life that can’t be replicated
Chapter 1
Ashley Carter made it her life’s mission to be
my personal nemesis.
Every time grades came out, she’d be right there, practically breathing down my neck, demanding to know how I did.
100
If I beat her by a few points, she’d mutter some
garbage under her breath about how I probably cheated.
Then, when she heard I was dating Jake
Sullivan, she straight–up went behind my back
and confessed her undying love to him.
Jake, being the awesome guy he is, turned her
down flat. Ashley went ballistic.
Eventually, we went to different colleges, and I thought I’d finally escaped her gravitational pull
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9:31
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But no. When she found out my startup was taking off, she copied me, tried to launch her own, and predictably crashed and burned.
Of course, she blamed me for everything. She even waited outside my apartment one night and stabbed me like, fifteen times.
Now I’m back in high school. Ashley is smug as hell, declaring that this time, she’ll be better than me.
But her strategy? Copying everything I did last time, down to the last freakin‘ detail.
Has she never heard the story of the girl with
the awful sunburn who went to the tanning salon?
- 1.
I’m reliving the nightmare of freshman year.
Mr. Peterson, balding and generally unpleasant,
bursts into class, ready to lay down the law:
“Don’t think your middle school grades mean
squat. High school is a whole different ball
game.”
“Especially you girls. You start strong, but fizzle
out in science and math. Most of you just can’t
hack it.”
Ashley, of course, shoots her hand up like a
rocket and storms to the front of the class.
“Mr. Peterson, that’s completely wrong!” she
announces, her voice dripping with righteous
indignation.
“You’re saying girls can’t handle science? Do
you have any actual evidence to back that up?”
Mr. Peterson thumps his fist on the desk. “I’ve
been teaching for twenty years. My experience
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Ashley retorts, “With all due respect, Mr.
Peterson, look at our own school. In last year’s graduating class, the girls‘ average math scores were higher than the boys‘ on the standardized
tests. The previous five years, girls aced the
science tests. Four times the class valedictorian
was a girl.”
“The data shows that girls not only keep up, but
often outperform the boys. Your ‘experience‘
seems a little biased.”
Ashley plants her feet, staring down Mr.
Peterson with blazing eyes.
Sunlight streams in from the windows,
practically spotlighting her.
The whole class, boys and girls, start clapping
like crazy.
Mr. Peterson looks like he wants to crawl under
a rock, but he finally mumbles, “Fine, Ashley.
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Let’s see if you still feel that way at the end of
senior year. Then we’ll talk.”
“Is that all?”
But Ashley’s not letting him off the hook so
easily.
She lifts her chin, all rebellious pride. “If, when
we graduate, the girls‘ scores are still higher,
will you admit you were wrong and stop
spreading this biased nonsense?”
They stare each other down for what feels like
an eternity, before Mr. Peterson finally looks
away. “Fine,” he grunts.
The class erupts in cheers.
Even Jake Sullivan, the school’s golden boy,
can’t take his eyes off her.
He was supposed to be my boyfriend.
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Ashley struts back to her desk like she’s just
won the lottery.
But only she and I know that, last time around,
that ovation was for me.
