The Mind-Reading Prodigy's Ruin

As the head of the AP English grading committee, I willingly handed the final review of the perfectscore essays straight to my husband's illegitimate daughter.

In my past life, Vincent suddenly brought a girl named Kendall into our home. He claimed she possessed a rare, undeniable genius for literary analysis.

I needed strict rubrics and benchmark examples to grade a paper; Kendall just skimmed a page and dropped a flawless score. Everyone called her a prodigy.

They whispered that I was just a bitter, jealous wife.

Vincent didn't even try to hide it. "Kendall is my biological daughter," he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She shares my blood, so of course she's brilliant.

You need to accept her." I had spent two grueling weeks prepping for the state's final essay review.

The morning I was supposed to take charge, Kendall blocked the door to the grading room.

Vincent backed her up, and the entire committee folded, voting unanimously for her to take over.

They exiled me to grade remedial middle school worksheets, while Kendall was crowned the youngest literary expert in the district.

I worked endless overtime until a massive cerebral hemorrhage dropped me to the floor. Right before my lungs stopped pulling in air, the pieces finally snapped together.

Kendall’s flawless grading. Her undeniable genius. She hadn't read a single word on those pages.

She had been reading my mind the entire time, stealing every single score straight from my head. Now, I was back. Reborn on the exact day Kendall debuted her "gift" to the world.

This time, I didn't touch a single rubric. I didn't analyze a single sentence. I just stared at the essay in front of me and let my inner voice scream on a relentless, chaotic loop.

What is this garbage? A trainwreck! The grammar is bleeding all over the page! My dog could write a better essay!

Chapter 1 "Aunt Lorraine, what are you working on?" Kendall pushed my office door open.

She strolled right up to my desk, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands and a bright, sugary smile plastered across her face. I set down my red grading pen and looked up.

Nineteen years old. Blunt bangs framing a round face. Eyes curved into perfect little crescents. It was the exact same outfit. The exact same smile. The exact same moment in time.

My husband, Vincent, shadowed her steps. He wore his usual tailored suit, the silk tie knotted flawlessly against his collar.

The second he crossed the threshold, he nudged Kendall forward. "Lorraine, we need to talk." He always used that tone. Never 'honey', never 'sweetheart'.

In front of others, I was just another employee to manage. "Kendall has a real gift for literature.

I want her shadowing you to learn the AP grading process." In my past life, that sentence froze the breath in my lungs for three solid seconds. This time?

I didn't even twitch a muscle. "Shadow me?" I leaned back in my chair. "She's a college freshman, Vincent.

She doesn't even have a teaching license." Vincent's brow creased into a hard line. "I said shadow you. Nobody's asking her to grade the state finals solo.

Why do you always have to make everything so damn difficult?" Right on cue, Kendall tugged at his suit sleeve. "Daddy, let it go.

If it's too much trouble for Aunt Lorraine, I don't want to bother her." "It's fine." I pushed myself up from the desk. "She can watch.

Grab that chair in the corner." Kendall blinked, her sugary smile faltering. In my last life, I fought them on this.

I refused, Vincent exploded, and the ensuing shouting match tore through the office until the department head had to step in and force a compromise.

By saying yes right out of the gate this time, I cut off her victim routine.

Kendall settled into the corner chair, playing the perfect, quiet student as she flipped open an essay booklet.

I pulled my stack of practice tests closer and started my first mental test run. Wow, this essay is incredible. The thematic depth is stunning, and the prose is so mature.

This is easily a 58 out of 60. I intentionally bumped the imaginary score up by two points in my head. In my peripheral vision, Kendall’s hand froze on the page.

She turned her head slightly, her pen flying across her notepad to jot down a number. I couldn't see the ink from here, but I knew exactly what she wrote. Fiftyeight.

The memories of my past life were burned into my skull. Kendall’s debut as a "prodigy" was scheduled for the 2:00 PM committee meeting today.

Our department head had pulled up a highly controversial essay for a group review. The veteran teachers went back and forth, tearing the piece apart for twenty solid minutes.

Then, Kendall chimed in. She dropped a razorsharp score and backed it up with a flawless, airtight analysis.

An analysis I had spent the last twenty minutes constructing inside my head. She repeated my private thoughts word for damn word. The entire room was stunned into silence.

From that second on, Kendall was branded a genius. And I? I was just the mediocre teacher getting steamrolled by the new prodigy.

At exactly two o'clock, the committee meeting kicked off.

The department head, Davis, pulled up the controversial essay and cast it onto the projector screen. "Take a look at this one, folks," Davis said, tapping the whiteboard. "The prompt is 'Tradition versus Innovation.' The core concept has some spark, but the structure is a mess.

What are we thinking for a score?" I stared dead at the projector screen and let the chaos rip through my mind. What in the actual hell is this garbage?

The intro reads like a straightup Wikipedia copypaste. The evidence in the body paragraphs is ducttaped together, and the conclusion is just pure, unearned melodrama.

It's a textbook cookiecutter template! Give it a 42, tops! No, wait, 40 is too generous for this trash! While my inner voice went nuclear, my face remained blank.

I casually flipped through the official grading rubric, not showing a single trace of emotion. Over in the corner, Kendall’s head snapped up.

Chapter 2 Fifteen minutes into the debate, the committee was stuck between a 48 and a 52. Davis turned toward the corner of the room. "Kendall, you've been looking at this one.

Any thoughts?" In my past life, Davis threw the question out there casually, just being polite. Nobody expected a college freshman to actually contribute anything useful.

Kendall closed her notepad and stood up. "I think this essay is a 40. Tops." The conference room went dead silent for two seconds. Davis pushed his glasses up his nose. "Oh?

Let's hear your reasoning." Kendall cleared her throat, the words tumbling out of her mouth at rapidfire speed. "The first three paragraphs are almost a direct copypaste of last year's national perfectscore template.

It's highly suspicious. As for the evidence in the body, one historical reference is completely wrong, and the statistics in the other are obviously fabricated.

The thematic elevation in the conclusion is disconnected from her previous arguments.

It’s unearned and forced." She paused, tacking on one final hit. "Plus, paragraph four has a glaring grammatical error.

She used a double negative right in the middle of her thesis statement. It's incredibly clunky to read." Dead silence blanketed the room again.

Davis pulled the essay back up on the screen, scanning the paragraphs one by one. The template structure. The historical error. The fake data. The double negative.

She nailed every single one. "Well, I'll be damned," Davis muttered, pulling off his glasses to wipe the lenses. "You've got a sharper eye than the rest of us veterans combined." Mr.

Lee, sitting two seats down, shook his head in amazement. "Vincent, your daughter is unbelievable.

She was born for this." Vincent leaned against the doorframe, practically glowing with smug pride. "Kendall's always had a natural sensitivity to literature.

I never even pushed her. It's just a gift, really." I sat perfectly still in my chair, swallowing back the urge to spit my tea across the table. A gift?

Every single syllable that just came out of her mouth was the exact same rant I had running through my head five minutes ago.

Even the phrase "incredibly clunky to read" was a direct ripoff of my internal monologue. I set my mug down on the table and let one more thought slide through my mind.

Then again, the handwriting is gorgeous. You could give it full points just for the penmanship. Kendall opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. I knew she wouldn't say it out loud.

Complimenting the handwriting would undercut the razorsharp, hypercritical persona she just built. But her fingernail dug hard into the cardboard cover of her notepad.

She heard me. Target confirmed. Over the next week, Kendall thrived. She owned the grading committee.

During every single review session, she pinpointed the exact flaws and strengths of every essay, dropping perfectly calculated scores.

She was fast, she was accurate, and she was grading at three times my usual speed.

The other teachers' attitudes shifted from mild curiosity to genuine admiration, and finally, to absolute worship. "Kendall is a total prodigy.

One glance and she knows exactly what it's worth." "We're over here flipping through rubrics, and she just scans the page and calls it." "The next generation is terrifying.

You'd better step it up, Lorraine." That last comment was aimed directly at me. The teacher who said it was smiling, but the underlying tone was thick with condescension.

I offered a thin, polite smile and kept my mouth shut. Because for the entire week, I had been feeding her nothing but flawless, airtight answers in my head.

I was intentionally letting her build this bulletproof, perfect image. I was just waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger.

Chapter 3 The opportunity arrived faster than in my past life. The final review list for the perfectscore essays dropped.

The state had filtered it down to seventeen candidate essays, waiting for the committee's ultimate verdict.

This was the single most critical stage of the annual state grading cycle. Crowning a perfectscore essay meant it would be plastered across state media.

It would become the gold standard template for next year's graduating seniors, dissected linebyline by thousands of English teachers.

And the name of the grader who approved it would go on the official record. In my past life, I spent two grueling weeks prepping for this review.

I dug through a decade's worth of perfectscore archives, compiling a thick stack of handwritten notes. This time, I also spent two weeks prepping.

But the material I prepared was different. The morning of the review, I arrived at the grading room half an hour early.

The second I spread my files across the desk, the door pushed open. Kendall walked in wearing a white sundress, her hair pulled back into a crisp ponytail.

She looked freshfaced and eager. Vincent trailed right behind her. They walked in tandem.

Kendall gripped Vincent's hand, pulling him to a stop right in front of my desk. "Aunt Lorraine, I have an idea I wanted to run by you." Here it comes.

Word for word, exactly like the last time. "The whole state is watching this final review." Kendall pressed her hand over her heart, pitching her voice soft and low. "Aunt Lorraine, you've been working so hard lately.

Staying late every night… it just breaks my heart to see you so exhausted." She paused, tightening her grip on Vincent's hand. "Why don't I take the lead on this review?

You can just sit back and supervise. It'll take so much pressure off your shoulders." I didn't say a word.

Vincent seamlessly took over. "Lorraine, you've seen Kendall's track record these past few weeks. The entire committee vouches for her.

The final review is highstakes, sure, but with Kendall's skill level, she's more than qualified to handle it." I kept my mouth shut. Seeing my silence, Kendall shifted tactics.

She bit her lower lip, dropping her voice into a soft, vulnerable register. "Aunt Lorraine, I know you probably think I don't have the credentials." "But this review means everything to me.

I just want to prove that I'm not all talk." She looked up at Vincent, then back at me. "If you're really worried, you can watch my every move.

I just want a chance." In my past life, this was the exact moment I fought back. I argued that the final review wasn't a game. I pointed out her lack of qualifications.

I reminded them that students' actual futures were on the line. And the fallout? Vincent tore through our house screaming at me.

He accused me of being a bitter, narrowminded woman who couldn't stand his daughter's success.

The other teachers on the committee chimed in, telling me to "give the kid a shot." Eventually, they iced me out.

This time, I took a slow, deep breath in the privacy of my own mind. "Fine." Kendall froze. Vincent blinked.

Neither of them expected me to cave instantly. "You're agreeing to this?" Vincent asked, needing to confirm he heard me right. "I agree." I stacked the files on my desk. "Kendall has the talent.

I have nothing to worry about." The corners of Kendall's mouth twitched upward before she dragged them down, pressing her hands together. "Thank you so much, Aunt Lorraine!

I swear I won't let you down!" I nodded. I slid the candidate list and the official grading rubrics straight across the desk. "It's all right here. Seventeen essays.

The final review starts at two o'clock sharp." Chapter 4 I stood up, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.

I paused with my hand on the knob. "Oh, by the way, Kendall." "Yeah?" "I won't be sitting in on the review.

You're flying solo on this one." The smile wiped straight off Kendall's face. "Aunt Lorraine, if you're not there…" "Didn't you say you could handle it?" I looked back at her. "I believe in you." As I stepped out of the grading room, Kendall's hushed voice slipped through the crack in the door. "Daddy, make her stay.

I only feel confident when she's right next to me." Vincent scoffed. "What are you scared of? Everyone has seen what you can do.

You don't need her hovering around and getting in your way." I picked up my pace and left the hallway entirely. I walked into my own office, shut the door, and sank into my chair.

The desk was covered in the files I had spent the last two weeks prepping. Seventeen candidate essays.

I had read every single one at least ten times, breaking them down by theme, structure, syntax, and rhetoric.

In my past life, I handed all of this over to Kendall on a silver platter.

When she sat next to me to "shadow," she scooped up every single piece of analysis straight out of my head.

Then she paraded into the final review and passed off my hard work as her own raw genius. Not this time. At exactly two o'clock, the final review began.

I sat at my desk and brewed a fresh cup of tea. Then, I let my mind run wild. The prompt for the first essay was 'Navigating the Tides of a Changing World.' This essay is trash!

What does 'we must find our anchor in the ocean of time' even mean? It's just generic selfhelp garbage reworded to sound smart!

The evidence is a straight copypaste from Wikipedia, and the parallel structure in the thesis doesn't even line up! Giving this a 35 would be a charity case!

I took a slow sip of my tea, tearing the essay apart in my head with absolute, vicious joy. The second prompt was 'Roots and Wings.' Good lord, another total trainwreck!

Starting with a famous quote is fine, but at least get the damn quote right!

Since when did Abraham Lincoln ever say, 'The world has no wings, but if enough people flap their arms, we will fly'? This is fabricated! Zero! Give it a zero!

Essay three, essay four, essay five… I trashed all seventeen candidate essays in my head.

I shredded every single one, labeling them as incoherent, pathetic, and borderline illiterate. The truth was, six of those seventeen essays hit the perfectscore benchmark.

I knew exactly which ones they were. But I didn't spare a single positive thought. Forty minutes later, my phone buzzed.

It was Davis. "Lorraine, get down here right now." His voice was tight, strung out with panic. "What happened?" "Kendall… she just gave all seventeen candidate essays a failing grade." A laugh almost ripped out of my throat.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to kill it