Chapter 5: SATs, Sacrifice, and the One That Got Away

With a hundred days to the SAT, Jake and I leaned against the wall, sipping sodas during evening break.

The hallway was quiet, the only sound the fizz of our sodas and the distant hum of vending machines. The pressure of the SATs weighed heavy, but for a moment, it felt like we were in our own little world.

He rolled the bottle between his fingers, calling softly, "Chloe."

My heart raced. "Yeah?"

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it made my pulse jump.

"The test's coming."

He stared at the floor, his shoulders tense. I waited, knowing he had more to say.

I nodded. "Yeah."

He seemed to struggle, voice trembling: "Would you rather miss your chance than make the first move?" My hands went clammy.

I stared at my shoes, silent for a long time. Finally, I answered, "Jake, I'm just... painfully clearheaded."

I forced myself to meet his eyes. He looked so vulnerable, it broke my heart.

He seemed to know what I was going to say and interrupted: "Do you like me?"

I swallowed, then nodded. "I do. But Jake, I can't afford to get distracted now—not even for a second."

Jake was wonderful, but he came at the wrong time. I couldn't let myself slip, not with the SATs ahead.

He reached for my hand, then let it fall. I wanted to grab it, but I couldn’t.

My mom remarried, and I'm grateful she's happy now. But I can't forget the pain we went through. Just having a big house is more than I ever dreamed.

I closed my eyes, remembering the tiny apartment we used to share, the nights spent listening to my mom cry herself to sleep. I promised myself I’d never go back.

I don't want to burden them with my future. I want to make it on my own.

I owed it to myself—and to my brother—to make something of my life. I couldn’t let anyone down.

The SAT is the only path I see.

I studied late into the night, my desk covered in notes and highlighters. It was exhausting, but I never let myself rest.

I work twice as hard as anyone, waiting for the day I can prove to my father in prison that the daughter he looked down on can achieve something.

Every test score was a step closer to freedom—a way to prove I was more than what he thought.

This is my path. I don't regret it. If I fail, it's on me.

I repeated the words like a mantra, every night before bed. I wouldn’t let anyone else take the blame.

My father abused me from a young age, beating my mother and me when he was drunk. He hated that I was a girl, thought I was useless, just another mouth to feed. He gambled every night. Even knowing he didn't like me, I still stupidly waited for him in the yard.

I remembered the way the porch light flickered, how I’d wait for his car to pull up, hoping for a good night. It never was.

I used to hope he'd come home happy. Stupid, I know. All I got was scolded: "Seeing your unlucky face the moment I walk in—no wonder I can't win."

He’d slam the door, and I’d flinch, bracing for the worst. My mom would try to shield me, but it never helped.

He'd kick me: "Get lost. Don't let me see you."

I’d run to my room, burying my face in my pillow, wishing I could disappear.

Whenever he hit me, my brother would shield me. Dad couldn't bring himself to hit him, so he'd just curse and stop.

My brother would hold me close, whispering that it would all be okay. His shirt always smelled like soap. I clung to him, believing him every time.

My brother would wipe my tears. "Don't be scared, Chloe. I'll protect you. When I grow up, I'll take you away."

He was my hero, my safe place. Losing him was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

I loved my brother, but his life ended when I was twelve. I wish he hadn't been so kind.

Sometimes I wonder if things would be different if he’d just looked out for himself. But that wasn’t who he was.

After he died, Dad got even worse. I tried to be good, hoping for a scrap of fatherly love, but it was useless. He only got more violent, taking it all out on my mom.

The walls seemed to close in, every night worse than the last. I learned to tiptoe, to keep quiet, to disappear.

Her cries would last from day to night.

I’d lie awake, listening, wishing I could do something—anything—to make it stop.

Back then, I swore I'd change things. So when I found white powder in his clothes, I didn't hesitate. I followed him for days until I had evidence he was breaking the law. I called the police and sent him to prison myself.

My hands shook as I dialed 911, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It was the only way. I never looked back.

When the police took him away, I didn't bother hiding my disgust. He hated me for being a girl, but so what? I could be better than anyone.

I watched from the window as they led him away in handcuffs. I felt nothing but relief.

So for three years of high school, not a single day or second did I dare slack off. I had to make something of myself, on my own.

I studied until my eyes burned, pushing myself harder than anyone else. I was determined to win, no matter what.

So Jake, I can't afford to be distracted.

I looked at him, my heart breaking. He deserved someone who could give him everything, but I just couldn’t—not yet.

My voice was soft: "Sorry, Jake. Please don't keep doing all this for me. I can't return your feelings—it's not fair to you."

I saw the hurt in his eyes, but he just nodded, trying to hide it. I wanted to reach for him, but I didn’t.

Jake looked me in the eyes. "What if we'd met at a different time? Later, maybe?"

His words made my chest ache. I forced myself to answer honestly.

I answered seriously, "Then I'd chase after you, because you're exactly my type."

He grinned, and for a second, I saw hope flicker in his eyes.

He stared at me so intently that I got flustered.

I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks heat up. Jake just smiled, looking more relaxed than before.

I mumbled, "What are you looking at?"

He chuckled, lips curling up. "Chloe."

He said my name like it was the most important word in the world. I shivered, not trusting myself to speak. It was like he was casting a spell.

I couldn't meet his gaze. "Yeah?"

His voice was determined: "What do I do? I think I like you even more now."

I laughed, despite myself. Jake always knew how to catch me off guard.

I was at a loss. "But I..."

He straightened, pinched my neck. "Coward."

He grinned, but his eyes were gentle. I wanted to argue, but he was right.

He tossed his soda bottle in the trash and walked away.

I watched him go, my heart heavy. Maybe one day, things would be different.

Before going inside, he turned back. "It's fine. Just stay right where you are—don't back away from me. Good luck on the test."

He gave me a lopsided smile, then disappeared into the crowd. I whispered, "You too."

After that, Jake really stopped bothering me. But somehow, my thermos never ran dry. It was bittersweet—like he was still looking out for me, just from a distance.

I threw myself into studying for the SAT. The monthly tests became my only chance to see Jake. I still couldn't beat him—he always sat one row ahead of me in the exam hall.

I’d watch the back of his head, willing myself to focus. Sometimes he’d glance over his shoulder, and our eyes would meet for a split second. Every time, my heart skipped a beat, my breath catching in my throat.

I watched his straight back as I pushed myself forward. Jake seemed to have moved on. When we crossed paths in the exam hall, his eyes didn't linger on me. He'd become the cold Jake everyone else saw.

It hurt, but I told myself it was for the best. We both had dreams to chase.

Time flew by. Before we knew it, high school was over.

The last day was a blur of yearbooks, hugs, and tears. I tried to memorize every detail, knowing it would never be the same again.

I did great—better than ever before. I could go to any university in the country. High school ended at eighteen, leaving me only a graduation photo.

I stared at the picture, searching for Jake’s face. He wasn’t in it. I felt a pang of regret, sharper than I expected.

Jake and I never got in touch again. It's a shame—the person I'll remember all my life, and I didn't even get a photo with him.

I kept hoping he’d call, or text, or even just like one of my Instagram posts. But he never did.

I always said I'd never regret my choices, but honestly, I regretted it like hell.

Late at night, I’d lie awake, wondering what might have been. But I pushed the thoughts away, telling myself it was for the best.