My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 160

Chapter 160 Writing The Wrong Test Answers

The second hand on the classroom wall clock ticked with a steady, relentless rhythm. Tuesday morning.

I held a yellow number two pencil in my right hand.

I stared at the essay prompt section.

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The correct answer lived in my bones. I spent three weeks writing the exact cycle onto blank index cards. I knew the specific enzymes. I knew the precise energy yields. I could fill three pages with flawless, complex scientific data.

I pressed the graphite tip against the paper. My fingers trembled. A crushing weight settled on my chest, pressing down on my lungs until

drawing a breath felt impossible.

I wrote a single, brief paragraph. I mixed the terminology. I swapped the chemical names. I constructed a flawed, failing answer.

I moved to the multiple-choice section. I read a question about cellular mutation. I knew the correct bubble was C. I filled in the circle for A. I pressed the pencil down hard, leaving a dark, permanent mark of my surrender.

With every wrong answer, a piece of my four-year empire crumbled. The prestigious medical scholarship faded into a distant, unreachable mist. The immense pride I carried down the B-wing hallways turned to ash. I dismantled my entire identity in forty-five minutes.

I reached the end of the test. I left the final two pages blank.

I stood up from my desk. The wooden chair scraped against the tile. I walked to the front of the room. Mr. Harrison sat behind his massive desk, grading papers from a previous class.

I placed my ruined exam on top of his clear plastic tray.

He looked up. He checked the clock on the wall, then looked back at my face.

“You finished early, Raisa, Mr. Harrison noted. A proud smile stretched across his mouth. I expect nothing less than perfection from my top student. Did the essay portion give you any trouble?”

I could not meet his gaze. I felt sick to my stomach. I focused my eyes on the edge of his wooden desk.

‘No trouble, Mr. Harrison,” I managed to say. My voice felt like dry sand.

His smile faded. He took in my pale skin and my rigid posture. “Are you feeling unwell? You look like you might faint. I can write you a

pass to the nurse.”

I just need some fresh air, I lied. “The room feels warm.

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Chapter 160 Writing The Wrong Test Answers

Take a few minutes in the hallway before your nest period,” he instructed, his tone shifting to genuine concern. Rest up. You have

calicutius next, comers?

Good luck. Have a good day, Raisa

Have a good day. Mr. Basan.” I whispered

I cared and walked out of the classroom. I stepped into the empty corridor. My legs felt hollow, drained of all strength. I leaned my back against the cold metal ischers. I closed my eyes. The tears threatened to breach my defenses, but I forced them back. I refused to cry in

Tears airent” à voce asked.

I mapped my eves open

Chive stood a few feet away. She held a hall pass in her manicured hand. She wore her crimson cheer uniform, looking pristine and

untouched by the academic pressure of the week

What do you want. Chice” I asked. I pushed myself off the metal lockers.

I came to check your progress the replied. She closed the distance between us. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did

vou in Dud you bomb the test?

I did what you asked. I kept my face blank. I refused to give her the satisfaction of my pain. I left the essays blank. I marked the wrong

multiple-chance bubbles.”

Chace tied her head. She searched my eyes for any sign of deception. Are you sure? A genius like you might pass by accident. If you

scored an eighty, the deal is oft

I failed the exam. Chilce. I stated. The truth tasted like acid in

mouth. I answered everything wrong.”

A sio victorious smile spread across her lips. Good girl. Keep it up for calculus. Remember the stakes. If you get sloppy, I press a button on my phone. The pictures go to Miller, and your billionaire boyfriend gets expelled before lunch.

I know the stakes. I said.

Then do not fail

she taunted. Or, rather, make sure you fail the math.”

She turned on her heel and walked down the hallway, leaving me alone in the sterile corridor.

The Calculus exam followed an hour later I sat in a different room, facing a different teacher, but I repeated the destruction. I stared at amples equations I knew how to isolate the variables. I knew the integration formulas. Instead, I wrote nonsense. I scribbled

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Chapter 160 Writing The Wrong Test Answers

incorrect numbers across the margins.

Mrs. Gable walked past my desk. She glanced down at my chaotic paper. She frowned, confused by the messy work, but she did not

interrupt the test.

I handed the paper to her when the bell rang. I walked out of the room.

The sacrifice was complete. Chloe possessed the victory. She secured the Valedictorian rank. Ryder kept his freedom.

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