I have a superpower. If I kill someone, I inherit their memories from the past three years. Right before the SATs, I killed my genius boyfriend and successfully got into a top-tier university. 1 When did I first realize I could do this? I was nine years old when my parents got divorced. Custody went to my mom. I loved my mom, but honestly, I loved my dad more. I’d often sneak out to visit him, just to hang out and play. But one day, when I went looking for him, I caught him kissing another woman. My parents had always been discreet around me; it was the first time I had ever seen a man and a woman kissing like that. The woman’s lips were bright red, so red it looked like she could eat someone alive. I felt a massive surge of anger. Even at nine, I understood that my dad had done something wrong, and that’s why they got divorced. My dad was the bad guy. Fuming, I ran to his car and dumped a handful of marbles inside. I wanted them to poke his butt when he sat down. I wanted the woman with the red lips to slip and fall. Instead, a marble got wedged under the brake pedal. The brakes failed. The woman fell into a coma, and my dad died on impact. When the police checked the security footage, they saw me putting the marbles in the car. But a nine-year-old child doesn't understand consequences, nor do they bear criminal responsibility. Plus, having just lost my father, I was wailing, completely inconsolable. No one blamed me. Everyone just thought I was a poor, tragic little girl. But as I cried, my mind suddenly flooded with a rush of memories that weren't mine. I saw the woman’s face in those memories. My dad had been doing bad things for a long time. I saw the fights between my parents. I saw him secretly taking money from my mom’s purse. I saw the lingering touches between him and that woman, saw them tangled together in disgusting ways. I threw up. My mom and the police thought I was just crying so hard that my body couldn't handle the grief. Only I knew the truth: I was sick to my stomach from absolute disgust. At such a young age, I was forced to witness two beasts writhing together. 2 Surprisingly, my grief faded quickly. What lingered was the nausea. And simultaneously, the realization of what made me different. As a little girl, I was too scared to tell anyone. As I grew older, I didn't want to. It wasn't until I slowly matured that I grasped the true weight of this ability. In middle school, my neighbor Madison and I were in the same class. We were best friends. We walked to and from school together, so inseparable we even went to the bathroom in pairs. The teachers jokingly called us conjoined twins. Madison wasn't exactly nice, but she was beautiful. Much prettier than me. Sometimes I’d overhear kids whispering that we looked like a princess and her little minion. I didn't care much, but Madison always seemed secretly pleased by it. I figured that was one of the reasons we were so close. People never want to be outshone by those closest to them. Madison liked the feeling of being above me. In a twisted way, it proved she really considered me her inner circle. I treated Madison incredibly well, so well that she became slightly dependent on me. Her grades were always better than mine—except in French. So, I was the one who always did her French homework, making sure the handwriting was neat and identical to hers. For regular pop quizzes, since I was the teacher’s assistant for French, I’d help grade papers in the faculty room. Whenever I did, I’d secretly fill in a few blanks or bump up a few points on Madison’s test. Until the teacher caught on. Mrs. Gable, our French teacher, didn't punish me for altering the grades. Instead, she took it out on Madison. Mrs. Gable had never liked Madison, who was pretty and cared too much about her appearance. Combined with her genuinely poor French scores, the teacher despised her. "Instead of focusing on your studies all day, you resort to these sneaky, underhanded tricks!" "Girls like you will never amount to anything in life." Madison’s eyes instantly turned red. With a loud bang, she shoved her desk away and ran out of the classroom. Mrs. Gable scoffed dismissively at first. But when Madison didn't return after a while, she started to worry. She taught for a few more minutes before nervously asking me to go check on her. I knew exactly where Madison was. She was in the storage closet next to the third-floor breakroom. Whenever she was upset, she’d curl up in there. I gently opened the closet door, squeezed inside, and huddled next to her. Madison didn't look at me, and I didn't look at her. I knew her. She didn't want me to see her looking so pathetic right now. After sitting in silence for a while, Madison finally spoke. "I hate Mrs. Gable." "I hate Mrs. Gable too," I said, matching her resentment. Hearing my childish solidarity, she let out a small, bitter laugh. "Let's go back." "Okay." My relationship with Madison only grew stronger. But sometimes, you just have to admit that when it comes to academics, natural talent matters. I tried hard, but I simply didn't have the aptitude for studying. Madison and I spent every day together, studying for practically the same amount of time. But her grades kept climbing steadily across all subjects, and even her French was catching up to mine. Sometimes she’d offer to tutor me, but I just couldn't grasp the concepts. My mom often compared me to Madison. I didn't want to disappoint her. My mom was all I had left. Seeing my grades stagnate, I started to panic. A dark, hazy thought crept into my mind. What if I killed Madison? If I killed Madison, I would gain all of her memories from the past three years of middle school. There are certain thoughts you shouldn't entertain. Because once they enter your mind, you can never shake them. I hatched a plan. Just last year, the school had installed a new HVAC system. The AC was freezing cold. A lot of the seniors joked that the school only upgraded the AC right as they were leaving. Madison was petite, so she always sat in the first or second row. I sat in the fifth or sixth row. As summer approached, the school cranked up the AC. I’d often complain about how hot it was and walk up to Madison’s desk during passing periods. While chatting with her, I’d casually reach over to the thermostat on the wall near her and crank the AC down to 60 degrees on high fan. When the bell rang, I’d walk back to my seat. Sometimes Madison remembered to turn it back up; sometimes she didn't. Because of this, she often spent entire class periods shivering under a blast of cold air. A few days prior, Madison and I had gone to the pharmacy together. I told her my mom wanted me to stock up on cold medicine and antibiotics, asking if she needed any. "Why would you buy cold medicine in the middle of summer?" "My mom says I sit in the AC all day at home and at school, and then I sweat outside. The extreme temperature changes make it easy to catch a cold. She told me to keep some meds handy." Madison hesitated, decided it made sense, and bought the exact same medication I did. Seeing Madison blowing her nose and complaining about a headache, I knew my chance had arrived. After school, Madison and I walked home together as usual. "Let's go sit on the grass by the riverbank for a bit," I suggested. We often relaxed and chatted there after school, so it wasn't a weird request. I pulled Madison along, specifically choosing a spot visible to a nearby convenience store’s security camera. I asked Madison to open her backpack. When she did, I saw two bottles of liquor inside. They looked pretty strong. She pulled them out. "Ta-da! A surprise for you!" "We're about to be high schoolers. Don't you want to try it?" I turned slightly, letting my hair fall forward to cover my mouth. I knew Madison. Deep in her bones, she was a rebellious girl. Her parents had always kept her on a tight leash. She just never had the opportunity to act out, but she had always craved it. Madison held the bottles, then handed one to me. I turned away, acting like I suddenly regretted it, looking scared. I waved my hands. "Maybe we shouldn't? Madison, what if your parents get mad?" Hearing that only fueled Madison’s defiance. "It's fine! Just try it!" I put on a hesitant expression until Madison aggressively shoved one of the bottles into my hands. We talked a lot. We talked about recent tests, the future, the annoying French teacher, and the setting sun. She apologized to me. She said sometimes she couldn't help treating me like a sidekick. She said I was her best friend, and I always would be. I agreed. Seeing that the timing was right, I patted Madison’s shoulder and said it was time to go home. I hadn't drank much. Every time I brought the bottle to my lips, I only took tiny sips. Madison, on the other hand, looked quite drunk. She stumbled as she stood up. I had already checked: Madison’s mom was working overtime, and her dad was on the night shift. She was going to be home alone. I looked at her. "Bye, Madison." "See you tomorrow." "Oh, right." I smiled at her. "You've got a bit of a cold. Don't forget to take your medicine when you get home." Madison smiled back and nodded. In the glow of the sunset, her eyes looked like they held gentle flames. I went home calmly, ate dinner with my mom, did my homework as usual, and went to sleep peacefully. The next morning, my head throbbed with a splitting pain. I realized there were new memories in my brain. I knew I had succeeded. 3 Madison was dead. When her mom came home that night, she found Madison collapsed in the living room. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. The police investigated and concluded that the cause of death was acute poisoning caused by mixing hard alcohol with cephalosporin antibiotics. In an era before smartphones and widespread internet access, middle schoolers like us didn't know much about life-saving common sense. Except for me—a girl possessing the three-year memories of an adult man. That's right. The cold medicine Madison and I bought that day contained cephalosporins. It went too smoothly. So smoothly it exceeded my expectations. I had considered so many variables. Madison might not have listened to me and skipped the medicine. Madison might have taken medicine, but not the one with cephalosporins. Madison might have felt sick and managed to call 911 in time. Her mom might have come home early and stopped her. And so on. The fact that it went off without a hitch... didn't that prove that even God was on my side? As Madison’s best friend and the last person to see her alive, I was called into the police station for questioning. Since I was a minor, my mom had to be present. Looking at the detective, I put on a terrified expression. My mom comforted me. "It's okay, honey. The detective just wants to ask you a few questions." "That's right, sweetie, don't be scared. Just a few questions," the detective added gently. They truly believed that a little girl like me was incapable of doing anything sinister. "According to the victim's mother, she didn't normally drink. Yet you two were drinking outside that day." "Why was that?" I looked fearful, glancing at my mom. She patted my back encouragingly, signaling me to just tell the truth. "Madison said she wanted to drink that day. She said she wanted a thrill, and then she suddenly pulled two bottles of liquor out of her bag." "I didn't want to drink, and I tried to stop her, but who knew..." As I spoke, I let tears stream down my face, dropping heavily onto the table. The detective nodded. The convenience store security footage confirmed my story: Madison forcefully shoved the bottle into my hands. He asked a few more routine questions before letting me go. The case was ultimately ruled a tragic accident—a teenager’s momentary rebellion combined with a fatal lack of common sense, costing her her life. Madison’s death was even used as a cautionary tale at school. I sorted through the thoughts in my head, feeling like I had discovered a new world. Madison’s brain was filled with so much knowledge. My grades skyrocketed, which made my mom incredibly happy. I was happy, too. On the high school placement exams, I performed brilliantly and got accepted into the city's most elite magnet school. My mom sold our old place and bought an apartment in the prestigious school district. My new bedroom was huge, with a massive window. I even got my own study room. During the summer, my mom enrolled me in high school prep courses. So when high school started, I wouldn't instantly fall behind. But I knew this wasn't a permanent solution. I still didn't have a natural talent for learning. I still wasn't smart. Even with Madison’s solid foundation, I would eventually fall behind again. I had relied too heavily on luck last time. This time, I needed a flawless plan for my high school career. 4 I set my sights on Caleb. He was the top student in our grade, and he happened to be in my homeroom. Caleb lived up to his reputation—he was brilliant and shining. With his clean-cut, handsome looks and his aura of academic perfection, he was never short of girls crushing on him. And I was so remarkably average. It seemed like our paths would never cross. Through careful observation and some online digging, I discovered Caleb’s most frequently used chat app. It was a niche, anonymous platform with no push notifications. I scoured every single post he had ever made, analyzing him. He was a sunny, energetic guy from a well-off family. He had hypoglycemia and always carried sweets with him. He seemed to love classic literature and mystery novels. I changed my avatar on that app to a beautiful jasmine flower. Jasmine was Caleb’s favorite flower. I didn't add him directly to avoid startling him. Instead, I cultivated my profile. I started posting regular updates, carefully molding myself into someone who shared his exact interests. After a while, my account had a few organic followers and no longer looked like a bot. "What do you think Richard was thinking when they killed Bunny?" A completely out-of-context sentence. It was a plot point from Donna Tartt's The Secret History. Caleb hadn't mentioned reading this book in any of his posts. But I had seen him reading it in the classroom. I sent the message and received no response. I waited patiently. A day later, Caleb finally replied. "A mix of a desire to protect their group and absolute terror, I guess." "Hi. How did you know I was reading this?" "Terror? Do you think Richard was afraid of Bunny?" I completely ignored his second question. "I think what Richard was really afraid of were his own past memories." Realizing I had no intention of revealing my identity, Caleb didn't push it. We kept chatting, bonding over our shared interests. At first, it was just a message or two a day. Once I got a response, I’d quickly pull back. Over time, Caleb realized I was a fellow bookworm whose tastes aligned perfectly with his. Our chats grew longer, moving from books to movies. Until one day, Caleb asked me. "You're really fascinating. How old are you? What city are you in?" I didn't reply. For days, I ignored every message he sent. He sent multiple apologies, thinking he had overstepped. About a week later, I finally responded. "If you want to know who I am, come to the rooftop of the main academic building tonight." I was such a painfully average girl. Without resorting to some unconventional methods, I could never have gotten close to Caleb. He was shocked when he saw me. I asked him what was so surprising. He scratched his head awkwardly. "You're so well-read, and you have such unique perspectives." "I always assumed you were older than me." I gave him a cryptic smile. In a way, I was older than him. Caleb wanted to talk to me openly at school, but I refused. I told him he was always surrounded by people, and I hated being the center of attention. So, we agreed to meet on that rooftop every Friday evening. Weeks turned into months, seasons changed. My bond with Caleb deepened, even though absolutely no one knew we were friends. On a winter evening during our junior year, Caleb confessed his feelings to me. I flashed him that smile—the one from Madison’s memories, the one boys couldn't resist. His eyes sparkled. He cupped my face and leaned in to kiss me. I didn't pull away. Caleb and I started a secret relationship. Keeping it hidden served two purposes. First, I didn't want anyone associating me with Caleb, which would make my move easier when the time came. Second, the secrecy itself added a thrilling, almost illicit spark to the romance, didn't it? Just like in middle school, my grades slowly began to slip. Even though Caleb tutored me every weekend, it didn't seem to help much. I didn't know if I was just naturally dull. Or if my brain had become entirely dependent on stealing the intellect of others. By senior year, I was at the bottom of the class. The teachers even called my mom in to discuss my plummeting grades. No rush. It wasn't time yet. Every year, around May or June, the city held a massive fireworks festival down by the suburbs. High schoolers absolutely loved fireworks. That would be my perfect opportunity. Our school had both day students and boarders. My closest friend at school, Olivia, lived in the dorms. I frequently hung out in Olivia’s room and was on good terms with her roommates. The dorms had strict rules against high-wattage appliances. "Why?" I asked Olivia curiously one day. "It trips the breakers. A girl secretly used a curling iron once, and the power went out for almost an hour." Olivia rolled her eyes, annoyed at the school’s inadequate electrical grid. I nodded thoughtfully. An hour. That was plenty of time. When is a high school classroom at its most chaotic? When the power goes out. And when there are fireworks going off outside. So, what if the power went out while the fireworks were going off? Everyone would rush to the windows, staring at the sky in awe. High school life was so dull; everyone knew that any distraction was a godsend. Caleb and I continued our secret romance and our weekend study dates. I would secretly watch him from below while he tutored me. I watched him pretend not to notice, even though the tips of his ears would turn bright red. His jawline was sharp, his Adam's apple prominent. When I stared too hard, he’d nervously swallow. I would fight back a laugh, trying to keep quiet. "Winter break is coming up," Caleb whispered to me on the subway ride home. "Yeah." "We won't get to see each other for a long time." He looked so disappointed. I reached out and ruffled his hair. "Not necessarily." My grandpa passed away last year, and my grandma followed shortly after. This New Year, it was just going to be me and my mom. "We can meet up before New Year's Eve." His eyes lit up, staring at me unblinking. "Let's go to the lantern festival! They have it every year, right?" I smiled. "It's a date." "Yeah, it's a date." After finals, everyone started packing up to go home. I told my friends to go on ahead while I slipped into the Drama Club's storage room. This was the burial ground I had chosen for Caleb. The room’s window perfectly faced the central plaza. The cramped space was filled with props, costumes, and a creepy mannequin with blonde hair. When I first opened the door, the mannequin nearly gave me a heart attack. I quietly turned the mannequin around so its face wouldn't scare me again. After assessing the layout, I left the room. On the night of the lantern festival, I wore a brand-new red puffer coat. My mom said the color made my skin look porcelain. Looking in the mirror, she was right. I waited at the street corner for a bit before Caleb finally arrived, panting heavily. "Sorry, my mom held me up. I'm late." He looked down at me and grabbed my hand. His hands were large, and probably because he had just been running, they were incredibly warm. I froze for a second before squeezing his hand back. The festival was crowded. He protected me from the throng, making sure not a single hair on my head got messed up. The warm, yellow glow of the lanterns illuminated his face, making his smile look impossibly bright. I gently rubbed the writer's callus on his finger, and I felt him pause mid-step. "Do you want these?" Caleb pointed at a pair of bunny lanterns at a nearby stall. "They're cute, but I don't really need them," I said honestly, shaking my head. But Caleb dragged me over anyway. "Take me home! Look how cute I am~" Caleb held up the bunny, pitching his voice high to mimic it. I couldn't help but laugh, and he actually bought the pair. We each held one as we navigated the festival. Just like every other couple there. "You look really beautiful today." Caleb didn't look at me, but his cheeks were flushed. "Really? My mom says the red makes me look pale." "It's not the coat. It's you." "I love you." We had walked to a quieter area. Caleb stopped and looked at me seriously. He seemed to be waiting for my answer. "Yeah, I love you too." I flashed him what I thought was Madison’s most charming smile. On the walk home from the festival, I "accidentally" fell into a drainage ditch. I told everyone I fractured my leg. When the new semester started, I hobbled into the classroom in a cast. My friends swarmed me with concern. I just repeated that I was clumsy and fell into a ditch. I was constantly walking the halls on crutches, moving at a snail's pace. Sometimes to get water, sometimes to go to the bathroom. Over time, everyone on our floor came to know me as the girl with the broken leg who walked incredibly slowly. Sometimes, my friends would offer to help me, but I always smiled and said, "It's fine, I need to practice walking." That was exactly the impression I wanted to burn into their minds. The fireworks festival was approaching. And my plan was about to be executed. I snuck into the girls' dorm, turned a hair dryer to max heat, and plugged it loosely into a power strip. I balanced a brick precariously above it, held back by a vibrating alarm clock set to a timer. 5 4 3 2 1 The exact second the fireworks show began, the power grid connecting the dorms and the academic building blew. With blinding speed, I snapped on a pair of disposable gloves. I grabbed the paring knife I had bought from the school store—the exact same brand almost every student owned. I sprinted to the Drama Club's storage room on the second floor. The door was unlocked. Caleb was standing there, his back to me, staring out the window at the fireworks. I plunged the knife straight into the back of his head, then turned and bolted. The fireworks were deafening. The powerless hallways were pitch black. I ran faster than I ever had, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. I viciously tore off the disposable gloves, stuffing them into my pocket. I snatched up the crutches I had dumped by the back door of my classroom and limped inside silently. I pushed my way into the crowd of students watching the fireworks and deliberately tripped, drawing the attention of several classmates. "It was so stuffy in here, I wanted to go for a walk, but I tripped before I even made it out the door." A few nearby students chuckled sympathetically, and two girls helped me up. Olivia was standing near the front. She saw me and pulled me to the window. "Look! Isn't it gorgeous?!" It really was. The fireworks bloomed in the night sky, cluster after cluster, blinding and magnificent. "Yeah, it's beautiful." A few minutes later, our homeroom teacher rushed in. We were all herded back to our seats and told to quiet down. The classroom was full. The only person missing was Caleb. "Where is Caleb? Where did he go?" My heart started to hammer against my ribs. It's fine. The power is out, the cameras didn't catch anything. And my leg is 'broken.' There's no way I could have sprinted there, committed a murder, and sprinted back. Dozens of people think I was in the classroom the whole time. I have a rock-solid alibi. The knife I used is the most common knife on campus. I was fast, it was dark, no one saw me... Just as I was mentally reviewing my flawless alibi... "I'm right here, Mr. Harris." I watched Caleb walk through the classroom door.
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