Chapter 2

As the second mock exam approached, our homeroom teacher, Ms. Callahan, made an announcement.

"An alumnus has donated to the school scholarship fund. Whoever places first on this exam will receive a $3,000 scholarship. I hope you'll all take it seriously."

I looked up at once.

While I was hospitalized with my broken leg, I'd persuaded Mom to get a checkup. But our small town's medical facilities were limited. The doctors had only said she seemed unusually weak.

A thorough examination at a major hospital in Aldermere, plus travel and lodging, would cost more than we could easily afford.

From the front row, Ronan glanced toward my corner of the classroom and raised his hand.

"I'll sit this one out, Ms. Callahan. Let someone else have a shot."

I tightened my grip on my pen and worked through my practice questions faster.

On the day the results were posted, the bulletin board was mobbed.

Sienna Krieger had taken first place, half a point ahead of me.

Our classmates were impressed.

"A 681? Sienna, that's ridiculous!"

She flicked her hair back, smiling.

"Ronan helped me cram these last two days. He even lent me his notes and his error log. A few of the exact problems we studied showed up on the exam. I never would've scored that high without him."

As she spoke, her eyes slid toward me.

I took a breath, squeezed through the crowd, and began handing back the graded tests.

When I reached hers, something stopped me.

One of the long-form math problems had an obviously incorrect final answer. Yet the grader had given her full credit.

My pulse quickened.

If her score were corrected, I'd beat her by four points. That was enough for first place, and the scholarship.

I thought of Mom getting up at four every morning to knead dough for her breakfast stand.

In winter, her hands cracked from the cold because she couldn't bear to use extra hot water. Yet whenever I needed another textbook, she paid without hesitation.

I grabbed my crutch and hurried toward the teachers' office.

Just as I reached the doorway, someone shoved me hard in the lower back.

I stumbled into the supply closet beside the office. The door slammed, and a lock clicked on the other side.

The cramped darkness made it hard to breathe.

I pounded on the door with both hands, my voice shaking.

"Who's there? Open it!"

Ronan's voice came through the wood, cold and clear.

"I helped the teacher grade those tests."

I went still.

"Sienna told me she'd never ranked first before. Her birthday's in a few days. I wanted to give her something special."

"My mom's sick!" I burst out. "I need that money!"

When we were little, Ronan's parents fought through an ugly divorce. They passed him back and forth like an unwanted package, neither willing to take him.

Mom brought him to our apartment and made him a big bowl of hot chicken noodle soup.

She stroked his head and said, "As long as I'm here, sweetheart, you won't go hungry."

He ate with both hands around the bowl, never once looking up.

Years later, when Mom was in the hospital in my first life, her hair fell out in handfuls. She grew so thin I could see every bone beneath her skin.

Yet whenever she called me, her first question was always the same.

"How's Ronan? Is he eating properly?"

She barely had the strength to roll over in bed, but she still worried whether he'd had enough to eat.

Tears slid down my face.

I hit the door with the last of my strength.

"Ronan, you're doing well now. Your parents both want you back. But please, remember the bowl of soup my mother made you when nobody else would? Let me out. Please."

Silence stretched on the other side.

Then he sighed.

"Elara, your mother looks perfectly healthy. Why make something like that up?"

He sounded almost irritated.

"If you're really that desperate for the money, I'll have Sienna give it to you later. But she gets to be first. That's not negotiable."