Chapter 3: The Neighborhood Test

In middle school, my grades were garbage. Just getting into an average high school felt impossible. But a girl in my class, Leah Martinez, was a straight-A prodigy. She lived down the block, and we biked home together most days. I envied her so much it hurt—her future was already mapped out: top high school in Toledo, scholarships, the works.

Leah always wore her hair in a long braid, with a pencil tucked behind her ear. The day before the entrance exam, I waited for a break, then slipped into the bike shed. My hands shook as I loosened the bolt. The metal was cold and oily, and for a second, I almost stopped. But I kept going. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her dead—I just needed to know if my suspicion was real.

On the way home, luck or fate put us at the intersection just as a semi barreled through a red light. Leah couldn’t brake. She went flying, and by the time the ambulance came, she was gone. The trucker hadn’t slept in two days. Everyone called it a freak accident. No one suspected me. My hands shook all the way home, but at her memorial, I stayed dry-eyed, listening to her friends sob about how smart she’d been.

I waited for the guilt to hit me, but all I felt was this strange, buzzing clarity—like her brain had rewired mine overnight.

During the exam, questions that used to make no sense were suddenly simple. When the results came out, I ranked tenth in the grade and got into the high school I’d dreamed of. Everyone called me lucky. I just smiled and kept quiet. At night, I’d stare at my textbooks, amazed that I could solve problems without knowing how I knew the answers.