The Myth Of American Meritocracy And Other Essays

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.

I’ve always taken people literally. When Dad told me to empty the basin, I asked where he wanted me to pour the water. “On my head,” he snapped. So I did. When Mom told me to do the laundry, I asked whether I should add detergent. She gave a cold laugh. “Sure. Add caramel sauce.” So I poured an entire bottle of caramel sauce into the washing machine. Everyone said I was stupid. But this “stupid” guy took first place in a nationwide academic competition. I earned my school’s only direct-admission spot at one of the country’s top universities. The day the results were announced, Lucas Hale, the school bully, ripped my application apart in front of the entire class. “You can’t even understand sarcasm. Why should someone like you get direct admission? “Last night, I saw you get out of a luxury SUV. Who knows what kind of deal you made with the woman inside?” The whole classroom went quiet. Then everyone started looking at me differently. Lucas stood there with a self-righteous expression. “I’m just speaking up for the rest of the class. Why should we work ourselves to death only to lose out to someone who got in through connections?” I thought about it seriously. Then I took out my phone and called my older sister. “Claire, they said I got my admission spot by sleeping with someone. Is that true?” A few seconds later, I held the phone out to Lucas, whose face had gone pale. “My sister wants to know something.” “What’s your name?” “And your student ID number?”

I was reborn one month before the forensic certification exam. This time, I spent my days drinking and clubbing instead of slaving away studying, for the class belle had bound me to an Achievement Transfer System in my previous life. We had prepared for the forensic certification together, and I'd burned the midnight oil while she slacked off and partied. Yet, I scored a zero and failed, while she got exactly what she wanted and passed when the results were out. The entire class praised the class belle for her talent and mocked me, saying a nobody like me could never rise above my station. Unwilling to accept it, I demanded a review of the exam. The results showed that every single one of my answers was wrong, while hers were all correct. I searched through everything from my past experiments, only to find that every certificate bore the class belle's name. The class belle then put on an innocent front and accused me of misconduct, declaring imperiously, "Dakota Saunders, you've always pretended to be hardworking in front of others. I just didn't expect you to lie for so long that you started believing it yourself! "And now you've even stolen my certificates! You're disgusting. A thief like you belongs in the sewers, not here!" I was scorned by everyone and expelled from the academy. In the end, unable to bear the blow, I jumped to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to one month before the forensic certification exam.

The day my daughter, Holly Rivera, got her acceptance letter from Bellmont University, I filed my tenth lawsuit against her homeroom teacher, Natalie Martin. The result was exactly what you would expect. I lost again. Outside the courthouse, a group of parents pointed at me and started yelling. "Ms. Martin got the whole class into top schools, and Holly still made Bellmont. Why are you suing her ten times?" Holly stood there as well, looking at me like she didn't recognize me anymore. "I'm done being your daughter," she said. I didn't answer. By then, I already knew the lawsuits weren't going to change anything. That same night, I threw Holly a celebration dinner and invited her entire class. When the parents came to pick up their kids, they found 40 bodies hanging in the banquet hall. Holly was one of them. The police took me in on the spot. An officer dropped the surveillance footage on the table, each frame capturing me stringing them up. His eyes were bloodshot as he leaned in. "Start talking. Why did you kill 40 people? Even your own daughter?" I leaned back and opened my hands. "Why did I do it? Ask Ms. Martin. She'll explain everything."

On the day of the SATs, all the students in the exam hall were asleep. The teachers did not just let them be, but they also told everyone not to write any answers. For the past ten years, every valedictorian in the city had mysteriously died on the very day their scores were released. The police conducted thorough investigations but found that all of them had died by suicide. Students across the city were gripped by fear. Some transferred to other schools, others dropped out. Some even deliberately underperformed on the exam. They were all equally terrified of becoming the top scorer and valedictorian. I was the only one who did not care. I was already at the bottom of my class. I would barely even qualify for a community college, let alone the SATs, which I had left completely blank. But to my surprise, when the results came out, I turned out to be the top scorer!

I lucked out, securing a guaranteed admission spot at Westbridge University—the one the real heiress throws away. Nicole Stewart drops out for love and runs off with the school's bully, shattering what should've been her perfect life. Meanwhile, I'm branded a thief, accused of stealing her place. However, I fight my way up to become a powerhouse in business and even marry her childhood sweetheart, Spencer Lowe. Yet, at the peak of it all, I open my eyes to find myself back to graduation day of senior year, right when I'm filling out my choices of colleges. A live barrage of comments flashes before my eyes. "That fake heiress, Gloria Stewart, is nothing but a thief. She stole Nicole's life!" "In her last life, Nicole actually dropped out of school to start a business with some school bully. She even gave her childhood sweetheart, who was her fiance, to someone else! Ugh, she's so stupid and pathetic." "Good thing Nicole gets a second chance. This time, the real heiress has awakened, so let's just see how miserable that fake heiress who stole her life becomes!" I just smile at the scrolling insults. Sorry, but I carve my own path. Nicole can be reborn a hundred times, and she still can't stop me from rising to the top.