Chapter 1

My future was a single, glowing line on a computer screen. SAT Score: 1580. It was enough. Enough for MIT, for Stanford, for any Ivy League school I had ever dreamed of. For a moment, the world felt simple and bright, a straight path to everything I had worked for.

I imagined the labs, the late-night coding sessions with people as passionate about AI as I was, the feeling of building something that could change the world. A smile spread across my face, genuine and unforced. I took a screenshot, a small digital trophy of a life about to begin.

The doorbell rang, a harsh sound that cut through my quiet celebration. I knew who it was. Jake.

He stood on the porch, a ghost of the golden boy I grew up with. His usually perfect hair was a mess, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes, normally bright and confident, were red-rimmed and hollow.

"Sarah," he mumbled, his voice thick.

"Jake? What's wrong? Did you get your scores?" I asked, my own happiness suddenly feeling inappropriate.

He nodded, not meeting my eyes. He looked down at his worn-out sneakers.

"I bombed them," he said, the words barely a whisper. "Completely. I'm not getting in anywhere. Not anywhere that matters."

My heart sank. This wasn't supposed to happen. Jake Peterson, the guy who was good at everything without even trying, the one who coasted through high school on charm and a quick mind, had failed.

"Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry," I said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched, then leaned into the touch, his whole body seeming to sag with relief.

"It's over, Sarah. All of it." He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. "There's only one thing... we could still be together."

I felt a knot of unease in my stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"The state university," he said, his voice gaining a desperate energy. "We could go together. We always said we would, remember? When we were kids, sitting on your roof, we promised. No matter what, we'd stick together."

The memory was vivid. Two kids under a blanket of stars, making silly, heartfelt promises. My loyalty to him was a deep, foundational part of me. He was my best friend.

"Jake, I..."

"Please, Sarah," he begged, his voice breaking. "I can't do this alone. If you go off to some fancy school without me... I don't know what I'll do. We can make it work. It'll be an adventure."

He was laying it on so thick it felt like I was drowning in it. The way he looked at me, the calculated tremor in his voice... something was wrong. It was too much, too dramatic, even for him. A strange, cold feeling washed over me, a feeling of being manipulated.

As he spoke, my laptop, still open on the table behind me, pinged. I glanced over his shoulder. A pop-up notification glowed on the screen. It was a tag in a photo on Instagram.

The pop-up was from Emily Chen's public profile. The picture showed a group of kids celebrating. In the center was Jake, a wide, triumphant grin on his face, his arm slung around Emily's shoulders. And in his hand, he was holding up his phone. The screen was visible. On it was the College Board website, and a number: 1450.

The caption Emily wrote sealed it: "Future titans of tech! So proud of my guy @JakePeterson for crushing the SATs (1450!) and getting ready for CIT! We're gonna kill it!"

CIT. The California Institute of Technology. One of the most prestigious tech schools in the country. A school he could get into with a 1450. A school that was definitely not the local state university.

The air left my lungs. The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

I looked from the screen back to Jake's tear-streaked, pleading face. The performance was flawless. The lies were seamless.

My voice was quiet, dead.

"You got a 1450."

It wasn't a question.

His face froze. The grief, the desperation, it all vanished, replaced by a flicker of panic, then a flash of pure anger. He saw what I was looking at.

"What are you doing, snooping on my friends' pages?" he snapped, his voice turning hard.

"She tagged you, Jake. You're celebrating. With her."

He took a step forward, his charm replaced by something ugly and controlling.

"It's not what it looks like. Emily is just... she's exaggerating."

"Is she exaggerating about the score? About CIT?"

He reached for my laptop, a sudden, aggressive movement. "Give me that. You have no right."

I snatched it away, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and fury. I held it protectively against my chest.

"Get out of my house," I said, my voice shaking but firm.

"Sarah, you're ruining everything!" he shouted, his face contorted. "After everything I've done for you, you're going to throw it all away over a stupid picture?"

Just then, another email notification popped up on my screen. The subject line was from our school's guidance office: "Congratulations to our High-Scoring Scholars!"

I opened it. It was a list of all the students who had scored above 1400. I scanned the names, my breath held tight. And there it was.

Peterson, Jake: 1450.

The screen glowed with the undeniable, official truth. I held the laptop up for him to see. His face went pale. The lie was dead. And with it, so was twelve years of friendship.