Chapter 1

My mother was born with a rebellious streak. Whatever anyone told her to do, she did the opposite—she lived to go against the grain.

Before the SAT, I warned her not to touch my things. She turned around and stitched cheat notes into my clothes. I was ruled guilty of cheating and expelled on the spot.

I brought my student records home and told her—over and over—not to touch them. But while I was out, she tore them open and "fixed" them for me.

When I confronted her, my father, David, stepped in and said she meant well and that I should be more understanding.

I was so angry I broke down and developed severe anxiety. The doctor said I needed peace and rest.

My mother, however, brought a bunch of her guy pals over and had them singing and dancing in the living room. She told me to join in—said moving around was good for my health.

Instead, I was violated by those old men. That was when the depression set in.

I picked up a knife and told them to pay for what they'd done.

But David and my brother, Lucas, stopped me. David said, "They're close to your mother. Let it go. It's not the end of the world."

In the struggle, the blade sank into my heart.

When I opened my eyes again, I swore I'd make everyone pay for my mother's "good intentions."

*****

When I pulled a thick stack of cheat notes out from between my clothes, my hands started shaking with excitement. I knew it—I had traveled back in time.

Previously, my mother had insisted on packing my things for me. "Just focus on studying," she'd said. "I've got everything else covered."

I'd warned her not to touch anything related to my SAT prep. She ignored me and stitched a bundle of cheat notes into my clothes anyway.

On the day of the SAT, the notes slipped out, and I got busted for cheating. I was expelled on the spot and turned into the school's biggest joke.

I walked out of campus in a daze, clutching my academic file, and dragged myself home.

I told my mother—very clearly—not to touch the file folder. But while I was in the bathroom, she had already ripped the folder open and was editing my records with a pen.

I completely lost it. I rushed over and yelled, "Didn't I tell you not to touch it? Do you not understand my word? Do you have a personal grudge against me or what? Are you only happy if you ruin my life?"

She looked at me innocently and said, "I don't know anything. I just wanted to help you."

Before I could say another word, Lucas kicked me hard and sent me crashing to the floor. "You were never good at school anyway," he snapped. "Taking the SAT was pointless. And you've got the nerve to blame Mom? You're a heartless ingrate—karma will get you."

Lucas was severely allergic to dairy. Despite the doctor's warnings, my mother bought him a cream cake. He nearly died from organ failure.

But she told everyone I was the one who bought the cake.

From then on, Lucas hated me to the bone, constantly wishing I'd die already.

Even my father tried to "reason" with me. "Your mom meant well," he said. "You should try to understand her. And honestly, school isn't everything. It's better to settle down early."

I couldn't accept that 12 years of hard study had gone up in smoke overnight. I was so overwhelmed that I passed out on the spot.

The doctor said I had developed neurasthenia and needed to rest up.

My mother didn't listen. She said I was just being dramatic, and she partied at home with her guy pals, singing and dancing all night. She even told me, "Come on, get moving. Exercise keeps you healthy."

Her guy pals ended up sexually harassing me.

After years of nonstop torment, my condition worsened. Eventually, I was diagnosed with severe depression.

I grabbed the boning knife from the kitchen and went for them. David jumped in to protect them, and we ended up wrestling on the floor. In the struggle, the blade plunged straight into my chest.

Even after I died, I could still hear Lucas comforting my mother. "She only lost her virginity," he said. "They're your best friends, for Heaven's sake. She brought it on herself. She never appreciated your good intentions anyway. She deserved it."

In that moment, I truly regretted everything. I shouldn't have stopped my mother from ruining them. This time around, I decided I wouldn't meddle anymore.

I tossed the cheat notes hidden in my clothes and acted like nothing had happened. When those "good intentions" finally blew back in their faces, they'd have no one to blame but themselves.

*****

It wasn't until the afternoon of the third day, after I'd finished the last section of the exam, that I finally let out a breath.

Walking out of the exam hall, everything felt unreal—like I'd just woken up from a long, vivid dream.

But at least I was awake now. And this time, I still had a chance to change things.

My mother had a habit of doing the opposite of whatever she was told. It wasn't that she didn't understand—she just loved going against people for the sake of it.

Everyone in the family always took her side. I knew that once I got into college, I had to get as far away from this house as possible. The farther, the better.

I'd already taken the cheat notes out of my clothes. I figured nothing else could possibly go wrong.

But when it came to my family, things always went wrong.

When the SAT results came out, I got ready to head to school to submit my college choices.

Right before I left, my mother suddenly asked, "Your scores are out? You're going to fill out your applications? Want me to help?"

I stared at her, instantly on guard, and warned her, "Don't try anything this time. If you pull another stunt, I swear I won't let it slide."

My mother put on an overly sweet, ingratiating smile. "Oh no, of course not," she said quickly. "How could I ever do that? I just want to help you and take some of the pressure off."

"That'd be great," I said coldly. "Because I don't need your help." I ignored her and went straight to school.

What I didn't know was that the moment I left, she picked up the phone and called a relative. "Hey, could you help Lily with her college applications?" she said. "I've got her ID—I'll send it to you.

"Just put her down for community college or a trade program. Those are good options. Girls don't need to aim that high—learning a skill is better."