The Phoenix Plan

My phone buzzed on the morning of my SATs.

A text from Liam, my older brother, who vanished three years ago, right after his own SATs.

"Don't take the test. I'll explain. Don't tell Mom."

But the woman fussing over me wasn' t my Mom.

The scar on her neck was on the wrong side.

My 'dad' wore his watch on the wrong wrist.

They were imposters, eerily calm, forcing me towards that exam-the last thing Liam had endured before he disappeared.

Then, Liam's best friend, Ethan, seemed to join their twisted game.

He calmly told me Liam was dead and I was hallucinating.

My phone, once full of my own proof, was wiped clean.

They were systematically gaslighting me, pushing me to question my sanity.

Why were they so obsessed with this test?

What was truly happening?

Was I insane, or was it all a terrifying lie?

Just as I stood on the brink of despair, another text from Liam appeared, seemingly from nowhere.

He used our private "Phoenix Plan" code.

He confirmed my terrifying suspicion: I was trapped.

In a simulation.

And to truly escape, he wrote, "You have to jump. From where you are now."

It was my only hope.

So, I jumped.

The morning of my SATs, my phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

"Ella, it's Liam. Don't take the test. I'll explain. Don't tell Mom."

My breath caught.

Liam.

My older brother, Liam.

He vanished three years ago, right after his own SATs.

The police said runaway, but I never believed it.

He wouldn't leave me.

Not after his promise, our secret "Phoenix Plan" for a fresh start if things ever got too much.

He was my confidant, my protector.

I tried calling the number.

A flat, automated voice said it was disconnected.

Untraceable.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Liam. Alive.

The phone flashed again.

Same number.

"Seriously, Ella. Not a word to her."

Her. Meaning Sarah, the woman I called Mom.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Sarah stood there, a bright, forced smile on her face.

"Ella, sweetie, you ready? Big day!"

I shoved my phone under my pillow, my hand shaking.

"Almost," I managed, my voice thin.

She fussed with my hair, her touch too light, too hesitant.

Not like my real mom' s firm, sometimes annoying, pats.

"You'll do great, I just know it," Sarah said, her eyes a little too wide.

She always seemed to be performing, ever since she and Mark, my supposed father, had shown up a few months after Liam disappeared, claiming to be our parents, altered by grief and some vague "treatment" they'd undergone.

My real parents, with their crushing expectations, had been a source of pressure for Liam. These new ones were just...off.

I mumbled something about needing a moment.

She nodded, still smiling that brittle smile, and left, saying, "Don't be long, Mark's waiting with the car."

I grabbed my phone.

Liam.

What was happening?

I looked at my reflection in the dresser mirror.

Pale, scared.

Then I saw Sarah walking past my open door in the hallway reflection.

She adjusted her blouse.

A thin, white line peeked out from her collar on the left side.

A scar.

I froze.

My real mother had a scar from a thyroid surgery, a tiny, faded line.

But it was on the right side of her neck.

I knew that scar. I' d traced it with my finger as a child.

This scar on Sarah, the one in the mirror, was on the left.

My blood ran cold.

She came back to my doorway. "Ella? Everything okay?"

Her voice was sweet, concerned.

"Who are you?" The words slipped out, barely a whisper.

Sarah's smile faltered, then hardened.

"What did you say, Ella? Don't be silly. We need to go."

"Your scar," I said, louder this time, my voice trembling. "It's on the wrong side."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't start this again, Ella. Your imagination. Dr. Miller warned us you might get confused under stress."

Dr. Miller. The psychiatrist they' d made me see after Liam left, who said I had trauma-induced anxieties.

"It's not my imagination," I insisted.

"Enough!" Her voice was sharp now, the sweetness gone. "Get your things. You are taking that test."

I knew then, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, she wasn't my mother.

This woman was an impostor.

And she was trying to force me to the SATs.

Just like Liam, before he disappeared.

I took a deep breath, feigning defeat. "Okay. Okay, Mom. I'm sorry. Just pre-test jitters."

Her expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained wary.

"Good girl. Now hurry."

I nodded, grabbing my backpack.

Before I slung it over my shoulder, I slipped a small, worn photograph from my desk drawer into my pocket.

A real photo. Me and Liam, grinning, his arm around me.

The real Liam.

Downstairs, "Mark" was waiting by the door, jangling car keys.

"Ready, champ?" he boomed, a little too loud, a little too cheerful.

He clapped me on the shoulder. His hand felt wrong, heavy.

My real dad was leaner, his touch lighter.

I looked at Mark's wrist.

He was wearing a silver watch, a gift from my real grandmother to my real father.

But he wore it on his right wrist.

My dad was left-handed. He always wore his watch on his left wrist. Always.

I felt a wave of dizziness.

Two of them. Both impostors.

"Just a bit nervous, Dad," I said, forcing a smile.

Mark chuckled. "Nothing to it. You'll ace it." He winked.

Sarah came up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders, steering me towards the door.

"Let's go. We don't want to be late."

Their movements were too smooth, too coordinated.

Like they were puppets.

They weren't just off. They were something else. Something dangerous.

And they wanted me at those SATs.

Why?

I tried to pull away as we walked to the car.

"Actually, I think I left my lucky pencil upstairs," I said, my voice tight.

Sarah's grip on my shoulder tightened. "You have plenty of pencils, Ella. In the car."

Mark opened the back door for me, his smile unwavering.

They were herding me.

I got in, my mind racing.

As Mark started the engine, I saw him.

Ethan.

Liam' s best friend since kindergarten.

He was jogging down the street, headphones on, looking straight ahead.

Hope surged through me. Ethan was real. Ethan would know what to do.

"Ethan!" I yelled, pressing my face against the window.

Sarah turned sharply from the passenger seat. "Ella, what are you doing?"

Her face was a mask of annoyance, but for a split second, I saw something else. Fear?

Mark glanced in the rearview mirror, his smile gone.

Ethan didn't hear me. He was too far.

"He's Liam's best friend," I said, my voice pleading. "Maybe he's heard something!"

"Liam is gone, Ella," Sarah said, her voice cold. "Focus on your future."

Ethan was my only chance.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers clumsy.

I typed a quick message: "ETHAN! HELP! Car - blue sedan. Corner of Oak & Elm. NOW!"

I held the phone screen up to the rear window, angling it towards where Ethan had been.

He was further away now, but maybe, just maybe, he'd see the flash of the screen.

Suddenly, Mark swerved the car to the side of the road.

"What's wrong?" I asked, startled.

"Engine's making a funny noise," Mark said, but he was looking at Sarah.

Sarah nodded curtly. "I think I need to use the restroom. Ella, you said you were nervous? Maybe a quick break at the gas station up ahead?"

A gas station? It was a flimsy excuse.

Ethan. Had he seen my message? Was this his doing?

Sarah turned to me. "Just for a minute. Then straight to the test."

She was watching me, her eyes like chips of ice.

I nodded. "Okay."

Mark pulled into the gas station.

Sarah got out with me. "I'll come with you."

"I can go by myself," I said quickly.

"Nonsense. Mother-daughter bonding," she said, that fake smile back.

We walked towards the restroom.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Liam.

I ducked into a stall, Sarah waiting just outside.

The text read: "Ethan is not your friend. Don't trust him. GET OUT NOW."

My blood turned to ice.

Not Ethan? But he was Liam' s best friend. They were like brothers.

The restroom door opened.

"Ella?"

It was Ethan's voice.

I slowly opened the stall door.

He stood there, looking concerned. "You okay? I saw your text. What's going on?"

Relief washed over me, so strong I almost sagged. Liam's text had to be a mistake, a glitch.

"These people," I whispered, "they're not my parents. They're impostors. They're trying to force me to the SATs."

Ethan's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. A flicker.

"Okay, okay, calm down," he said, his voice smooth, reassuring. "Listen to me, Ella. The best way to find out what's happening, to find Liam, is to go along with them for now. Let them take you to the test. I'll follow. I'll figure this out. I promise."

His eyes. They were too calm. Too steady.

Like Sarah's. Like Mark's.

And he didn' t ask who "these people" were. He just accepted it.

Liam' s warning echoed in my head. "Don't trust Ethan."

My hope crumbled.

He was one of them.