Sunlight, thin and pale, stretched across June’s bedroom floor. It was February 29th, her ninth birthday. A leap day, her parents always called it, a special day for a special girl. June knew *exactly* how special. Only on this rare day, her birthday, could she activate her peculiar power: perfect marks on any test. Today, a math test awaited her. She bounced out of bed, a grin splitting her face. This was going to be easy.

The classroom buzzed with nervous energy. Mr. Tan, his spectacles perched on his nose, distributed the test papers. June clutched her pencil. A wave of warmth, like sunshine spreading through her chest, began to bloom. It wasn’t just happiness; it was the power, a hum of certainty. She scanned the first question, then the next, her pencil flying across the page. She didn’t read them. She didn’t calculate. Her hand moved on its own, a blur of graphite and paper.

A minute later, she slapped her pencil down. The paper, a mess of hastily scrawled numbers and symbols, lay before her. She stood, test in hand.

Mr. Tan looked up, a frown etching his brow. “Already?”

June held out her paper. “Finished.”

He took it, his fingers brushing hers. His eyes, magnified behind his glasses, darted from her to the clock, then to the paper. “Are you sure you finished?”

“Of course! What else do you think I’m handing in?” A giggle escaped her lips. The other children stared, their mouths agape.

Mr. Tan’s gaze sharpened. “June, you barely touched your pencil to the paper. Did you even try?”

“I tried my bestest!” Her chest swelled with pride. She knew she had it. She always did, on her birthday.

He sighed, pushing his glasses higher. “Go back to your seat. Look over your answers again.”

“No need! They’re all right.” She watched him, a flicker of irritation sparking within her. Why did he doubt her?

“June.” His voice dropped, a low rumble. “This is an important test. The questions require thought, not guesswork.”

“It’s not guesswork!” She crossed her arms. “It’s my birthday!”

A few students snickered. Mr. Tan’s face tightened. He pointed to her desk. “Sit.”

June huffed, but she obeyed, plopping back into her chair. She watched him, her eyes narrowed, as he began to mark her paper. His red pen hovered, then struck. A thick, angry line slashed through her first answer. Then the second. And the third.

Her smile faltered. The warmth in her chest, the hum of certainty, began to fade.

“Zero,” Mr. Tan announced, holding up her paper. The bold red digit seemed to scream at her. “Zero out of twenty. Every single answer is wrong.”

June stared at the paper, then at him, her mouth agape. The classroom fell silent. Her power… it had never failed. Not once. A cold dread seeped into her bones. She felt a prickle behind her eyes.

“But… but it’s my birthday!” Her voice cracked. “It always works!”

Mr. Tan leaned closer, his voice soft now. “June, a true gift isn’t about magic. It’s about honesty. It’s about effort.” He placed the paper gently on her desk. “Sometimes, the greatest power is learning to try, even when it’s hard.”

Tears welled, blurring the red zero. Her chest ached. The special warmth was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. She picked up her pencil, her hand trembling. The test questions, once a blur, now looked impossibly difficult. But for the first time, she actually looked at them. Really looked.