Swapped at the SATs

I added, all soft and shaky, "I really want to help out, but my body's just not holding up. If I push it, I might have to take medical leave like the teacher warned... and it's such an important year. I don't even know if I'll do okay on the SATs..."

Last time, I couldn't live in the dorms. Had to come home daily just to cook for them. I even packed balanced meals for Amelia while I ate leftovers. Still, I studied like crazy—because it was the only shot I had.

I let a few tears slip, lifted my pale face, and hit them with the saddest look I could pull off.

Mom jumped in fast. "Don't worry about the house. We'll handle it. Just focus on getting better and studying. Starting now, you'll stay at school. I'll make you something nice on the weekends."

I gave her a small, guilty nod.

Inside? I was laughing.

They weren't helping me—they just wanted to dump me at school. Like a couple of weekend meals could buy off my future?

No chance. Everything you stole from me last time—I'd take it back. One piece at a time.

***

Mom, Dad, and Amelia pushed me to get back to school so I wouldn't fall behind.

I played along, kept my head down, and went back to studying.

A month flew by. First round of senior practice exams—I let Amelia crash on her own. She pulled a 580.

I dropped mine on purpose, landing at 1390. Easy. With two lifetimes of grinding, faking scores was second nature.

When I walked in that night, the house felt thick with tension. They were on the couch, watching me like I'd committed a crime.

Their eyes said it all: if I wasn't number one, I was nothing.

Mom shot me a side-eye. Dad twirled a belt in his hand. Amelia popped grapes like she was front row at a show.

No surprise there—the belt was always next. Upset them even a little, or let Amelia whisper something nasty, and I'd get anything from skipped meals to a beating.

But this time, I dropped to my knees before it even started.

"Dad, Mom, I swear I've been trying. The cafeteria food's gross—I've been eating and throwing up all month. I'm sick all the time, falling asleep in class. Now with the cold, I even caught a cold. That's why my score tanked."

Only then did they seem to notice my pale face and the flimsy layer I had on. Their confusion was almost funny—like, 'We've ignored her for years and she was fine, so what's wrong now?'

My eyes stung. "How about I take the leave my teacher suggested? I can come home, help around, and Amelia can shine this year."

Silence. They knew Amelia's grades would humiliate them.

They waved me off, told me to rest. They needed to think.

Later that night, I crept out for water and caught Dad muttering in the living room. "Should we let Evelyn move back home?"

Mom snapped, "What? Move her back? Then I'd have to cook for her! She can't even wash dishes, so I'd be stuck doing her laundry too. Ugh, just seeing her face annoys me!"