After Rebirth, I Outplayed My Manipulative Older Sister Chapter 07

After Rebirth, I Outplayed My Manipulative Older Sister Chapter 07

Mom’s funeral was on a gray, overcast day. 

There were few relatives, and not many people 

came to pay their respects. 

Her friends wiped away tears, saying what a kind 

woman she’d been, how unfair it was that she was 

gone. 

Georgia stood at the back of the crowd, wearing a black dress with a small white flower pinned on, 

her head bowed. 

She looked like a thoughtful young girl, sharing the family’s grief. 

Not a single tear fell from her eyes the whole time. 

After the funeral, I stopped her at the cemetery gate. “I know you said those on purpose.” 

She paused and turned to look at me. Those same big, watery eyes, completely empty of emotion. 

“Cora, what are you talking about? Your mother’s death had nothing to do with me. She was sick, 

she couldn’t control her temper…” 

I didn’t let her finish. I slapped her hard across the 

face. 

Her head snapped to the side, a trickle of blood 

seeping from the corner of her mouth. 

She slowly turned back to face me, then smiled. 

“Feel better now?” 

Her voice was soft, as if drifting from far away. 

“Cora, you can’t beat me. Your mother couldn’t 

beat me, and neither can you. You think playing 

the sweet little sister was enough to win? Your 

mother is dead. Who are you even performing for 

now?” 

I looked at her. I didn’t cry. 

I had cried all my tears at the funeral.. 

“Just wait.” 

She tilted her head slightly, “Wait for what?” 

I didn’t answer. 

I turned and walked down the stone path through 

the cemetery. 

Her voice floated after me, light and careless, 

“Safe home, Cora.” 

The first semester of senior year came and went. 

Every day, I got up early, went to class, did my 

homework, came home. 

Georgia and I shared the same bedroom, our beds 

three feet apart, like separated by an entire ocean. 

We didn’t speak anymore. 

We didn’t even bother with the pretense. 

Two months before the SATS, I dropped out of 

school. 

No one could stop me. 

Teachers tried to talk me out of it, saying that if I 

stuck it out two more months, I could get into a 

decent college. 

I said I didn’t need to. I was going to make money. 

The news spread fast. 

“Cora dropped out of school.” Those words. 

sparked more curiosity than any exam prep rally 

ever could. 

“Such a shame. She could have made it.” 

“Her sister’s so accomplished, the pressure 

must’ve been huge.” 

“After everything that happened in her family… who. 

could blame her?” 

That last one was true. 

Georgia handled all the questions alone. 

She said, “Cora has her own plans, I respect that,” 

and that I was temperamental and couldn’t settle 

down to study. 

No one suspected she had anything to do with. 

pushing me out. She was too good with words for 

that. Why would anyone ever have doubts? 

But she underestimated one thing. Someone who 

could walk away from college without hesitation. 

had nothing left to lose. 

After dropping out, I got a job as an assistant at 

the largest performing arts training center in the 

state. 

The owner was Ms. Quinn, early forties, divorced, 

no kids. 

At the interview, I brought a three–page plan for student time management and stress coping. 

Ms. Quinn read it and said, “For a high schooler, you have a sharp way of thinking.” 

I said, “People who’ve been the emotional. 

punching bag at home learn to see everything. clearly.” 

She laughed and gave me the job. 

I moved into the staff dorm, a six–person room 

with bunk beds. 

My roommates were girls in their early twenties who’d graduated from community college and couldn’t find real jobs. They scheduled classes during the day and trash–talked the boss at night. 

They asked me why a high school kid like me was out here working. I said my family had collapsed and I was busking for a living. They burst out. laughing and told me I was the most interesting 

person in the dorm. 

I’d never heard such laughter in my past life. 

Back then, my life had only been silence and 

compromise. 

I was always the one giving in. Laughing required 

permission. 

Not anymore. 

I woke at six every morning, scheduling classes, organizing materials, grading practice tests. 

At noon, I ran errands for Ms. Quinn and picked up her coffee. At night, I taught myself accounting 

software. 

Ms. Quinn needed someone who could handle the 

books, so I learned. 

She needed someone who could edit videos, so I 

learned. 

In six months, I went from assistant to academic 

director. 

Ms. Quinn handed over daily operations entirely, focusing only on networking and partnerships. 

She said, “Cora, you’re the most driven kid I’ve ever 

met.” 

It wasn’t drive. I just had no safety net. 

At twenty, I saved enough capital to buy a failing exam prep boarding house downtown. 

Ms. Quinn asked, “How do you dare run a school without even a community college degree?” 

I said, “I’m not starting a school. I’m going to war.” 

She didn’t understand. 

On opening day, I was taping classroom rules on 

the wall when my phone rang. 

An unknown number. It was Dad. 

Two years since we’d met, his voice sounded 

much older. 

“Cora, Georgia got into Eastwood University. Did 

you know?” 

“I know.” 

“She gave a speech at the opening ceremony. I’ll send you the link.” 

“Don’t bother, Dad.” 

A few seconds of silence. 

“She misses you. When will you come home?” 

I walked to the window, watching students with backpacks pass below. 

“I’m busy right now. Maybe at the end of the year. Oh, tell Georgia something for me.” 

“What?” 

I smiled faintly. “Congratulations. Tell her to study hard and do well in college.” 

I hung up. Hours later, Dad’s reply came: [Georgia says thank you.] 

No questions about where I was, what I was doing, or how I was. 

Just “thank you.” 

Polite. Proper. 

I put my phone away and went back to taping the 

rules. 

The boomerang was still in the air. No rush for it to 

land.