Chapter 1

The world snapped back into focus, a cruel rewind.

One moment, the rush of air, the distant scream that was my own, then blackness.

Now, sunlight, the familiar scent of my lavender laundry detergent, the drone of Mr. Henderson' s lawnmower next door.

My bedroom.

My old bedroom.

My hand, unmarred by the dead-end job' s calluses, flew to my calendar.

August 10th.

Three months.

Three months before the fitness test Mark sabotaged, before the SATs I was too broken to ace, before my life veered into a ditch.

The memories, sharp and brutal, were all there, a brand on my soul. Mark, my childhood best friend, his hand steady as he offered me the "energy drink" before the test. Tiffany, his girlfriend, her smile like a shark's, watching from the sidelines.

Years of grinding poverty, of being used up. Then the reunion, Mark' s brief, almost apologetic glance, and Tiffany' s cold fury. The hired thugs, the balcony, the fall.

I was back.

My heart hammered, a wild bird against my ribs. Justice. The Service Academy. This time, I wouldn' t just survive, I would win.

I got out of bed, legs a little shaky, and looked in the mirror.

Seventeen again. Hopeful, before they crushed it.

A commotion outside drew me to the window.

A flashy red sports car, definitely rented, was parked awkwardly at the curb in front of Tiffany' s house. Music blared.

Then I saw him. Mark.

He was orchestrating a flash mob, a dozen kids I vaguely knew from school, dancing awkwardly to some pop song. He held a giant, glitter-covered sign: "TIFFANY, PROM? - MARK."

Tiffany appeared on her porch, feigning surprise, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.

She was reborn too.

And Mark, the idiot, was already overplaying his hand. In our first life, their romance was a sly, whispered thing until senior year. This... this was a desperate, loud announcement.

Tiffany lapped up the attention, though a flicker of unease crossed her face as she looked at Mark. He was different, more brazen, less of the quiet, calculating boy she' d originally molded.

But the adoration of the small crowd, the expensive car, it was too much for her materialistic heart to question deeply.

Mark spotted me in my window.

His eyes, usually full of a familiar, easygoing warmth from our shared childhood, were now cold, assessing. A smirk played on his lips.

He knew. He knew I was back too.

The game was on.