Shortly after breakfast, Lucas left on his bike to go to school with his friends. Meanwhile, Dad gave me a lift on his way to work.
Despite being close in age, I was still in elementary school, while Lucas and the rest of the Party were already in middle school. That meant my classes were in a separate building near Hawkins Middle and High School, about a kilometre away.
Dad dropped me off in front of the school. I stood there at the gate, staring at the building with pure dread. That was when the realisation hit me.
Being a reincarnation meant I had to redo all my years of school.
Oh my God. Somebody kill me now again.
I was almost graduating that hell in my previous life, and now I was expected to start all over again. What made it worse was that this time my classmates were little brats in a school full of toddlers who still ate their own snot.
Just as I was about to run away, a teacher spotted me lingering by the gate and guided me inside, warning me that I was going to be late. With what felt like a prison warden watching me, escape was no longer an option. So there I was, sitting in class, "learning" the multiplication table.
Miss Harris, the teacher in charge of my class, seemed familiar. I thought she might be the same teacher who taught Holly in the series.
The lesson had already started, but all I could think about was how to get out of school. I brainstormed ways to convince my parents to let me homeschool. Every scenario ended the same way, with my mother scolding me for not taking my education seriously and my father looking disappointed. I could almost hear them already.
Then I thought of my brother. So many important things happened at school in this town. If I wanted to protect him, I could not afford to be too far away. Homeschooling or dropping out were not options.
I was so deep in my scheming that I did not hear Miss Harris calling my name until she was suddenly right next to me.
"Erica Sinclair," she snapped. "You must have absolute confidence in your intelligence to believe you already know everything I am teaching. Otherwise, why would you be spacing out in the middle of my lesson?"
I looked at her, startled. When I did not immediately apologise, her expression darkened. She ordered me to stand at the front of the classroom and began quizzing me.
"What is 9 times 7?"
"63."
"What is 132 divided by 11?"
"12."
"What is 2/9 of 27?"
"6."
I could see her surprise. We had only started learning fractions last week. She was clearly expecting me to fail and become an example.
She made the questions harder.
"65 times 34?"
"2210."
At this point, she was visibly frustrated. She began asking questions that were far beyond the level of a normal ten-year-old. The problems were three grades above me by now. Almost ending middle school scope of knowledge.
"A fraction has a numerator and a denominator that add up to thirty-five. If you increase the numerator by three and decrease the denominator by two, the value becomes two thirds. What was the original fraction?"
We had not even started word problems yet. She was trying to humiliate me, but it was not going to work. Compared to studying for my SATs and surviving high school in my previous life, this was nothing.
Then she gave up entirely and started throwing random numbers at me.
"65,235 × 4,355 × (3,465 − 652) / 551?"
"1,450,397,222.368."
She stared at me, stunned. She began desperately scribbling on a piece of paper, trying to calculate the answer herself.
When she dropped the pencil, defeated, the result matched exactly.
That was when I realised something was wrong.
I had known how to calculate these things in my previous life, but I was not a genius. That last question required extreme mental calculation, and I answered it almost instantly. My memories from my previous life were clearer than ever, including history, shows, and advanced academic knowledge.
The series portrayed Erica as smart, but it was never explored like Dustin's intelligence.
So what was my IQ now as Erica?
Was it the dimensional travel reconstructing my body? Was it my brain adapting to hold two lives' worth of memories? Was all these reasons behind this intelligence, or neither?
I did not know, but I knew one thing. This ability could be useful for my survival.
The bell rang, ending the lesson.
I turned to leave, irritated after standing there for most of the class.
"Wait," Miss Harris shouted. "You are not dismissed until I say so. I am the teacher, little girl."
The students froze mid-step.
"Have you already confirmed that I do not need to listen to you?" I replied calmly. "I am leaving. The bell already rang. This attempt to assert dominance over children because you are not respected in your personal or professional life is pathetic."
The class erupted in applause.
Normally, this would have earned me a lifetime of being labelled a nerd, but I had done too well. This was not a quiz. It was a showdown. A battle that I emerged victoriously against the teacher.
"To the principal's office. Now," Miss Harris yelled, grabbing my arm roughly. "I am calling your mother about your rude behaviour."
I tried to resist, but I was still a ten-year-old child and she was an adult. I could not use my telekinesis without earning myself a one-way ticket to Hawkins Laboratory.
So I let her drag me away.
But I would remember this grudge, Miss Harris.
Still smirking, I saluted the curious students peeking out into the corridor.
An hour later, I sat on a bench outside the principal's office while Miss Harris complained loudly about how I had humiliated her and shown no respect for authority. I secretly hoped I would be suspended so I could escape school for a few days.
Then I saw my mother storm down the corridor.
"Now, Erica," she said sharply, "you will tell me exactly what happened. I heard the teacher's version on the phone, and now I want yours. The truth. Not one of your schemes. And I sincerely hope this is not you hiding something, like your brother suggested."
Despite her stern tone, I knew she wanted to listen.
So I told her the truth. I explained that I was bored because I already knew the material. That Miss Harris had quizzed me for most of the lesson to humiliate me. That she had asked questions years above our curriculum. That she had tried to stop me from leaving after the bell rang. And that, out of frustration, a rude comment had slipped out.
By the end, my mother was still angry.
Just not at me.
I saw a flicker of pride in her eyes.
She crouched to my level.
"I believe you," she said. "Now let us go inside and resolve this. Your mother has your back, no matter what."
I looked down, my eyes stinging slightly, but I stood up and pretended I did not care.
Together, we walked into the principal's office.