The Daughter Turned Into A Robot For College

To make sure I stood out during the Ivy League entrance exams, my parents spent a fortune on a high-tech Alpha-Pro Study Companion.

The day that robot walked through our front door, all my hobbies were sentenced to death.

My dad thought my time on my phone was a waste of life. My mom felt I couldn't even manage my meal times with the robot's precision.

My twin sister, Janessa, was even worse, constantly mocking me. She would sneer, "Besides dragging this family down, what are you actually good for?"

Eventually, I reached my breaking point and yanked the robot's charging cable.

My mother flew into a rage, grabbing me by the hair and slamming a hand across my face.

"That robot is your role model! If you had half its discipline, I wouldn't have to face your teachers in shame every week!" she screamed.

"Get out. You're going to the Ironbridge Academy. Maybe there, you'll learn how to be a real student!"

I was forcibly loaded onto a bus with blacked-out windows.

A year later, the bell rang to signal the end of my term. My parents and Janessa were waiting at the gates to pick me up.

They waved and shouted my name, but I just stood there like a wooden post under the scorching sun. I didn't move an inch.

The principal pushed up his glasses and spoke in a cold, detached voice.

"Mrs. Miller, you need to scan the barcode on her neck first."

"Enter the passcode, and only then will Candidate 985 exit lock-down mode."

My mother thought the principal was joking.

She reached out with a smile, trying to pull me toward her.

My body didn't budge. Even the rhythm of my breathing didn't falter.

My father frowned and pulled out his phone, aiming it at the black barcode etched into the back of my neck.

"Beep!"

A line of text popped up on his screen: "Candidate 985 activated. Standing by."

My spine snapped straight instantly. My hands pressed tightly against the seams of my pants.

The distance between my feet was exactly ten centimeters.

Mom froze for a few seconds before reaching out to grab my arm.

"Zadie, honey, let's go. Mom's taking you home."

"What do you want for dinner? I'll make whatever you want."

I kept my eyes fixed forward. I opened my lips just enough to let the words out.

"Eating is a waste of preparation time."

"Requesting nutrient injections."

Mom's hand went stiff on my arm.

Dad gave an awkward laugh, muttering that I must have just spent too much time in that school.

Janessa was leaning against the car door, and she burst out laughing.

"Nutrient injections? Who are you trying to kid with this performance?"

"You're acting like a freak, Zadie. It's almost convincing."

Her laughter hit my ears.

Immediately, I pulled a piece of scrap paper from my pocket. I dropped to my knees on the hot concrete and began to write.

I scribbled out the Pythagorean theorem and complex trigonometric formulas.

Line after line, my handwriting was so perfectly square it looked like it had been printed by a machine.

Mom knelt down to pull me up. She noticed that both of my knees were already scraped raw against the pavement.

I didn't look up.

Dad stood nearby, his expression shifting from confusion to shock, then finally to a strange kind of satisfaction.

"Look at that. That school really has some effective methods."

"In just one year, Zadie is a completely different person."

Mom hesitated for a moment, but then a small smile touched her lips too.

"It does seem to have worked."

Nobody asked if my knees hurt.

Once we were in the car, Janessa sat in the front and cranked the radio to full volume.

Suddenly, I clamped my hands over my ears. My upper body bent forward at a sharp ninety-degree angle.

"Noise interference exceeds 80 decibels."

"Requesting physical sedation to maintain cognitive focus."

The car went dead silent.

Janessa turned around to look at me, her mouth hanging open.

Dad glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

Mom reached back to pat my head.

I jerked away like I'd been electrocuted. My back slammed hard against the car door.

"Unauthorized physical contact. Please provide Instructor Authorization Code."

Mom's hand hung in mid-air, unsure whether to reach out again or pull back.

No one else spoke for the rest of the trip.

The sun beat down through the glass. I stared at a single loose thread on the headrest in front of me until we reached the house.

The car stopped in our driveway.

I didn't get out on my own. I sat in the backseat, waiting for a command.

Only when Dad opened the door and said "We're here" did I move. Right foot first, then left, thirty-centimeter strides, precise to the millimeter.

Mom walked beside me, stealing glances at me every few seconds.

I knew what she was looking at.

She was looking at that barcode on the back of my neck.

It had been burned into my skin with a laser. It was never coming off.

The moment we pushed the front door open, the Alpha robot greeted us with a perfect thirty-degree bow.

"Welcome home, Candidate Zadie Miller."

"According to the academic calendar, there are 67 days remaining until the Ivy League finals."

I didn't look at it.

My eyes were locked onto the clock on the living room wall.

Every time the second hand ticked, my pupils constricted in sync.

Forty-seven seconds wasted.

Janessa looped her arm through the robot's. She tilted her chin up, looking at me with a smirk.

"Zadie, did you know? While you were gone, Alpha helped me hit a 1550 on my practice SATs."

"That's over a hundred points higher than your best score."

"Can you guess how many times Mom and Dad have bragged about me?"

I didn't respond.

I walked over to the desk in the living room and stood perfectly still. I was waiting for orders.

Mom came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of honey-glazed ribs.

"Zadie, these were always your favorite."

"I went to the butcher specifically to get the best cut this morning. I've been slow-cooking them for three hours."

Alpha suddenly spoke up.

"Warning! Honey-glazed ribs contain high fat and sugar. Consumption will lead to a 14% drop in cognitive oxygenation efficiency."

"Suggesting a switch to a low-fat, high-fiber meal."

Dad looked at Alpha, then at the plate of ribs.

Mom hesitated for a split second before carrying the ribs back into the kitchen.

She replaced them with a plate of boiled cabbage.

No oil, no salt. Just wet leaves piled on a plate.

I sat down and picked up my fork.

Within three seconds, the entire plate of cabbage was forced into my mouth.

I didn't even chew. I swallowed it all, wiped the corner of my mouth, and sat up straight.

"Intake complete. Requesting return to the study pod."

Mom ran over with a cloth to take the plate, muttering about how I should eat slower.

But I was already standing up.

I walked into my old room, opened the first textbook, and began solving problems.

If no one told me to stop, I wouldn't stop.

At 1:00 AM, the living room lights went out.

At 2:00 AM, the light in my parents' room went out.

At 3:00 AM, Janessa's door suddenly swung open.

Then came a blood-curdling scream.

My parents scrambled out of bed and rushed into my room.

When the light flickered on, Mom's legs gave out.

I was standing on a stool.

My hair was wound tightly around the hook of the ceiling light, tied into four thick, dead knots.

My hands hung at my sides, still clutching a pen.

My eyes were wide open, bloodshot and staring.

Dad rushed forward to grab my waist, lifting me up to take the weight off my neck.

Mom scrambled onto another chair, her hands shaking as she tried to untie the knots in my hair.

I fell to the floor when they finally got me down. A patch of my scalp was bleeding where the hair had been pulled too tight.

I looked up at them, my voice completely flat.

"One set of practice exams was not completed today."

"According to regulations, the 'Hair-to-the-Beam' punishment must be executed."

"Do not obstruct the candidate's progress."

Janessa was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. The nightlight cast a shadow across her face.

She was smiling.

The smile flashed for only a second before she hid it.

Morning came.

Mom hadn't slept at all. She sat outside my door with dark circles under her eyes, guarding me all night.

Inside, I had completed six sets of exams.

During breakfast, Mom pulled out an old metal box from somewhere.

She sat across from me, holding it like a treasure, and slowly opened it.

It was my sketchbook.

It used to be the thing I loved most in the world.

The cover featured a giant blue whale I had drawn when I was twelve.

Next to it, I had scrawled: "Zadie's Secret Ocean."

Mom pushed the book toward me.

"Zadie, look. Look at how beautiful your drawings are."

"I kept them all for you."

Her voice was trembling.

I glanced at the sketchbook. My pupils didn't even flicker.

Janessa stood up from the sofa and marched over in three quick steps.

She snatched the sketchbook away, flipped through a few pages, and ripped one out.

"What is this garbage?"

"What's the point of drawing? Does it add points to your GPA? Does it get you into Harvard?"

"It was because you spent all day doodling these useless things that Mom and Dad were humiliated."

She crumpled the page into a ball and threw it on the floor.

Mom didn't say a word.

She looked at Janessa, then at me.

She was waiting for a reaction.

If I cried, or got angry, or tried to take the book back, it would mean I was still the old Zadie.

I stood up and walked into the kitchen.

I turned on the gas stove.

I took the sketchbook and flipped to the first page.

The whale from when I was twelve went into the flames.

The sunflowers from when I was thirteen followed.

I didn't blink.

"Art is a failing product."

"It must be destroyed."

Dad rushed over from behind, trying to grab the last few pages.

His hand hit the hot metal grate of the stove, searing off a layer of skin.

The sketchbook burned to ash anyway.

Janessa took two steps back, pointing a finger at my face.

"Are you insane?"

"You're a total psycho!"

At the word "psycho," I pulled off my t-shirt.

I turned around, baring my back to them.

The kitchen light hit my skin, revealing row after row of dark red whip marks.

Some were scabbed over, while others were a faint, bruised purple.

I picked up a leather belt from the table and held it out with both hands, offering it to my father.

"Contact with prohibited items. Requesting ten lashes as punishment."

Dad stared at my back, his lips quivering. The belt slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

Mom covered her mouth, unable to even let out a sob.

Alpha stood in the living room, its camera lens pointed directly at the kitchen.

It was recording everything.

Two weeks passed.

My parents started to get used to it.

They got used to my silence, my lack of smiles, and the way I sat at my desk like a human printer.

They even started to think this was a good thing.

After all, my scores were skyrocketing.

The district organized a city-wide mock exam.

In the testing hall, the proctor stood beside me for twenty minutes, staring.

He couldn't believe my speed.

While others were still reading the questions, I had finished the third essay.

I put my pen down and turned in my paper with half the time remaining.

The night the results came out, Dad got a call from my counselor.

1590 out of 1600.

The highest score in the city.

Dad hung up the phone and paced the living room five times.

Mom was so excited her hands were shaking. She said we had to have a celebratory dinner.

Janessa scored a 1400. Normally, that would be great.

But next to a 1590, her score looked like a joke.

Janessa sat on the sofa, her face turning darker by the second.

The cake was already on the table, a two-tier masterpiece that said "Go Zadie!"

Suddenly, Alpha's chest light started flashing red.

"Warning! Candidate 985's problem-solving path shows abnormalities."

"Analysis suggests a 93.7% probability of academic dishonesty."

The room went cold.

Dad looked at Alpha, then at Mom, then at me.

Janessa suddenly jumped up and sprinted into my room.

Thirty seconds later, she ran back out clutching a stack of papers.

"Look!"

"I found this hidden under her mattress!"

It was a printed copy of the mock exam answer key.

Every answer was perfectly marked in red ink, matching my test paper exactly.

The fork in Mom's hand clattered to the floor.

She grabbed me by the hair and yanked me out of my chair, dragging me into the center of the room.

My knees hit the hard tile, splitting the skin.

Dad kicked me hard in the back of my legs.

I fell to my knees.

Janessa covered her face and sobbed, sounding completely devastated.

"I told you! I knew she was faking it!"

"She spent a year in that school and all she learned was how to cheat!"

"No wonder she finished so fast. It was all copied!"

"She's ruined our family's reputation!"

Mom's palm slammed across my face.

"Why would you do this?"

"Answer me!"

I knelt there, motionless.

In my mind, only one piece of information remained: Page 117, Rule 3 of the Academy Manual.

"Candidates do not have the authority to defend themselves."

So I didn't speak. There was no command to do so.

Dad pulled his belt from his waist and lashed it across my shoulder.

Mom knelt down, gripping my jaw and forcing me to look at her.

"Open your mouth."

"Admit what you did."

"Tell me you're sorry."

The vocal cords in my throat vibrated, but no words came out.

Janessa stood nearby, tears streaming down her face, then she suddenly turned to the robot.

"Alpha, what's the protocol for this?"

Alpha's lights flickered twice.

"Based on database analysis, physical punishment cannot correct the logic of cheating."

"Suggesting the removal of the source of the cheating."

Janessa immediately piped up, "Mom, Dad, it's right."

"She used her right hand to cheat. If you don't cut off the source, how will she ever learn?"

"That's the only way to prove she's truly repentant."

Dad was gasping for air, blinded by a white-hot rage.

The words exploded out of him.

"Then go ahead! Chop off that cheating hand!"

My brain began its automatic search. Command source: Father. Authority level: Maximum.

Command content: Remove right hand.

Execution.

I stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

My strides were still exactly thirty centimeters apart.

My parents were still in the living room, trying to catch their breath. No one noticed where I went.

I stood before the kitchen counter and opened the knife block.

The paring knife was too small. The chef's knife was too thin.

I reached for the one at the very back. The heavy meat cleaver.

The blade was seven inches long. The spine was four millimeters thick.

That would do.

I laid my right hand flat on the cutting board.

Fingers spread wide. Palm down.

I gripped the handle with my left hand and raised it high above my head...