Chapter 2

A week later, I was in the school library during lunch, buried in a stack of economics textbooks. My friends, a group of football players, found me and stared as if I'd grown a second head.

"Clark, what are you doing?" Mike, our quarterback, asked, nudging the book with his finger. "This isn't a playbook."

"SAT prep," I said without looking up.

"SAT prep? Dude, you're set. Your dad owns Clark's Hardware. You're going to be fine," another friend, Kevin, chimed in.

I just shook my head. "I want to get into a good business program. A really good one."

They exchanged confused glances, shrugged, and left to go talk about the upcoming game. They didn't get it. They couldn't. This wasn't just about college; it was about rewriting my entire existence.

That night, my plan hit its first major obstacle.

"Ethan, come down to my study," my father called from the bottom of the stairs.

I found him standing by his desk, a rare smile on his face. He was a good man, my father, but his world revolved around the business. It was his first and truest love.

"I have some wonderful news," he began, his eyes gleaming. "You know the Andersons, right? They've got a brilliant little tech startup, but they need a significant capital injection to scale up. We're going to be that investor."

My stomach dropped. I knew what was coming next.

"They're coming for dinner on Saturday," he continued, oblivious to my internal panic. "It's a huge opportunity for our families to merge our interests. A partnership for the future."

He put a hand on my shoulder, his voice dropping to a more personal tone. "Their daughter, Jocelyn, is your age. She's a remarkable girl. Top of her class, a gifted cellist. This could be a very... beneficial union for everyone."

There it was. The beginning of the end. In my first life, I had been excited. I'd spent a fortune on a diamond necklace for her, hoping to impress the brilliant, beautiful Jocelyn Anderson. She had accepted it with a polite, cold nod that told me it meant nothing to her.

Not this time.

This time, I would make it clear I wasn't interested. I would be the opposite of the man she would expect or want.

On Saturday evening, just before the Andersons arrived, I presented my father with the gift I'd bought for Jocelyn. It was a stack of vintage board games-the nerdy, complex kind-and a small collection of old comic books I'd found at a specialty shop.

My father stared at the pile. "What is this, Ethan? Is this a joke?"

"It's a gift," I said calmly. "It's thoughtful. It's not just throwing money at her."

He looked like he was about to have a stroke, but the doorbell rang before he could lecture me.