Chapter 1: Viral Shame and Secret Genius

I'm known as Hollywood's ultimate pretty airhead. Ever since I let it slip in an interview that I didn't even bother with the SATs, people online have been roasting me about it for years. Seriously, years.

It's the kind of viral shame that just clings to you—like that awful haircut you got in middle school that somehow keeps popping up in family albums. I swear, even my grandma sends me memes about it. Welcome to my circus.

Meanwhile, golden girl Camila Rivera gets way better press than I ever do. Her fans love making me their favorite punching bag.

Honestly, sometimes it feels like there's an entire subreddit devoted to roasting me for every supposedly brainless thing I do, with Camila as their patron saint. You'd think I ran over their dog the way they go at it. Because God forbid I be both.

Then, out of nowhere, a famous MIT professor wrote on Facebook: "My two best students both became actors! Not a single one stayed in research! I'm losing my mind."

He even tagged the MIT alumni group, basically begging for it to go viral. The comment section was a pile-on of former grad students and random fans. You could practically hear the academic world clutching their pearls.

That night, the post blew up. Trending everywhere.

By midnight, my phone was lighting up nonstop. Even my old high school math teacher slid into my DMs: "Is this about you?" Thanks for the faith, Mrs. Parker.

In an interview the next day, Camila joked, "Professor, don’t I deserve a little dignity? Acting doesn’t mean I’m giving up on science!" Half-joking, half-serious—classic Camila.

She even winked at the camera, all coy and charming. The audience lapped it up, of course. Of course. The audience ate it up. Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out what on earth was happening.

I paused for a second, thinking: I'm in the MIT Physics Department, but I don’t remember ever seeing her around.

I ran through my memories, flipping through my mental yearbook of late-night study sessions and cafeteria runs. Nope, not a single flash of Camila’s face. Was I just that oblivious, or was something off here?

After a full day of shooting, I slumped in the back of the black SUV on the way to my hotel, scrolling through Facebook.

My feet were propped up on a pile of scripts, hair still stiff with hairspray. The city lights flickered past outside. The leather seat was cool against my back. God, I needed that. The world outside felt unreal, like I was watching someone else’s life on mute.

The first post up was from Professor Monroe. Of course. Professor Monroe.

"My two best students both became actors! Not a single one stayed in research! I'm losing my mind."

His profile picture was that old graduation photo—tweed jacket, bowtie, the works. Classic Old Monroe. Half-proud, half-exasperated. That man’s been dramatic since freshman year.

I couldn’t help grinning. Felt a little warmth in my chest.

Feeling a little guilty, I touched my nose. Sent Old Monroe a penguin-falling-down GIF.

The GIF was our inside joke, from a physics meme page we all followed. I hoped he’d get the message: Sorry, Professor. Still falling, but at least it’s in style. Yeah, that tracks.

Not long after, Marcus Dorsey saw the post too, and, of course, replied with the same penguin GIF. Typical.

Of course he did. Marcus’s always copying my inside jokes. I swear, I could hear him laughing from across the country.

I rolled my eyes. Classic Marcus.

I even snapped a selfie of my exasperated face and sent it to our old group chat. The caption? "Marcus, get your own memes."

Marcus and I both got into MIT through the physics olympiad. Yeah, we were those kids.

We were those kids—the ones who spent weekends hunched over problem sets, trading energy drinks and sarcastic banter. Those weekends were legendary. At least, to us.

We noticed each other during state team training. Always going head-to-head, right up to the end.

He’d raise an eyebrow at me before every practice exam, and I’d glare right back. It was our thing. Our weird, nerdy thing.

We both won gold medals sophomore year. After that, we were guaranteed admission. Suddenly, we had a lot of free time. So we joined a bunch of physics clubs together.

Those were the days—pizza boxes stacked in the lounge, late-night debates about string theory, and the thrill of being the youngest ones in the room. Man, those were the days.

After we started at MIT, we were both under the same professor, so, yeah, we became good friends.

Kind of like having a sibling you didn’t choose. But who always had your back.

Later, he discovered he loved music. I realized I loved acting. During summer break, we both started dabbling in side gigs.

He started dragging his guitar everywhere, scribbling lyrics on the backs of lab reports. I auditioned for student films and local theater, chasing that adrenaline rush you only get under stage lights. MIT was our playground, and we made the most of it.

But our status in the entertainment industry? Worlds apart. He’s a genius top rapper. I’m the infamous “tabloid queen.” “Hollywood trainwreck” actress.

He gets magazine covers and platinum records; I get TMZ headlines and snarky late-night monologues. Not exactly a fair trade. Not even close.

Half a year ago, I don’t know what got into him. Suddenly, he insisted on breaking into acting. And insisted on working with me.

He called me at 2 a.m. Because of course, that’s when he gets his big ideas. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.

"I don’t care, you’re my little sis. You have to take me along!" Marcus declared, totally unreasonable.

He said it with that puppy-dog look, arms crossed like a stubborn kid. Honestly? Almost worked. I wanted to smack him, but he’s impossible to say no to.

"I’m the older one!" I just stared at him. Speechless.

I even stood on tiptoe to glare at him, which just made him laugh harder. He’s got a good six inches on me, but I’ll never admit defeat.

Back in the physics olympiad, I clearly won first place. National first.

Still got the medal. Shoebox under my bed. Proof I’m not just a pretty face.

"Besides, with my tabloid reputation and terrible public image? If you work with me, you’ll get dragged through the mud."

I didn’t want him caught up in my mess. Hollywood eats people alive. I didn’t want to see him chewed up next.

Marcus frowned. "That whole thing about you not taking the SATs—why don’t you just clear it up?" Like it was that easy.

He looked at me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like I could just tweet the truth and everything would be fine.

I shrugged. "Studio won’t let me. They insist I keep playing the dumb beauty. Publicity, you know?"

Sometimes I wonder if I even remember how to play smart anymore. After all this acting.

"But luckily, my contract’s about to expire. I don’t plan to renew. Honestly, I don’t think Hollywood’s for me." I said it quietly.

My voice was barely above a whisper, but Marcus heard me. He always does.

Also, if I keep putting off my thesis? Old Monroe’s gonna blow his top.

I could practically see the professor’s red face and hear his rant echoing down the halls. Yikes.

Early the next morning, still groggy, I climbed into the SUV. Grumbling all the way to the interview.

The sunrise was just a pale streak over the city, and I clutched my coffee like it was a lifeline. My hair was barely tamed, and my brain definitely wasn’t. My brain definitely wasn’t.

My assistant spun around in a panic. "Savannah, check what’s trending! We’re screwed, screwed, oh my god!"

She looked like she’d seen a ghost, phone trembling in her hand. I braced myself for disaster. Here we go.

Totally confused, I opened Twitter. The trending list was all about Camila Rivera.

#MITPhysicsCamila

#OlympiadGeniusGirl

#CamilaRiveraExposed

#MITProfessorSaysAllMyStudentsAreActors

#QueenCamila