Chapter 1

My roommate, Lexi, was obsessed with rating other girls' looks. She even claimed she was going to rate and "glow up" every girl on campus.

Every morning, she would wake up thirty minutes early, shove her phone in my face, and film me, claiming she was documenting her "makeover project" for content.

Whenever I blocked the lens, she’d smirk. "You just don't get it. Bad publicity is still publicity. The first step is making people remember you."

In my past life, she snapped an unedited picture of me eating instant ramen without makeup and posted it on social media as a "cautionary tale."

Her caption: #RoommateRefusesMakeoverSheDeservesHerLowScore.

The post went viral. She became the queen of brutal campus clapbacks, while I became a walking joke—the infamous "4.8 Girl."

I ended up swallowing an entire bottle of sleeping pills. The last sound I heard before slipping away was the audio playing on loop from her pinned video:

*“Knowing your place is the most basic sign of respect for others.”*

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the first day of the semester.

Lexi was shoving a rating sheet right in my face, her voice dripping with fake charity:

"Chloe! I spent all summer researching this! Barefaced, you're a 5.5. Your outfit is a 4.2. That's a failing grade overall! But lucky for you, I can fix you."

I blinked. A sheet of printer paper was hovering barely an inch from my face.

The bold header, *Comprehensive Appearance Rating Sheet*, burned into my retinas.

I was reborn.

In my previous life, she had stood before me holding that exact same paper. Back then, I just laughed it off and politely declined.

After that, Lexi started ripping off my blankets at six in the morning, sticking her phone in my face to film me brushing my teeth, eating breakfast, and showing off my puffy, newly-awake face.

When I tried to block the camera, she edited the footage into a reel with the caption: *A prime example of refusing to be saved.*

Once, while I was changing in the bathroom, she barged right in with her phone raised. "Just checking your body proportions!"

I screamed and dropped to the floor to cover myself. She just burst out laughing. "We're both girls, what are you so shy about?"

She posted the photos on the campus board under the title: *Roommate is a bare-faced 4.8, refuses to glow up, totally deserves her low score.*

There were over three hundred comments.

"Yikes, she really is tragic."

"OP is being way too generous. That's a 3 at best."

"Why is her skin so greasy?"

Walking down the hallway between classes, people recognized me. They pointed their screens at me and whispered to their friends, "Look, that's her. The Rating Queen’s roommate. The 4.8 girl."

I kept my head down and ran, laughter echoing behind me the entire way.

I begged Lexi to delete the post.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed painting her nails, not even bothering to look up. "Delete it? How am I supposed to delete a forum post? Besides, I’m just telling the truth. That's literally your level without makeup. You should be thanking me for the reality check."

Later, she started live-streaming under the title: *Day X of Transforming My Roommate.*

One afternoon, while I was taking a nap, she leaned in for an extreme close-up of my face. When I startled awake, my cheek still had red marks pressed into it from the pillow.

Lexi tsked into the camera. "Look at this, guys. She drools in her sleep."

The chat blew up with comments like "Ew, gross," and "No wonder she's a 4.8."

When I tried to grab her phone, she shoved me hard. The camera wobbled and caught me crashing onto the floor.

She quickly put on a mock-apologetic face. "Come on, don't be dramatic! We're live, give me a break!"

The day before I dropped out, Lexi hit ten thousand followers on her stream.

She smiled at the camera and said, "Yeah, that roommate of mine just couldn't handle the brutal truth, so she disappeared. What can I say? I'm just too real."

That night, I dumped a whole bottle of sleeping pills into my palm. Even as I was dying, the bitter taste of those pills lingered in my mouth.

Seeing me zone out, Lexi waved the paper again. "Chloe? Are you listening? I can get your bare face up to a 6.8 and your style past a 6..."

I threw back the covers and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor. The chill surged up my spine, snapping my mind into sharp focus.

Before Lexi could react, I snatched the paper right out of her hand and ripped it to shreds!

Paper scraps fluttered through the air, one piece sticking to the tip of her nose. She froze, stunned, before letting out a shriek.

"Chloe, are you insane?!"

Insane? I’ve already died once. You think I’m afraid of going crazy?!

You love filming me so much? In this life, I’m turning the camera on you first.

I unlocked my phone, opened the camera, and pointed the video right at her.

"Say that again, Lexi. You're grading me? You want to 'transform' me?"

She instinctively raised her hand to shield her face, taking a step back in outrage. "What do you think you're doing? Why are you recording me?!"

I sneered. "Just capturing some footage to give you a rating of your own. Let’s see what score you really deserve!"

Lexi lunged forward to grab my phone, but I sidestepped and held it high above her reach.

She was half a head shorter than me; even on her tiptoes, she couldn't reach it.

"Give it back! Chloe, who gave you the right to film me?!"

"Who gave you the right to grade other people?" I glared down at her.

Flustered and on the verge of tears, she kicked a chair in frustration and stormed out of the room.

The dorm door slammed shut with a violent bang, rattling the mirror on the wall.

I was left alone in the room. I stopped the recording, sat on the edge of the bed, and let out a long breath.

In my past life, these hands were only ever used to wipe away tears.

Wiping them away when she secretly filmed me. Wiping them away when strangers commented "4.8." Wiping them away when I dropped out and my mom held me, sobbing.

By the night I swallowed the pills, my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the glass of water.

I stood up, walked to the sink, and turned on the faucet. In the mirror, my face was wet with cold water, but there wasn't a single tear.

In this life, I’m done crying.