Chapter 9
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SteakMaster jumped in: "This is your golden ticket. Medal in the IMO and your chances at Harvard, MIT, or Stanford skyrocket."
"But the competition is brutal," WingCommander cautioned. "We'll need to run intensive training all summer."
QuantumQueen grinned: "Hope you're ready for mathematical boot camp, kiddo."
All summer long, my nine mentors took turns drowning me in an ocean of math problems. Day and night, the training never stopped.
"Run through this combinatorics problem again!"
"Your algebraic geometry still needs work!"
"More practice on number theory—now!"
Finally, the day of the USA Mathematical Olympiad qualifier arrived.
I was outside the exam hall, mentally reviewing formulas, when Victoria suddenly appeared beside me.
"Lily," her voice unnaturally sweet, "whatever our past differences, this competition reflects on our school too. Here's an energy drink—for... good luck."
She handed me a sleek bottle, wearing a "friendly" smile I'd never seen before.
I accepted the drink and subtly swirled it. Fine particles floated in the brown liquid, setting off immediate alarm bells.
Remembering Victoria's history, I knew exactly what this was.
"Thanks for your kindness, Victoria," I smiled, then walked straight to the nearest trash can and poured the entire drink out right in front of her.
Victoria's face went ashen: "What—what are you doing?"
"I think it's best not to drink anything before an important exam," I said calmly. "Wouldn't want to waste time on bathroom breaks."
Victoria realized her scheme had been exposed. Unable to maintain her facade, she snarled: "Trash deserves a trashy fate! You'll get nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"
With that, she stormed off to her family's waiting Bentley, shooting me one last venomous glare before slamming the door.
Inside the exam room, I felt strangely calm. Maybe it was the satisfaction of foiling Victoria's plot, or maybe it was the months of relentless training, but the problems seemed almost familiar.
Each number theory question, each geometric proof, each combinatorial problem felt like greeting an old friend. I finished with time to spare and carefully double-checked my work.
Walking out of that exam room, I knew I'd nailed it.
On results day, a group of serious-looking people in formal attire arrived at our school.
