You Won’t Believe What Made Me Oversleep on My College Entrance Exams

A Race Against Time

On the morning of my medical college entrance exam, I woke up late to find that all my alarms were mysteriously turned off. As I hurried to get ready, my 8-year-old brother stepped in with a plan that would save the day.

Since I was young, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. After my mom died of cancer, that dream became even stronger. I wanted to help people like her, learn more about the disease that took her away, and support others in their battles against it.

Source: Pexels

I worked for this moment for years, going through late nights, countless books, and more exams than I could count. Today, all that hard work was about to pay off: it was finally the day of my medical entrance exam.

Source: Pexels

Last night, I did everything to make sure I wouldn’t oversleep. I set three alarms on my phone—6:00 a.m., 6:15 a.m., and 6:30 a.m. I even left my curtains open so that the sunlight would wake me up. As I lay in bed, I thought of my mom and promised myself that I’d make her proud.

Source: Pexels

When I opened my eyes the next morning, something felt wrong. It was dark, too dark. I reached for my phone, and my heart sank—9:55 a.m. My exam started at 10:00.

“No, no, no! This can’t be happening!” I threw off my blankets and grabbed my phone. All three alarms were turned off.

Source: Pexels

“I know I set these!” I muttered, my hands shaking as I got dressed quickly. My mind raced with questions. How did this happen?

I bolted down the stairs, half-dressed, with my hair everywhere. “Linda!” I called out, desperately looking for my stepmom. “Linda, please! I need a ride to the college. My exam is in five minutes!”

She was in the kitchen, sipping her coffee calmly, watching me with a look I couldn’t quite understand. She raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that was as cold as her coffee cup was hot.

Source: Pexels

“You’re late already,” she said flatly. “Maybe next time, you should learn to set an alarm properly.”

“I did set them!” I almost shouted, feeling frustrated and panicked. “I triple-checked. They were on, all three of them.”

She shrugged, a slight smirk on her lips. “Clearly, you didn’t. Maybe this is a sign that you’re not cut out for med school. If you can’t even wake up on time, how will you handle something serious, like a patient?”

I stood there, feeling my face grow hot, my mind swirling with disbelief and desperation. This couldn’t be real. My stepmom wouldn’t do this to me, would she?

Source: Pexels

I turned toward the door, knowing I’d never make it on foot but feeling I had to try. Just as I reached for the handle, I heard a small voice behind me.

“I know who did it,” my little brother Jason said, his voice shaky but his eyes steady.

I turned, confused. “Jason, what are you talking about?”

He took a small step forward, looking at Linda cautiously. “I saw her. Last night. She turned off your alarms, Emily.”

Linda shot him a sharp look. “Jason, stop making up stories,” she hissed.

Source: Pexels

Jason gulped but didn’t back down. “I’m not lying! I saw you go into her room, pick up her phone, and turn off the alarms. You said she didn’t need to be at that stupid exam anyway.”

My mind was spinning. I looked at Linda, searching her face for denial, for any sign she’d say it was a misunderstanding. But she just sighed, crossing her arms.

“You know what, Emily?” she said coolly, her voice hardening. “Fine. Yes, I did it. You’re not fit to be a doctor. It’s a waste of time and money that your dad could spend on something worthwhile.”

“Like… your beauty salon?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Source: Pexels

Just as I was about to push past her and leave, I heard sirens in the distance, getting louder as they approached our house.

Jason, now holding my hand, gave me a small, hopeful smile. “Don’t worry, Em. I called for help.”

Linda’s face hardened as she looked at Jason, who stood by my side. “You seriously did this?” she asked, barely able to speak.

Jason’s small voice cut through the tension. “You are the bad guy, Linda,” he said, his eyes fierce despite his small size. “Emily is going to be a doctor one day. Mom would be proud of her.”

Linda’s face twisted, and before she could say anything, the wailing sirens outside grew louder. I watched her look toward the window, her eyes widening with surprise.

Source: Pexels

The front door opened, and two police officers stepped inside. One of them, a tall man, spoke with calm authority. “Is everything alright here?”

Jason didn’t hesitate. “I called you,” he said, standing tall despite his age. “My sister needs to get to her entrance exam. Linda turned off her alarms so she’d miss it.”

The officer’s eyes moved to Linda, who immediately pretended to be innocent. “This is absurd!” she scoffed, folding her arms. “They’re just children, making things up because they’re late.”

But the other officer, a woman with kind eyes, knelt down to Jason’s level. “You called us to help your sister?” she asked gently.

Jason nodded vigorously. “Yes. Emily studied so hard, and she was ready. Linda turned off her alarms so she’d miss her test.”

The officers exchanged glances, then turned to me. “Is that true?” the male officer asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. “I have to get to my college right now, or I’ll lose my chance to take the exam.”

The officers nodded and exchanged another glance. “Alright, young lady,” the female officer said, standing up, “We’re going to get you there.”

Linda’s face twisted with disbelief. “Wait, you’re actually going to escort her?” she stammered, frustration evident in her voice. “This is ridiculous!”

“It’s our job to help people,” the officer replied, coolly dismissing Linda. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

I turned to Jason, who was smiling proudly, a little hero in his own right. “Thank you, Jason,” I whispered, hugging him tight. “You saved me.”

As I left with the officers, Linda’s face showed a mix of fury and disbelief. The officers helped me into their squad car, and we sped down the road with the sirens blaring, weaving through traffic as we approached the college. My heart pounded in my chest, but this time, it was with determination.

At the exam center, we arrived just minutes before the doors were set to close. The officers stepped out with me, guiding me toward the entrance.

One of the proctors noticed us and approached, looking confused. “Ma’am, the exam is about to begin,” he said, glancing at the officers.

The policewoman explained quickly. “This young lady had her alarms sabotaged at home, but she’s here now. I understand if you can’t make exceptions, but if there’s any way she can sit for the exam…”

The proctor’s stern face softened as he listened. He looked me in the eyes, as if weighing my sincerity, then gave a brief nod. “Alright. Go on in.”

“Thank you,” I managed, barely believing I’d made it.

I found my seat, still shaken but refusing to let the morning’s events get the best of me. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and thought of my mom. This was my moment, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me. I picked up my pencil and began the test.

Hours later, I walked out of the exam room, exhausted but relieved. The officers who had helped me were gone, but I felt their kindness with every step as I headed home. Jason was waiting on the front steps, and he jumped up as soon as he saw me.

“Did you do it?” he asked eagerly, his eyes bright with hope.

I nodded, a smile breaking out despite my exhaustion. “I did, thanks to you.”

He threw his arms around me. “I knew you could.”

Inside, my dad was waiting. His face was pale, and his mouth was set in a grim line. He had been waiting for me to come home to hear everything. Jason took the lead, explaining every detail of what had happened while I was gone.

My dad’s face grew red with anger, his eyes narrowing as he looked over at Linda, who was trying to look calm and unaffected. “Is this true?” he demanded, his voice trembling with restrained fury.

Linda’s eyes darted between us. “I… I was just trying to keep her from a mistake. I didn’t mean for it to go so far,” she mumbled, finally looking cornered.

“You sabotaged her dreams because of your own selfishness,” my dad said coldly. “You’re not staying here another night.”

Linda’s face turned pale as she realized he was serious. She tried to protest, but he shook his head firmly. “Pack your things, Linda. This family deserves better than this.”

Jason and I stood by the door, watching as she finally left. There was no satisfaction in it, just a sense of justice and relief.

Demanding Parents Expect Nanny to Pay $1000 for Vacation Flights – Their Harsh Reality Check

“Jane, we need to talk about the vacation.”

I nodded, curious.

We had been home for two days now. Back from our trip to the seaside, staying in a luxurious resort. It was almost the break I needed, minus the fact that I had the Smiths’ three children, and their friends, the Johnsons’ two sons to care for as well.

I was just doing my job in a fancier location.

“Of course,” I said. “It was a lovely trip. Thank you again for inviting me.”

“Yes, well,” Mrs. Smith started. “We need to discuss the plane tickets. When will you be able to return the $1000?”

I blinked. I was sure that I had misheard her.

“Sorry, $1000? For the tickets? What?”

“Yes, for the tickets, Jane,” she spoke slowly as if I was stupid. “We spent a lot on them, and we thought you’d be grateful enough to pay us back.”

My heart raced. I didn’t have that kind of money to spare. I was their full-time nanny, with a mother to care for at home.

“But you told me that everything was sorted. You said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Jane. We’ve got it all covered.’”

Mrs. Smith’s expression hardened. Mr. Smith gazed at me.

“That was before the Johnsons refused to sign a business deal with Craig. That was the entire purpose of the holiday. Mr. Smith and I needed to woo them. So, there’s no need to seem generous now, Jane. You have exactly one week to return the money, or it will be taken from your pay.”

I was stunned. The room felt like it was spinning.

“But… I can’t afford that, Mrs. Smith,” I admitted. “Most of my salary goes to the rent at home and my mother’s medication. I can’t take that away from her. And you didn’t mention anything about paying you back!”

“That’s not our problem, Jane. One week,” Mr. Smith reiterated, reaching for a croissant from the tea tray left for Mrs. Smith. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the end of the discussion.

That night, I sat in my tiny room a few feet away from the Smiths’ house. I was seething. How could they do this? I needed a plan, and I needed it fast.

Then it hit me: the Smiths cared deeply about their social standing and their reputation.

“Of course, that’s all they care about,” I muttered to myself as I brushed my teeth before bed. “But I can use that to my advantage.”

The next day, after I dropped the kids off at school, I created a fake email account. I drafted a polite but detailed message about my experience, making sure to be clear without naming any names.

But there were enough telltale signs pointing to the Smiths, from their cars to the kids, to the gold facial appointments that Mrs. Smith bragged about.

Thereafter, I sent it to the key people in their social circle, including the other influential families that the Smiths wanted to be in league with.

“I just don’t understand what they want from us,” I overheard Mrs. Smith say into the phone later that day. “Eva asked me if everything is true, but I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

A few days later, the gossip started spreading. The Smiths’ dirty little secret on how they treated “their staff” was out, and naturally, their reputation took a hit.

Mrs. Smith called in a masseuse to soothe her muscles.

“Just let them into the spa when they arrive, Jane,” she said. “I need all the help I can get.”

Later that day, when I went to pick the kids up from school, the other nannies were hanging about, waiting for the bell to ring.

“Did you read the email about the Smiths?” one of the nannies said. “Jane, are they really like that?”

I nodded.

“They’re good parents, but they’re horrible people,” I admitted, not wanting to give away that I was the person who sent out the email.

“How long will you work for them?” another asked me. “I couldn’t live or work under those circumstances. Rich people need to learn that respect for them is earned, too.”

I smiled.

The nannies went back and forth as we waited. And through their chatter, I discovered something interesting about Mrs. Smith.

Turns out that my employer had a habit of “borrowing” items from her friends and never returning them.

“An entire Gucci handbag, Jane,” Mina said. “Mrs. Smith asked my ma’am if she could borrow it for a fundraising gala two months ago.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I said, shocked. “I didn’t know that she was capable of that sort of thing. But she doesn’t like me getting too close to her things anyway.”

A few days later, Mrs. Smith held one of her ladies’ luncheons. It was a monthly event that she loved hosting, but this time it was only two weeks into the month.

“I need this to go well, Jane,” she said as I cut fruit up for the kids. “So, you need to attend it. The kids will be at school. Everything will be catered for. Just walk around and talk to the women. Make us seem human.”

I knew that she was puzzling. She must have heard more than enough through the grapevine.

During the event, I walked around as requested of me. But I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip. And I had nothing to lose. The Smiths were probably going to fire me at the end of the week when I couldn’t make the $1000.

“We’ll deal with it, darling,” my mother coughed into the phone when I told her the truth of the matter.

At the luncheon, I walked around, casually mentioning to the ladies how much I admired Mrs. Smith’s collection, making sure that I spoke to Eva, Mina’s employer.

“Mrs. Smith has a stunning handbag similar to yours,” I said. “Gucci. Did she lend you this one? She’s always telling me that she lends her things out because she has so much.”

Eva looked at me over the top of her champagne glass.

“Is that so, Jane?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Whispers started circulating. By the end of the luncheon, Mrs. Smith’s reputation for borrowing without returning was the hot topic.

The next morning, her friends began asking for their things back.

Mrs. Smith was mortified.

During dinner the next night, Mr. Smith called me to the table, asking me to join them.

“Thank you, but I usually wait for Ivy and Melanie to eat,” I said politely, mentioning the chef and her helper.

“No, sit with us,” he insisted.

I obliged.

Despite his tone, I hoped that maybe he was going to tell me that the money could be forgotten. And that everything would return as normal.

“It has come to my attention that an anonymous email has gone out,” he said, cutting into his steak.

“A disgusting email,” Mrs. Smith added, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Did you have anything to do with it?” he asked me, his eyes trying to coax a confession out of me.

I shook my head, looking down at my plate.

“Then that settles it,” he said, knowingly. “You’re dismissed. You can pack up and get out tomorrow.”

I did exactly as I was told and moved back home. A week later, Mrs. Johnson called me.

“Jane, can you come over for tea?” she asked warmly.

“Of course, Mrs. Johnson,” I replied, curious about the nature of the invitation.

As we sat in her luxurious living room, she looked at me with genuine concern.

“I heard about what the Smiths did to you. It’s disgraceful.”

I nodded, trying to keep my composure.

“Well,” she continued. “We’ve decided to cut ties with the Smiths entirely. And we’d like to offer you a job. Better pay, better working conditions. We could use someone like you for our kids.”

I was stunned.

“Of course!” I exclaimed. I needed the job desperately.

“You’ve earned it,” she smiled. “The boys loved having you watch them during the holiday. And somehow, you got Jonathan to eat his peas!”

I don’t know how the Smiths reacted to me working for the Johnsons, but I hoped that they felt betrayed.

What would you have done?

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*