Graduation year, I was the star of the SATs with a perfect 1600, but my sister barely scraped into a community college.

Turns out, she had secretly used a score-switching scam to hijack my future.

Overnight, she went from slacker to SAT champ, complete with VIPs delivering her awards in person.

She leveraged her newfound fame for years, raking it in with streams, book deals, and insider test tips. Life seemed to roll her way.

Meanwhile, I was left fending off street thugs and busting my tail to cover tuition.

When I told Dad how unfair life was, he smacked me and snapped,

"Deserved it! You're nothing but a letdown compared to your sister."

Pushed to the brink, I was coerced by some punks into performing at a strip club. But then, I snapped and fought back.

In the chaos, I was knocked off a cliff and left for dead.

As I lay there, one of the punks muttered with chilling indifference,

"Don't sweat it, this was Brittany's call. She'll cover us if things go south."

That's when it hit me—my sister had been plotting to silence me for good out of fear I'd ruin her perfect image.

I got a second shot at life, right back on that decisive exam day.

Faced with the same old test, I decisively wrote down her name.

The tables were about to turn. This top score was now mine to claim.

***

The last thing I remember before everything went dark was being pushed off a cliff by the school's queen bee.

She and her crew had dug a deep grave and buried me alive, though I was still hanging on by a thread.

I was overwhelmed by the stench of the dirt as I desperately shut my eyes.

.......

Awakening once more.

The familiar scene of the exam hall greeted my eyes.

The ring of the exam bell brought the test paper to my hands.

Lost in the moment, I stared blankly at the questions I knew too well.

A glance at the classroom clock snapped me back to reality—June 1st, 2019.

That's when the realization washed over me—I had another chance.

Boldly, I penned down my sister Brittany's name on my paper.

Last time around, she had swapped our scores the day before exams out of jealousy over my superior grades, stealing my perfect 1600.

I was left with her dismal score of 940, relegating me to the dregs of educational institutions.

She secretly connected me with some thugs to exploit me, and I endured endless humiliation.

Later, fearing I might expose her fraudulent scores, she orchestrated a plot to have me buried alive.

In my final moments, I pleaded with them, begging like a desperate dog, promising to keep her secret if only they spared my life.

Thankfully, fate handed me a mulligan, a chance to redo everything.

This time, I was determined to make them all pay dearly.

I breezed through the exam in an hour, intentionally avoiding every correct answer.

Once activated, the score-swapping scheme couldn't be easily undone.

If Brittany was so desperate for my scores, she was about to truly "enjoy" them this time.

Right after the exam, Brittany cornered me outside.

She had finished her paper early and had been eagerly waiting to gauge my performance.

Playing the part, I shakily assured her,

"I—I think I did alright. Good enough for a decent college, maybe."

"And you?" I asked, feigning interest.

She dismissed me with a wave, "Focus on yourself. Make sure you nail the math test this afternoon. You know the family's all counting on you."

I nodded obediently, playing along with her game.

For once, she skipped the verbal jabs and instead offered some tips to help me stay sharp for the math exam.

I nodded along, barely holding back my disgust.

Breathing deeply, I endured her tedious monologue.

When she finally finished, she walked away, but I could still hear her bragging on the phone in the distance.

"Dad, it's in the bag. Harvard or Yale for sure. Start planning the celebration."

"Oh, and make sure to call the press. I want the whole city to see the Miller girl shine."

"It'll look good for you too..."

A cold smirk spread across my face as I listened.

Yeah, bring in the press, call in the big guns.

Let's show the town just how full of it you really are.

In the math exam, I did my usual routine—filled out the whole sheet but brilliantly avoided all the right answers.

That night, for once, my penny-pinching dad invited me to have dinner at the table.

I pushed around the potato, spying on the scanty strips of bacon at the bottom of the plate.

All pale and greasy—enough to turn anyone's stomach.

To him, this was generosity; typically, I'd be stuck in a corner with some bland soup and some pickles.

Back then, too timid to protest, I thought I had to step aside for her because I was the older sister.

Turns out, stepping aside nearly got me killed.

I took a bite of the potato, only to discover it was stale.

Instantly lost my appetite.

Over at Brittany's spot, her plate was a mountain of drumsticks and shrimp.

I slammed down my utensils and pointed straight at her plate. "I want what she's having."

Dad jumped, frowning and snapping, "You trying to scare me to death, you little jerk?"

"Would serve you right," I snapped back, undeterred. "That's the plate I want."

Brittany put on a show of being scared, her eyes welling up with crocodile tears.

"If Quinn wants it, let's switch," she said, voice dripping with faux sweetness.

"But you know I've got a stomach issue. Just potato won't cut it for me, not with the SATs tomorrow..."

Dad was totally buying her act, making her look like an angel and me, the villain.

The stark difference between us just fueled my rage even more.

He slammed his fork and was about to grab me, his hand poised to strike.

But I dodged and started running circles around the room, leaving him chasing after me with that fat and greasy body.

He lumbered after me, and after a couple of laps, he was gasping for breath, slowing down.

As I made a dash past the table, a foot suddenly shot out to trip me.

It was clearly a move that was meant for my life.

I went with the flow, stepping hard on it.

A piercing scream filled the room.

I feigned shock, staggered, and in a swift move, flipped the table.

The uproar of Dad's yelling and Brittany's shrieks were muffled by the crashing dishes and breaking wood.

They turned slowly, their expressions shifting from disbelief to shock as they looked at me.

How had the quiet girl from earlier transformed into this spitfire?

I'd intended to keep up my act till the SATs were done, but pushed to my limit, I wasn't holding back any longer.

If I kept my mouth shut any longer, I'd probably be signing my death warrant—again.

I grabbed a shard of glass and pressed it against my neck, the blood starting to seep out.

Brittany instantly looked panicked, her facade crumbling.

How could I afford to get hurt now?

If something happened to me, what would become of her pristine SAT scores and her shiny future?

She might want to rip me apart, but at this moment, she couldn't lay a finger on me.

Her face turned the color of spoiled wine, which was oddly satisfying to see.

With one hand holding the glass to my neck, I pointed another shard at that good-for-nothing dad of ours.

Thinking back to how he'd conspired with his girlfriend to dump his wife and daughter, my eyes blazed with hatred.

"Anybody crosses me today goes down with me. My dying is no big deal, but what about your darling daughter's rep?"

Imagine the headlines: [Teen Girl Dies Mysteriously at Home on Exam Day.] Even if Brittany scored top of the state, she'd get dragged through the mud online.

After chewing those two jerks out, I felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted off my chest.

Backpack in tow, I made a beeline for my mom's grave.

In a past life, Dad started fooling around with his mistress while Mom was pregnant.

And when Mom was weak from childbirth, he had the gall to bring that woman and Brittany, their love child, right into our home.

Later, he conspired with his mistress to off Mom and cash in on her life insurance.

Mom came from a family of notable entrepreneurs, while Dad was nothing more than a no-good barber.

She cut ties with her wealthy family to marry him, and within five years, he'd taken out massive insurance policies on her, making himself the beneficiary.

After I was born, seeing Mom was no longer of any use to him, he shamelessly brought his mistress and their kid into our lives.

It enraged Mom so much that she literally spat blood.

When I was four, Mom decided to divorce Dad for my sake.

Yet, realizing Mom's plan, he locked us in and tried to burn the house down the day before the divorce could happen.

By some fluke, I was out playing by the river, dodging a nap, and unknowingly dodging death.

But my poor mom was left to perish on that dreadful afternoon.

I solemnly lit three sticks of incense and bowed deeply, three times, at her gravesite.

I silently vowed to make those monsters pay for what they did to her.

After paying my respects, I inquired about other recent visitors with the cemetery staff.

The next stop was a convenience store with a lottery booth inside.

Desperate for cash in my past life, I thought I'd hit the jackpot by playing the lottery.

Luck wasn't in the cards, though—never hit a single jackpot.

Eventually, I started obsessing over lottery numbers, memorizing every winning sequence right up to the SATs.

Little did I know that small obsession would pay off big time in this life.

I marched into the shop and put all my money down on three sets of numbers.

The clerk gave me a look that screamed, "You're crazy," and muttered under his breath,

"Long shot, kid. Maybe dial it back a bit."

I brushed off his so-called advice like an annoying fly.

Secured the ticket, dusted myself off, and made my way back home to shake things up.

I'd be pleased if Dad got upset.

I'd be more pleased if Brittany got upset.

The angrier they got, the more I enjoyed it.

The house was eerily quiet when I returned.

As I switched my shoes at the door, Brittany crept out of Dad's room on tiptoes.

She glanced around nervously, clearly hiding something.

She didn't expect me here, so when she spotted me at the door, she screamed, "You trying to give me a heart attack?!"

I fired back without missing a beat, "Would be doing the world a favor—less trouble to deal with."

Before she could respond, she glanced toward Dad's room, covered her mouth, and scurried back to her own room.

I didn't chase after her to continue the fight.

Instead, I turned and made my way to the kitchen.

Just as I suspected, hidden in the lowest cabinet was a pack of laxatives.

Brittany always stashed stuff there in my previous life—guess some habits really do die hard.

Her little routine? Just made my revenge plan a whole lot easier.