One girl glanced at her, then quickly looked away.
Amara continued to her locker.
A message appeared on her screen.
It came from a student group chat she rarely used.
The message contained a photograph of a page of mathematics problems.
Beneath it, someone had written:
Guess some people get a head start.
Amara frowned.
She opened the photograph.
The page looked familiar, but not identical to anything she had studied. It included several advanced problems involving sequences, functions, and geometric proofs. She could not tell whether it was a practice sheet, a draft examination, or an old assessment.
Another message appeared.
Must be nice having the answers before everyone else.
Then another.
Scholarship perks, I guess.
Amara’s stomach tightened.
She typed a response, deleted it, and locked her phone.
There was no point arguing with anonymous accusations.
She went to class.
The examination began at one o’clock.
Students entered the assessment room in silence, placed their bags against the wall, and sat at assigned desks. The teacher, Mr. Larkin, distributed sealed packets and reminded everyone that the test would be monitored.
Amara checked the time.
One hour and forty-five minutes.
She turned over the first page.
The questions were difficult but fair. Some resembled the problems she had solved during preparation, while others required new approaches. She worked carefully, showing her reasoning and checking each calculation.
For the final problem, she drew a diagram, identified a relationship between two functions, and spent nearly twenty minutes proving the result.
When she finished, she reviewed her work.
Then she handed in the examination.
Mr. Larkin collected the papers and placed them in a sealed folder.
“Good work, everyone,” he said. “Results will be available after the review process.”
Amara packed her belongings and returned to the library.
She expected to spend the rest of the afternoon working on a history essay.
Instead, she found Madison waiting near the library entrance.
Chloe and Sloane stood beside her.
Madison held a sheet of paper.
“Congratulations,” she said.
Amara stopped.
“For what?”
“For finishing your little performance.”
Amara looked at the paper.
It appeared to be a photograph of one of the examination pages.
“Where did you get that?”
Madison smiled.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Is it the wrong answer sheet?”
Amara’s eyes narrowed.
“Where did you get it?”
Madison leaned closer.
“You’re not as careful as you think.”
Amara glanced toward the library desk. Several students were working nearby, but no teacher was immediately within earshot.
“Whatever you think you have,” Amara said, “you should take it to Mr. Larkin.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Then there’s nothing else to discuss.”
Amara moved to walk past.
Madison stepped into her path.
“You know, I used to think you were actually smart.”
Amara said nothing.