Chapter 7

In the morning, I float out of bed before my alarm goes off, and not like in a gloomy, ghostly way but like in an angels-singing, forty-year-old-virgin-who-just-got-laid way. Not that I got laid last night.

I reach for my phone and see that I have an email from SiliconBrains.

The floaty sensation disappears, and I crash back to reality.

There’s something attached to the email. I click Open. It’s today’s test paper, complete with answers. Oh shit. I close it quickly and jump out of my bed, feeling disgusted at myself.

I’m not a cheater. Ibu raised me better than that.

My reply is swift and angry. Wth? I’m not gonna cheat on a test! I hit send and pace with righteous anger. Who the hell does SiliconBrains think I am?

There’s a boop. I pounce on my phone.

FFS. You don’t get it, do you? Mr. Werner sells grades to the wealthiest students. It fucks up the bell curve, but people haven’t really noticed. They just assume it’s because his class is really challenging. He makes his tests ridiculously hard so he can nitpick on the answers and control your grades that way to make it look like he’s got a normal bell curve. So unless you’ve got the money to pay for a passing grade or know the answers to these obscure questions, this is your only chance of passing.

God, I feel sick. My thumbs fly across the phone screen.

Prove it.

I have nothing to prove to you. Take my help or leave it, I rly don’t give a shit.

Argh. They have a point, but still.

I can’t deal with human interaction, so I choose to have breakfast in my room after track practice. And then, hating myself more than I can possibly imagine, I open up SiliconBrains’s message again, and this time, I actually read the test paper. And SiliconBrains is right. These questions are so difficult, so obscure, they would’ve driven me mad.

But I won’t cheat. I won’t. I’ll come up with my own answers.

My phone beeps with a message from Danny: So last night was sort of awesome.

Yeah, very definitely sort of awesome. I look for an equally adorable emoji to add, but nothing beats nerdy smile, not with its two buck teeth and glasses. I settle for closed-eye smile emoji. Not as standoffish as slightly smiling emoji, not as thirsty as grinning emoji.

See you at lunch?

Sounds good

Our conversation makes me smile, but as soon as it’s done, anxiety resumes squeezing my stomach.

By the time I’m seated in Mr. Werner’s classroom, I’m so jumpy, I feel like a meth head in need of her next fix. Mr. Werner meets my eye and I look away like his gaze burnt me. When he hands out the test paper, I pounce on it, and—

Everything stops.

Because it’s the exact same paper that SiliconBrains sent me. My stomach sinks. I mean. Just. This proves it. Mr. Werner is really selling test papers.

Hang on, it doesn’t actually prove that. All it proves is that SiliconBrains managed to get his hands on a test paper, either by buying it or, more likely, by stealing it. Argh, why does everything have to be so complicated?

My stomach boils as I fill out my name. Is this what it feels like to have guilt eating away at you? It actually does feel like my stomach is eating away at itself, gnawing the same way a dog worries at a bone when it knows it’s done something bad. I grip my pencil so hard, it snaps. The top half bounces off my desk and clatters to the floor. In the hushed room, it sounds super loud.

“Sorry,” I whisper to no one in particular. Oh god, I can’t do this. I can’t cheat on a test. Ibu would freak the eff out. I’m freaking the eff out.

But as I pick my pencil up, I catch sight of Mandy. She’s leaning back in her chair, twirling her pencil, wearing the world’s most bored expression. Which, you know, that’s weird, right? Or maybe that’s just her thinking face? Yeah, she’s probably deep in thought—

And then Mr. Werner catches her eye and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Mandy sighs and moves her hand over her test paper, scribbling. But from where I sit, I can see that she’s not actually writing anything on her paper. It’s all swirls and doodles of vines and flowers.

Oh.

My.

God.

SiliconBrains was right. Mr. Werner is selling test papers, and now I know for sure who one of his customers is.

At first, I’m just so shocked that my head is devoid of any thought. Then, like a faucet turning on, rage pours into every fiber of my being.

I got kicked off varsity because of this. Because of them. I’m seething, fire spitting out of my eyeballs. God, I could just—

Breathe, Lia. In, out. In, out. I don’t have to fail. Not anymore. Not with SiliconBrains’s help. But then I’ll owe SiliconBrains. I’ll worry about that later.

I look at my test paper, and I see it in a new light. I see how the questions are worded in the most confusing way possible. Designed so he can mark people’s tests up or down. I write down my answers so hard, I tear a hole in the paper. Many of the questions focus on the most obscure parts of the text, which Mr. Werner never touched on during class.

By the time I finish the paper, my hand’s cramped from gripping my pencil too tight. I look over my answers. Crap, I totally forgot to choose the wrong answer for a couple of questions. I can’t turn in a perfect paper. It’ll look so suspicious. I’m hopeless at this whole subterfuge thing. I erase two of my answers and write something different. There.

Satisfied, I look up.

Mr. Werner’s looking straight at me.

I lower my head. Shit, shit, shit. He knows. HE KNOWS. I sneak another peek. He’s typing something on his tablet. And exhale. He doesn’t know.

When the bell rings, we hand our papers to Mr. Werner on our way out.

“There goes another faaail,” Mandy says under her breath.

One day, I will punch her right in the face, and it will be worth it. Instead, I say, “Were you surprised by question three? It has your name on it.”

I’m rewarded by a widening of her eyes as she quickly checks the paper. Gotcha.

“What’re you talking about? My name’s not on it.”

“Oh? My bad. Maybe you should read the actual test paper next time.” I give her a sweet smile and stroll out of the classroom.