The homeroom teacher opened his mouth to say something, but the wall of voices drowned him out completely.
I looked at their faces, one after another, twisted with rage. I looked at Loretta, nestled in Henry's arms, wearing a smug little smile. My heart went cold.
I couldn't save them.
I'd already tried in my last life.
I sank back into my seat. Under the glare of the entire class, I lowered my head and didn't say another word.
The moment we arrived at the testing center, our class became the spectacle of the entire venue.
Surrounded by a sea of somber black, white, and gray, our group of students clutching pink pens stuck out like a pack of influencers who'd wandered into a board meeting.
The athletics captain from the class next door was a blunt guy. He stared at us, confusion plastered across his face, and turned to Henry.
"Dude, is your class doing some kind of performance art? You're seriously using those things on the SATs?"
He pointed at the pink pen in Henry's hand like he was looking at some exotic species.
That one sentence lit the fuse.
Loretta's eyes turned red on cue. She ducked behind Henry, clutching the hem of his shirt, and started whimpering through pitiful little sobs.