Chapter 2
In my last life, while I was outside the exam hall, screaming and rolling in agony, James walked in without a scratch on him.
Now, it was my turn to walk in, safe and sound.
The exam lasted two and a half hours.
I finished the entire exam with a clarity I'd never known before.
In my last life, I spent a whole year retaking the SAT. Every type of reading comprehension, every classical poetry question on this paper, I'd practiced them all.
"The questions were new, but the way I tackled them, the way I broke them down, the precision with which I nailed every scoring point, that was all thanks to countless late nights spent by that scarred girl in another timeline, grinding away at practice problems.
She paved the way for me.
Now, I was ready to reclaim everything she lost.
As I was finishing the last paragraph of my essay, a stir broke out outside the window.
A few guys in regular clothes appeared below the classroom building, having a quick word with the security guard. The guard pointed up at the building, and they craned their necks to look.
I recognized one of them, a middle-aged guy in a dark jacket.
It was James's father, Richard.
He was probably here looking for witnesses.
Or maybe he was here for me.
In my last life, he came to the hospital, held my hand, and said, "Emily, thank you."
He cried like he really meant it. But during the four years James and I was with him, Richard never let me set foot in his house, not even once for the holidays.
He thought my face would freak out his grandkids.
James didn't even have kids yet, but Richard was already picturing a future daughter-in-law, someone he could parade around.
The proctor noticed the commotion outside, frowned, and walked over to take a look. When he came back, he sat down at the front desk, his face troubled.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the exam.
I set down my pen, stacked my test paper, and got up to hand it in.
As I stepped out of the exam room, my homeroom teacher, Lauren Benson, was blocking my way in the hallway.
She was in her early forties, with short hair and a square face. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying.
"Emily," she called out.
I stopped.
"You know what happened to James, right?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"You were right there," she stared right at my face, "Why didn't you?"
She didn't finish her sentence, but I could tell what she really wanted to ask—why didn't I try to save him?
I stared right back at her for two seconds.
"Ms. Benson, the math exam starts at two. I need to go review my notes," I said.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again.
I slipped past her and headed into the stairwell.
The fire escape stairwell was dim, the peeling concrete walls giving off a damp, moldy smell.
I stood at the corner for three seconds.
It wasn't hesitation. It wasn't guilt.
It was because, in my last life, James had said those exact words to his friends in a stairwell just like this. "Just looking at that ruined face makes me want to puke."
I lifted my hand and brushed my left cheek.
My skin was smooth, flawless, not a scar in sight.
My fingers followed the line from my cheekbone down to my jaw—warm, living flesh.
I dropped my hand and moved on.
*****
At noon, I headed home.
My mom, Grace Shaw, stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour, holding out a bowl of mung bean soup.
"How'd the exam go?" she asked.
"Pretty good," I said.
I took the bowl and sipped. It was refreshingly cool, perfectly sweet, and there was a hint of mint in it.
"I heard something happened at your school?" she asked, her voice cautious. "Someone got splashed with something?"
"Yeah. Acid," I replied.
The bowl nearly slipped from her hands.
"Acid? Who threw it? Who got hurt? Are you alright?" she blurted out.
She rushed over, grabbing my arm and looking me over from head to toe, like a worried mom checking her kid for injuries.
"I'm fine, Mom. I was far away," I said.
"You scared me to death" she said, patting her chest. "Which student was it? Do you know him?"
"James Carter. He's from the class next door," I replied.
Her hand froze for a second.
She knew James.
Everyone knew I'd had a crush on James for all three years of high school, even my mom. She even helped me knit a scarf for him, but I never gave it to him. It ended up buried at the bottom of my closet.
"Is that the boy you had a crush on?" Mom asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Is he okay? Was it serious?" she asked.
"I don't know. I was already in the exam hall."
She looked at me, her mouth opening and closing, but in the end, she didn't ask anything else.
The bowl of mung bean soup was empty. I set it down on the table. "Mom, I'm going upstairs to study for a bit."
"Okay Don't stress yourself out. Whatever score you get is fine," she said.
I went upstairs to my room and closed the door.
I slid down the door and sat on the floor.
My fingers were still trembling.
It wasn't because of James.
It was because, when I saw my mom downstairs just now, I suddenly remembered how she looked in my last life—her hair all grey, her back hunched, scrubbing pillowcases reeking of ointment in our tiny rented room, sneaking a wipe at her eyes as she worked.
She stood by me for ten whole years.
But I never gave her even a single good day.
My eyes burned, and I leaned my head back against the door, gritting my teeth, never again, not in this life.
*****
The math exam was in the afternoon.
A perfect score in advanced math, with twenty minutes to spare. Turns out all those late nights were worth it.
When I stepped out of the exam hall, the school gate was swarming with police cars.
Yellow tape cordoned off the entrance, and the acid stain on the ground was covered with lime powder, but the sharp chemical smell still hung in the air. 'Even after all that, the scent just wouldn't go away,' Emily thought.
Eric had already been taken away by the cops.
I heard from a girl in the next exam room that when they pinned him to the ground, he kept screaming Sophie's name. So that's who he was thinking about.
"Sophie! Did you see that? I did it for you! Did you see?" Eric was still shouting, his voice echoing in my mind.
Sophie was kneeling beside James at that moment, trembling so hard she didn't even look at Eric.
After hearing all that, I walked through the police tape, expressionless, heading straight for the bus stop.
Maggie hurried after me. "Emily, wait for me."
She caught up, out of breath, hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulder, and shot me a sideways look, trying to read my expression.
"Are you okay?" Maggie asked softly.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Today" she paused, searching for the right words, "I noticed you stepped back when Eric ran at James."
I turned to look at her.
There was no blame in her eyes, just a cautious, almost tentative look, like she needed to be sure.
"If I'd jumped in," I said, "that acid would've landed right on my face."
Her breath caught.
"Why would I take the hit for someone else?" I asked.
Maggie was silent for a long time.
The bus rolled up. We hopped on and grabbed seats all the way in the back.
It was sweltering inside; the AC was barely working, pushing out warm air, and the seat covers were soaked through, dark with sweat stains.
"You did the right thing," Maggie said suddenly.
I turned to look at her.
She kept her eyes on the window, chewing on her lip, like she was lost in thought.
"If it were me," Maggie said quietly, "I probably wouldn't have been able to step in either. But I wouldn't blame you. Everyone's face matters."
I suddenly felt tears prick my eyes.
Maggie had said something to me in my last life, too.
After my face was destroyed, she came to see me in the hospital. When she saw the bandages and the yellow fluid oozing out, she gagged and threw up on the spot. Then, her eyes red with tears, she grabbed my hand and said, "Emily, you're so brave."
That was probably the cruelest praise I'd ever received in my life.
It was the second day of the Social Studies and Language exam.
Both exams dragged on for more than five hours, and by the time I finally stepped out, night had already fallen. The sunset in the west looked like someone had dumped a bucket of orange-red paint across the rooftops and power lines.
The police tape at the school gate was gone, and the lime powder had been swept away, leaving behind a pale square mark on the ground, its edges so neat it looked like someone had scrubbed it clean on purpose.
But that sharp chemical smell still lingered, hiding beneath the cloying sweetness of the gardenias, faint but unmistakable.
I walked quickly past that spot, not even glancing down.
"Emily!" The voice behind me was sharp, like nails scraping a chalkboard.
I stopped in my tracks.
Sophie was standing by the flower bed at the school gate, her white dress still stained with the gray smudges from kneeling on the ground yesterday.
Her eyes were red and swollen, her lower eyelids puffy, her lips dry and cracked, and her hair was tangled, plastered to her cheeks.
She rushed over, almost running, her high heels clicking rapidly against the pavement.
"You were the closest one," Sophie said, her voice trembling. "You could've pushed him out of the way."
I looked at her.