mock SAT. The first domino.

If I aced it, like I did before, Tiffany would find a way.

She always found a way.

My mind raced.

I couldn' t repeat my actions.

I couldn' t be valedictorian. I couldn' t be a National Merit Scholar.

Not if it meant that hell again.

A radical, insane idea began to form.

What if I failed?

What if I bombed the mock SAT so badly no one would ever suspect me of being capable of brilliance?

It was crazy.

Everything I' d worked for, my dreams of Ivy League, gone.

But my mother' s life. My father' s. My own sanity.

What were they worth?

Everything.

My fists clenched.

This time, I wouldn' t be the victim.

This time, I would fight.

But not in the way they expected.

I got out of bed, my legs shaky.

I wouldn' t study. I wouldn' t even try.

I would sabotage myself.

It was the only way.

The memory of my mother, pale and weak in a hospital bed, her hand cold in mine, flashed before my eyes.

The stress, the public shaming, it had accelerated her cancer.

No.

Not again.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Sarah Miller, top student, future Ivy Leaguer.

That girl was dead.

She died with her dreams in another life.

The girl looking back at me was a survivor.

And she would do whatever it took.

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.