The Test Score Above My Head

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score.

Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch.

Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten.

So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560.

When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500.

And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score.

My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death.

Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear.

"You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head."

The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along.

I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300.

"Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests."

I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway.

"Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying."

My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide.

She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

After blowing off my sister, I headed to my room to crash. But she wasn't done.

She cornered me again, this time trying to drag me to a teacher for extra tutoring. "It's not too late to cram!" she insisted.

I shook her hand off my arm. "Last-minute cramming is pointless. You go if you're so worried. I've got shows to watch."

"Jenny, you're naturally smart, but you still shouldn't get careless."

The words were a perfect echo from my last life. She was testing me, watching my face for any sign that I still trusted the cursed number floating over my head.

I met her gaze dead-on and smiled. "Even if I never crack another book, I'll still beat you."

She put on a disappointed face, but I saw the triumphant smirk she couldn't quite hide.

As she walked away, radiating that smug, misplaced confidence, I almost laughed out loud.

'Oh, little sister… this time, the one being careless is you,' I thought happily.

Back in my room, the score had already ticked up to 1320. But the second I unzipped my backpack, the number started to fall. By the time I'd reviewed my teacher's notes, it had plummeted to 1280.

I tapped my phone, pulling up the feed from the pinhole camera I'd hidden in her room. She was freaking out.

"Why is it dropping so fast? I knew she was lying! She said she wasn't studying, but she's obviously grinding right now. Why doesn't she believe the score?!"

A cold, unfamiliar voice answered her. "Why are you panicking? Once it drops below 1000, it'll detonate right on top of her. Studying is basically a death wish."

My blood ran cold.

But my sister looked thrilled. "If she gets blown up, she deserves it. Who told her to start studying and mess with my head?"

Staring at the falling number, my mind raced. I had to find a way to fool this thing, and fast.

I spent the next hour trying everything. No matter what I did, the moment I engaged with any study material, the score kept dropping. When it hit 1000, it flashed a violent, warning red.

Pure adrenaline shot through me.

I slammed my books shut, grabbed my stuff, and booked it to an all-night bar downtown. I didn't breathe easy until I saw the number climb back to 1530 on the reflection in my phone.

And right on cue, my sister noticed it, too.

On the surveillance feed, she looked unbearably smug.

"I knew that idiot would fall for it. She's probably out partying right now, thrilled that her score is going up from slacking off. She actually thinks she's going to score a 1530. That's my score!"

Watching her celebrate, I let out a cold laugh and killed the feed.

She had no idea—I'd just cracked the code on how to cheat the score over my head. The real game was about to start.