Chapter 3

The school gym echoed with squeaking sneakers and shouted commands during ROTC club.

I pushed myself through every drill, every run.

"Carter! Looking sharp!" Sergeant Miller barked, a rare compliment.

I just nodded, focused.

Across the gym, I saw Mike and Jessica leaning against the bleachers, not even in workout gear.

They were just there to watch. To taunt.

As I ran laps, Jessica called out, "Wow, Ash, trying so hard! You almost look like you might make it this time!"

Mike snickered.

I kept running, my pace steady.

"Don't you get tired of failing, Ash?" Mike yelled.

I ignored them. Their words were just noise.

But later, as I was packing my bag, they cornered me.

"Seriously, Ash," Mike said, blocking my way. "All this effort. It's kind_of pathetic. You know how this ends."

"Do I, Mike?" I asked, my voice flat. "Because the ending I remember involves you being a coward and a cheat."

His face tightened. Jessica stepped forward.

"He's going to be a huge success!" she declared, puffing out her chest. "He remembers all the right stocks, all the future trends! We're going to be rich!"

"And you're going to be... what? A soldier?" She sneered. "So boring."

"At least it's an honest living," I said, meeting her gaze. "Something you two wouldn't understand."

I pushed past them.

Their laughter followed me, but it sounded hollow.

They were so convinced their foreknowledge was a golden ticket.

They didn't realize it was a trap.

The next few weeks, Mike' s spending became more obvious.

New clothes for Jessica daily. Expensive dates. He even leased a flashy, second-hand sports car he could barely afford the insurance on.

I heard him on the phone once, wheedling his mom.

"But Mom, it's an investment! I know this company's going to blow up! Just a little more..."

His voice was slick, manipulative.

Mrs. Evans, in our first life, had been so proud of him. Then so broken.

Now, she was being played, funding his delusion.

Jessica, meanwhile, lapped it up.

She' d parade her new gifts, making sure I saw them.

"Mike is just so generous," she' d sigh dramatically if I was within earshot. "He knows how to treat a girl."

It was all a performance.

A desperate attempt to prove their worth, to rub their supposed happiness in my face.

It was pathetic.

The first progress reports came out.

My grades were perfect. Straight As.

Mike' s were...not.

Mostly Cs, a D in calculus.

Ms. Peterson, the school counselor, called him in.

I saw him storm out of her office later, red-faced.

She tried to talk to me too, a well-meaning attempt to understand the "tension" between me and Mike.

"Ashley, Michael's grades are a concern. And there seems to be some... history between you two. Perhaps if you both just talked-"

"Ms. Peterson," I interrupted politely, "with all due respect, my focus is on my academics and my ROTC application. Mike' s choices are his own. There' s nothing to discuss."

She looked disappointed but didn't push.

There was no point. Mike wasn't listening to anyone.

He was too busy living his fantasy.

A fantasy that was already starting to crumble.