How Does The Pencil Test End?

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

On the seventh day after my daughter goes missing, I kidnap an entire kindergarten. I lock away all 27 students and two teachers in a classroom. I tell the police that if they can't find my daughter, I will kill a kid every 30 minutes. The principal falls to her knees, wailing and begging, "It's not my fault that your daughter is missing. Why should other children pay for it?" I glance at my watch. "29 minutes left. Find her." I know she's in this kindergarten.

The college entrance exam began, and I waited nervously for the papers to be handed out. Just as I was about to take the test paper from the invigilator, a floating line of text suddenly drifted across my vision. [Don't take it. The paper is coated with deadly poison. You'll die the moment you touch it.] Before my mind could even process what was happening, pure survival instinct made my hand jerk back. The paper slipped from my grasp and fell to the ground. I stiffly met with the invigilator's lifeless, mechanical eyes. He stared at me without blinking, then slowly bent down, picked up the test paper, flipped it over, and placed it back on my desk. "Good luck on your exam." His cold voice snapped me out of the fear brought on by that strange message. Just as I was starting to think that it was nothing more than nerves playing tricks on my eyes, the exam hall speakers started playing instructions. "The listening test will now begin. Please mark your answers on the corresponding answer sheet. The papers will be collected in 15 minutes. Anyone who fails to submit on time will be eliminated!" A wave of terror instantly overwhelmed me.

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

I had proposed seven times, but Winnie Smith continued refusing to marry me. This was because the Smith family had a special test. To marry their daughters, their sons-in-law had to refrain from sleeping with their fiancees after being drugged. I tried seven times. However, every time after I regained consciousness, Winnie would be sleeping naked next to me. She would cry and throw herself into my arms. “It’s fine. We can try again. I trust you.” It was not until the eighth time that I overheard her instructing the butler, “Switch the aphrodisiac to sleeping pills, and make sure it’s a high dosage. “After he falls asleep, I’ll take it from there as usual.” While I kept my eyes shut tight, I could hear her taking off her long dress. Then, she came over to unbutton my shirt. I heard her sigh. “I’m sorry, Benjamin Lowe. Joe Anderson’s been diagnosed with cancer, and his last wish is to be with me. “Don’t worry, though. After he passes, I’ll marry you immediately.” Right then, I realized that her family’s test had been a lie she told just to marry her childhood best friend. The next day, my parents pressured me again to leave the country and inherit the family business. So, I agreed to their request. Since she wanted to marry Joe, I would wish the couple well.

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"