Chapter 1: The Rooftop Crisis

As a proctor for the SATs, I’ve watched more systems wreak havoc on students than I can count.

Score-swapping, soul-possession, GPA boosters—the stuff of nightmares for teachers like me.

Every year, college admissions got messier. Revenge plots, wild drama, and chaos. I’d always been a bystander, powerless to intervene.

And then, one day, the impossible happened: a system found me. Its voice echoed in my mind, cold and mechanical, but somehow full of promise.

1

"Ms. Grant, Aubrey is about to jump off the building—please come quick!"

My office door flew open, and a girl burst in, panic carved into every line of her face.

I frowned, sliding my lesson plan aside, heart thudding.

Through the cracked window, the name 'Springfield High School' floated up from the parking lot, where parents were already honking and shouting for after-school pickup. The intercom hummed somewhere in the distance—bells, voices, the soft click of my pen as I straightened a pile of handouts. Just another slice of American school chaos.

"What happened? Where is she now?"

The girl clutched her chest, gasping for air. "She’s on the roof of the main building. There’s a huge crowd of students. If you don’t go, she might really jump!"

I nodded and rushed out.

As I hurried down the hall, the sharp scent of disinfectant mixed with the greasy tang of cafeteria tater tots. Students were crowded by the windows, craning their necks to catch a glimpse, their faces pressed to the glass.

A knot of girls whispered, their voices sharp:

"Aubrey isn’t really going to jump, is she?"

"Jeez, talk about drama. The SATs are only two months away. Maybe she just snapped."

"You can’t blame anyone else. She’s the one who didn’t put in the work."

I bit back a retort and powered up the stairs, each step up the linoleum staircase heavier than the last, a sick twist of dread growing in my stomach.

When I reached the eighth-floor rooftop, I saw teachers and students clustered anxiously, voices trembling as they tried to reason with someone just out of view.

"Aubrey, come down. So you didn’t do well on the test—so what? It’s not the end of the world."

I followed the voice and spotted Aubrey’s homeroom teacher, Mr. Lewis, his navy cardigan rumpled, face pale with fear.

He caught sight of me like a drowning man grabbing a life raft. "Ms. Grant, you’re the one Aubrey trusts most. You’ve taught her math. Please, try to talk her down!"

I nodded, moving forward—and there was Aubrey.

Half her body was already hanging over the guardrail. Her fingers trembled on the cold metal, knuckles turning white, shoes teetering on the edge. The wind whipped past, carrying the distant sound of sirens and the metallic taste of fear. Her dark hair lashed her cheeks, the sun unforgiving on her tear-streaked face.

She saw me. "Ms… Ms. Grant." Her voice was raw.

My heart twisted. I flashed back to her freshman year—always raising her hand, fearless. Now she was a trembling shadow, eyes wild.

I forced myself to sound calm. "Aubrey, whatever’s happened, we can work through it. Your grades can improve. Please, come down."

She shook her head, tears spilling over. "It can’t be fixed. It can’t be fixed. There’s no hope left for me. Let me die."