The SATs and the Scapegoat

My world revolved around Ethan.

I helped him with everything: applications, essays, test prep - pouring my all into his Harvard dreams.

Then, strange, white "pop-up comments" started appearing in my vision, framing my life like a game, and labeling me the "main girl" in his story.

Suddenly, Ethan was obsessed with Chloe, a high school junior, talking about dropping out of Harvard for her.

He kept asking me to do things for Chloe, demanding exclusive SAT materials and "brain-food" smoothies, even blaming me when she struggled.

I heard him tell his mom he'd "ace these SATs" and get back into Harvard, bringing Chloe too, as if I was just a tool in his grand plan.

He was throwing away everything we built, all for a girl who publicly dismissed me as his "old girlfriend" from a "state school."

When he brazenly texted me to make new advanced math questions for Chloe, saying it was "my fault for not helping her more," a cold rage settled in.

My efforts, my sacrifices, my very identity, felt completely erased, all for his selfish pursuit of someone else.

The final straw came when he went missing after his SATs, only to emerge, drunk, blaming me for breaking up with him right before his big exam.

He wanted me to fix his life, to appeal his scores, even after he' d emotionally exploited me for years.

But then I met Alex, a kind, understanding presence who actually listened and cherished me.

I blocked Ethan, choosing to write my own story.

This time, my life was the main event.

Ethan was at it again, for the tenth time this month, pacing my small dorm room at UC Berkeley.

"Sarah, I'm telling you, Chloe needs me, Harvard can wait."

His voice, usually so sure, had a weird edge to it, like he was trying to convince himself, not just me.

I opened my mouth to argue, the same old arguments we'd been cycling through, but then something flickered at the edge of my vision.

Words, bright white, like subtitles, but floating in the air.

I blinked, hard. The words stayed.

My heart hammered, a cold shock washing over me. Main girl? His story?

Instead of the angry words I' d planned, I heard myself say, "Okay, Ethan."

He stopped pacing. "Okay? Just like that?"

He looked genuinely surprised, which was a surprise in itself, he usually just expected me to eventually give in.

I nodded, my throat tight.

I remembered that awful night last semester, on the rooftop of the chemistry building. I' d been so overwhelmed by his plans even then, his constant talk of Chloe, this high school junior he was suddenly obsessed with.

I' d felt like I was drowning.

Then Alex Chen, a guy from one of my GE classes I barely knew, had appeared out of nowhere.

He' d seen me crying, looking over the edge, and clearly thought the worst.

He' d rushed forward, grabbed my arm, a bit too hard in his panic, and we' d both stumbled.

We ended up with a twisted ankle for me and a scraped elbow for him, and an awkward trip to the student health center. He' d been so apologetic, so kind, even though he' d completely misunderstood.

Now, more of those damn pop-up comments appeared, overlaying Ethan' s confused face.

My stomach twisted. Secret preparations? He hadn't told me anything about that.

My phone buzzed a little later, it was Ben, my best friend from high school.

"Sarah, what the hell? Ethan' s really dropping out of Harvard? For Chloe Vance?"

His voice was loud with disbelief, echoing the shock I was still trying to process.

I sank onto my bed, the pop-up comments momentarily gone.

I thought about all the times Ethan had bailed on our plans, our study sessions, even my birthday dinner, because "Chloe needs help with her APUSH" or "Chloe' s having a crisis about her debate club speech."

It was always Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.

My own needs, my own classes at Berkeley, always came second, or third, or not at all.

The relationship had been so one-sided, me pouring everything in, him taking it all and then some for this girl.

Then my phone rang again, Ethan' s name flashing on the screen.

I almost didn't answer, but the habit was too strong.

"Hey," he said, his voice casual, like he hadn't just detonated our future. "I'm at Chloe's, her mom's making pasta but she's not sure about the sauce, you know how to make that creamy tomato one, right?"

In the background, I heard Chloe' s giggle, a high, sweet sound. "Ethan, stop bothering Sarah, I'm sure we can figure it out, you're so smart!"

Her voice dripped with fake admiration.

Pop-up comments flared back into my vision, angrier this time.

My hand tightened on the phone. "Look it up online, Ethan," I said, my voice flat.

I hung up before he could reply.

A few hours later, a text from him: «Chloe totally bombed her practice SAT. You need to pull together a new set of advanced math questions for her, the ones you made for me were good. This is kinda your fault for not helping her more earlier.»

I stared at the message, the sheer nerve of it.

My fault?

I didn't reply. I just put my phone on silent.