Reborn Before the SATs I Let Them Destroy Themselves

The prettiest girl in our class had a severe case of baby syndrome.

She ate from toddler bowls and wrote with cartoon pens.

The day before the SATs, she decided that standard black pens were too boring and secretly swapped everyone's test pens for pink ones.

In my previous life, I caught her and put a stop to it immediately, spending my own money to buy a whole box of black pens and hand them out to the class.

Every answer sheet scanned perfectly, and everyone got into the colleges they wanted.

But Loretta Fox collapsed in tears against her childhood sweetheart's chest:

"Wahhh... big brother, Monica Pruitt was so mean to me. Baby just wanted to share something special, and she ruined it all. Baby is sooo sad..."

Her sweetheart was so heartbroken for her that he cornered me on the school rooftop and shoved me off:

"Loretta is a fragile little baby with no sense of security! Would it have killed you to play along? Worst case, everyone retakes the SATs next year. You owe her your LIFE for crushing her innocence!"

Even the classmates I'd saved mocked me to my face:

"Seriously, who can't afford one extra year of retaking the SATs these days? You just had to be a show-off and upset poor Loretta!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Loretta Fox was slipping pink pens into our classmates' pencil cases, one by one.

...

The day before the SATs, the classroom was quiet. Most students had gone home for last-minute prep. Only a handful remained, hunched over practice problems.

I lay slumped across my desk with my eyes half-shut, tracking the figure creeping through the classroom with the edge of my vision. Loretta Fox.

She moved in a low crouch, tiptoeing between the rows of desks.

At each seat, she unzipped the pencil case, slid out the black pen, and tucked a pink one printed with a strawberry bear in its place.

Henry Delgado, her childhood sweetheart, stood lookout at the door, watching her with an indulgent grin.

This was her idea of a surprise.

In my previous life, the moment I noticed, I stopped her and went out to buy a whole box of black pens for the class.

And what did I get for it?

Not a single thank-you. Instead, every last one of them pinned the blame on me, accusing me of ruining Loretta's generous gesture.

"Loretta Fox, what are you doing?!"

A sharp voice shattered the silence.

Sebastian Chavez, our class president, had just come back from the restroom and walked straight into the scene.

Loretta flinched. The pen slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Her eyes turned red in an instant, those wide doe eyes brimming with tears as she looked to Henry:

"Wahhh... someone caught me..."

Henry stormed in immediately, pulling Loretta behind him and glaring at Sebastian:

"What are you yelling for? Can you handle the consequences if you scare Loretta?!"

Sebastian went white with anger:

"She... she swapped everyone's test pens! This is the SATs!"

"So what if she did?"

Henry said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. He even picked up the pink pen from the floor and waved it in Sebastian's face:

"Loretta wanted to surprise everyone and share her good luck! Do you even know what team spirit means?"

I lifted my head slowly, and my gaze locked with Loretta's.

She peeked out from behind Henry, sniffling and hiccupping:

"Baby... Baby just thought black was too depressing. Pink brings good luck for everyone... Monica, you understand me best, right? You don't think Baby did anything wrong, do you?"

She aimed the question squarely at me.

In an instant, every pair of eyes in the room turned my way. The few remaining classmates, Henry, Sebastian. All of them, staring.

The suffocating weight of my previous life pressed down on me again, the same crushing force that had driven me to that rooftop.

My fingers tightened around the spare black pen hidden in my uniform pocket.

Meeting their stares, I picked up my own pencil case from the desk and unzipped it. Sure enough, a brand-new pink pen sat inside.

I pulled it out and faced Loretta, forcing a smile uglier than tears.

"Why would I mind? I love your surprise."

I even made a show of sliding the pink pen into the most visible slot of my pencil case, right in front of her, to kill whatever suspicion they had left.

Loretta's tears dried up instantly, replaced by a smug grin. She shot Sebastian a triumphant look.

Henry gave my shoulder an approving pat, satisfaction dripping from every word.

"See? Monica knows how to be a team player."

Sebastian stared at me, lips parting, then pressing shut. He swallowed whatever he'd been about to say.

He knew. In a class held hostage by the cult of Loretta, anyone who crossed her became a target.

The storm passed. Henry took Loretta by the arm and led her away.

I lowered my head and tucked the pink pen into my pencil case.

Then I unzipped the hidden inner pocket of my uniform jacket and checked. Two identical black gel pens lay inside, exactly where I'd left them.

The morning of the SATs, our homeroom teacher stood at the podium for one final reminder. Her gaze swept the room, and she leaned into every syllable.

"Check your supplies one more time. Besides your number-two pencils for the bubble sheet, all written responses must be answered with a 0.5-millimeter black ink pen!"

The words barely left her mouth before Loretta's hand shot up, pink-polished nails glinting under the fluorescent lights. Her voice came out syrupy and small.

"Miss, can baby use a pink pen? Black makes baby feel all suffocated and anxious. It'll totally mess up baby's performance..."

She pressed a hand to her chest as she spoke, eyes glistening, the picture of a fragile creature on the verge of collapse.

The whole class burst out laughing, the tension in the room dissolving in an instant.

The homeroom teacher's face went dark as a thundercloud. She slammed her palm on the podium.

"Loretta Fox! Absolutely not! Rules are rules. The written-response section only accepts black ink! This is not a joke!"

"Come on, Miss, don't be so uptight about it."

Henry was on his feet immediately, pulling Loretta behind him like a shield.

"Think of it as our class tradition. Besides, technology's come a long way. You really think the scanner can't read color? Don't bring that old-school thinking in here."

"Yeah, Miss, we all switched to pink pens! They're good-luck charms from Loretta!"

"All for one! If we're doing it, we're all doing it!"

Voices piled on from every direction. The classroom erupted into chaos, and the homeroom teacher, outnumbered and overpowered, stood there with her lips trembling.

I stayed silent through all of it, until Henry's gaze drifted over to me, casual and contemptuous.

I knew. It was my turn.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

My voice came out steady, almost flat.

"According to the National Standardized Testing Regulations, any response written outside the designated area or with a non-regulation pen will be deemed invalid. Meaning every section except the multiple-choice bubbles you filled in with your number-two pencils, every short answer, every essay, will be scored as zero."

The classroom went dead silent.

Even the homeroom teacher froze.

Then, a split second later, Loretta's wail tore through the air like a siren.

"Waaah! Henry! Monica is being mean to me! She's cursing baby to get a zero on the written sections! She's so evil!"

Henry's eyes turned vicious. He jabbed a finger at me, his voice a roar.

"Monica! Enough! You think you're the only one who knows the rules? You think you're better than everyone? We're willing to take a chance for Loretta's sake, and you have the nerve to stand here and kill the mood for all of us!"

"Yeah, get off your high horse!"

"She's just jealous that Loretta's more popular. She's doing this on purpose to be contrarian!"

"What a freak! She doesn't belong with the rest of us!"

The vicious speculation and insults crashed over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under.

The homeroom teacher opened his mouth to say something, but the wall of voices drowned him out completely.

I looked at their faces, one after another, twisted with rage. I looked at Loretta, nestled in Henry's arms, wearing a smug little smile. My heart went cold.

I couldn't save them.

I'd already tried in my last life.

I sank back into my seat. Under the glare of the entire class, I lowered my head and didn't say another word.

The moment we arrived at the testing center, our class became the spectacle of the entire venue.

Surrounded by a sea of somber black, white, and gray, our group of students clutching pink pens stuck out like a pack of influencers who'd wandered into a board meeting.

The athletics captain from the class next door was a blunt guy. He stared at us, confusion plastered across his face, and turned to Henry.

"Dude, is your class doing some kind of performance art? You're seriously using those things on the SATs?"

He pointed at the pink pen in Henry's hand like he was looking at some exotic species.

That one sentence lit the fuse.

Loretta's eyes turned red on cue. She ducked behind Henry, clutching the hem of his shirt, and started whimpering through pitiful little sobs.

"Waaah... Henry, does he... does he think baby's gift is a joke? Baby put her whole heart into it... and he's laughing at her..."

"The hell did you just say?"

Henry exploded. He shoved the athletics captain hard. "What pens our class uses is none of your damn business. Who asked you?"

The captain stumbled back and fired up in return.

"Are you out of your mind? I was trying to do you a favor! When the scanner can't read your answers, don't come crying about it!"

"Nobody needs your advice."

Our classmates closed in around him, united in fury.

"Exactly. We want to use them. What's it to you?"

"Clearly never seen anything beyond his own backyard. He wouldn't understand our class tradition!"

A fight was about to break out when teachers rushed over and pulled the two sides apart.

The students from the other class looked at us like we were certifiably insane, shook their heads, and walked away.

But our classmates rallied from that little skirmish feeling more united than ever, morale sky-high, as if they'd just defended some sacred honor.

I leaned against the wall and watched it all with cold detachment.

At the security checkpoint, the proctor in charge spotted the pink pens in our hands. His brow furrowed into a tight knot.

He picked one up, turned to Henry, and made one last attempt.

"I'm going to say this one more time. Aside from pencils for the answer sheet, all written responses must be in black ink. Otherwise, you bear the consequences."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard you!"

Henry waved him off impatiently and snatched the pen back. "Our whole class is using these. If anything goes wrong, that's on us."

He said it with iron conviction. Behind him, the rest of the class puffed out their chests, every one of them wearing the expression of someone making a noble stand.

The proctor looked at this wall of students who refused to listen to reason, shook his head in resignation, and waved them through.

I was last in line. I passed through security in silence.

I watched them stride into the exam hall one by one, chins high, brimming with confidence. They looked like sacrificial offerings marching toward the altar, cheering for the privilege of climbing onto it.

The bell for the first exam, English, rang out like a starting pistol, sounding simultaneously across every testing center in the city.

In my exam room, the test-takers came from different schools. The atmosphere was solemn.

I unzipped the inner pocket of my school jacket and calmly pulled out the black ballpoint pen I'd prepared long in advance.

I began my fight.

Halfway through, I glanced up without thinking.

Just ahead of me and to the left, a girl from our class had finished bubbling in the multiple-choice section and was now scrawling furiously across the essay sheet with a pink pen.

She was our class's arts representative, and her face was lit with absolute confidence.

A proctor passed by her desk, brow furrowed, clearly on the verge of saying something. But seeing how absorbed she was, he shook his head and moved on.

I knew that at this very moment, scattered across other testing rooms in our school, even at other testing sites across the city, my classmates were like seeds flung to the wind, sowing that absurd shade of pink across the answer sheets that would decide their futures.

In my previous life, I had fought tooth and nail to swap those pens back to black. I saved every one of their scores. And at the celebration dinner afterward, they laughed as they shoved me off the rooftop.

"You were just jealous of Loretta, so you ruined it for her on purpose!"

"We wanted to use the pink pens. Why did you have to go and switch them?"

Those vicious words looped in my ears like a curse that never faded.

I pulled my gaze back to my own desk and poured every last drop of emotion into the tip of my pen.

The moment I set down the final period, the bell rang.

"Everyone stand! Pens down!"

The proctors began collecting answer sheets.

When one of them picked up the arts rep's sheet, covered top to bottom in neat pink script, the expression on his face was priceless.

After the exam, classmates gathered outside the testing center in clusters, buzzing with excitement.

"The people in my room were staring at me like I was from another planet!"

"Same! They were probably thinking, wow, kids from that school are so next-level!"

Loretta stood at the center of the crowd, beaming with pride.

"I told you it was my magic! We said we'd be one of a kind, and we are!"

Henry ruffled her hair, grinning like she'd hung the moon. "Our Loretta's the best."

I stood outside the circle, watching them in silence.

A few days later. The state grading center.

Thousands of graders sat in front of computer screens, scoring the scanned answer sheets one by one.

The quality-control supervisor was running random spot checks on the scanned images from the back end.

He stopped. His brow creased.

In the endless river of crisp black-and-white answer sheets, one image looked wrong.

The multiple-choice bubbles were filled in with standard No. 2 pencil, dark and clean. The machine had read them without issue.

But below that, in the written-response and essay sections, the scanned image dissolved into vast stretches of barely-there gray smudges. In places, it was nothing but blank white.

Pink ink under a black-and-white scanner was virtually invisible.

"What is this?"

The supervisor zoomed in. He could just barely make out that there was writing underneath.

He didn't hesitate. He hit the violation key.

Even if the text had been legible, SAT regulations were explicit: any written response completed in a non-approved ink color was automatically invalid.

He marked it zero without a second thought.

He assumed it was an isolated case and was about to move on.

Then another sheet with blank written sections flashed through the data stream.

Then a third. A fourth.

They came from different testing rooms, different testing sites. But the first digits of each student ID matched perfectly, pointing to the same school, the same class.

A chill crawled up the supervisor's spine. He grabbed his radio.

"Tech team. Run a search across every answer sheet in the city. Filter for non-approved ink color. Now."

Seconds later, the reply came back, shaken:

"Sir... the search is done. Thirty-seven answer sheets. Every one of them scored on the multiple choice. Every written-response section and every essay, zero."