Chapter 3

The first thing I did was request a lab partner change in AP Chemistry.

Being paired with Kevin was no longer just awkward, it was a liability I couldn't afford.

My focus was singular: the National Scholars Tournament.

In my past life, he' d made sure I missed the registration, claiming he' d "forgotten" to submit my forms after I' d asked him to help because I was down with a severe flu he' d probably exposed me to.

This time, I handled everything myself, triple-checking deadlines, burying myself in study materials.

Chloe was my rock, quizzing me, bringing me snacks, and deflecting any attempts by Kevin or Tiffany to get near me.

The day before the tournament, my phone rang. It was Kevin.

"Sarah? Oh, thank god you picked up," his voice was strained, laced with fake panic. "I was playing some pick-up basketball, and I think I really messed up my ankle. It' s swelling up like crazy. My parents aren't home, can you please, please take me to the ER? I can' t drive."

The script was almost identical to the one he' d used last time, the one that had made me miss a crucial debate club competition.

A wave of cold anger washed over me, quickly replaced by resolve.

"No, Kevin, I can't," I said, my voice devoid of sympathy.

"What? Why not? Sarah, I' m in serious pain here!"

"I have the National Scholars Tournament tomorrow morning, Kevin. I' ve been preparing for months. I' m not missing it."

"But this is an emergency! Are you saying some stupid competition is more important than your friend' s health?"

His indignation was almost comical.

"Call 911 if it's a real emergency, Kevin. Or one of your many other friends. I' m busy."

I hung up before he could argue further.

The next day, I walked into the tournament hall feeling calm and prepared. I aced the written exam and excelled in the practical challenges.

A few days later, at the weekly school assembly, Kevin, leaning heavily on a crutch that looked suspiciously new, was given the microphone by a sympathetic teacher.

"I just wanted to say something," he began, his voice dripping with false sincerity, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on me.

"Some of you know I had a pretty bad injury last week. And when I really needed a friend, someone I' ve known my whole life, to help me get to the hospital, she told me she was too busy with a competition."

He paused for dramatic effect, letting the murmurs ripple through the auditorium.

"It just makes you realize who your real friends are, you know? Some people are just cold and unfeeling, only out for themselves."

He looked directly at me, expecting shame or guilt.

I met his gaze, my expression neutral.

A few students glanced my way, some with pity, others with judgment.

But I didn't flinch. His words, meant to wound and isolate, bounced off the armor of my past knowledge.

Let him play his games. I had a tournament to win, and a future to build, without him.

His public shaming attempt felt hollow, because I knew the truth, and soon, others would too.