Chapter 1: Small Goals, Big Dreams

Originally, I just wanted to drift through college as a nobody. But somehow, thanks to the campus bad boy and the ever-delicate leading lady, I ended up becoming the campus running gag—always caught up in their drama, whether I wanted to be or not.

I had zero interest in love triangles or campus gossip anymore; all I wanted was to study. So—

When the campus bad boy confessed to the leading lady, I was getting recognized by the dean;

When the leading lady made it onto the anonymous confession page, I landed on the Dean’s List;

When the main couple graduated and tied the knot at City Hall, I received my acceptance letter to a top Ivy League grad program.

"Main characters, when it comes to grades and prospects, I’ve left you in the dust."

When I woke up, I stared at last semester’s D-minus and fell into deep thought.

The number sat there, glaring at me from the college’s online grade portal like a personal insult. The kind of thing that makes you want to burrow under your dorm comforter and never come out. I tapped my screen, hoping it would magically morph into a C—but nope, still a D-minus. That little minus stung, like a slap in the face.

"Good thing I didn’t fail, or this year’s scholarship would be down the drain."

I let out a sigh of relief, the kind you only get after dodging a bullet. My heart pounded like I’d just gotten away with something criminal. In the dorm’s stale, slightly popcorn-scented morning air, that sigh sounded almost victorious.

Hearing my sigh of relief, my roommate Mariah Jefferson scoffed.

She was sitting on her twin XL bed, legs crossed, hair in a messy bun, scrolling through her phone. Mariah always had something to say, and today was no exception. "You only passed because the professor felt sorry for you."

Fair point.

I couldn’t help but agree, even as I tucked my legs under my blanket, the scratchy sheets grounding me in the present.

But since I didn’t respond, Mariah pressed on:

She tossed her phone aside and looked at me over the rim of her glasses. "You think you can get a scholarship with that GPA? Unless you get first place next semester, with your chronic love-brain, it’s impossible."

She didn’t like me—no one here did.

To be fair, I really was a lovesick fool before, always chasing after the campus bad boy.

As the story’s notorious side character, I wasn’t rich, just had good connections with advisors and professors, and often made things tough for the leading lady.

I glanced at the motivational quote taped to my desk—"Small steps every day, big dreams tomorrow." "Everyone needs a small goal," I said, changing the subject and picking up my English textbook, the familiar weight comforting in my hands.

She rolled her eyes, prepping for class while still mocking me:

Mariah’s voice had that singsong edge. "The top student in our department, Savannah Li, swept all the scholarships in freshman year. Why not try to beat her?"

Oh?

Let’s give it a shot.

"Alright," I said sincerely. "This small goal is easier than making a million bucks."

Mariah looked at me like I was completely out of my mind. "Give it a rest. Don’t overestimate yourself."

I shrugged. If I don’t go a little crazy, what’s the point—should I just Venmo people instead? I flashed a sarcastic grin and made a fake money-tossing gesture, earning a snort from Mariah.

"Who knows, want to bet on it?"

Mariah shook her head. "No bet. The outcome’s too obvious."

Doesn’t matter. Talk is cheap—reality hurts more.

I’d better check what awards Savannah swept and start planning how to catch up.

The campus bad boy chases his girl, the leading lady falls in love, I hit the books—

We all have bright futures.

Now the question is: How do I squeeze eight hours of sleep into four, and use the rest to study?

I stared at my coffee-stained planner, already plotting out color-coded blocks of study time. Maybe I’d have to trade late-night Netflix binges for marathon sessions at the campus Starbucks, or maybe I’d finally cave and download every study app on my phone. Who knows—maybe I’d discover a hidden superpower for cramming. Stranger things have happened at this school.

In the classroom building, the bell shrieked, mingling with the groans of late students.

The halls were a stampede of sneakers and backpack zippers, everyone shuffling to beat the clock. I clutched my travel mug, the last sips of cold brew fueling my resolve, the bitter taste waking up my nerves.

"Autumn Blake, you’re going to class too?" Mariah stared at me, textbook in hand, incredulous.

I was baffled. "Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?"

She was just as shocked. "But today is Carter Reed’s basketball game. Don’t you usually go cheer him on?"

It’s just a basketball game—what’s the big deal?

But speaking of basketball, my mind conjured up a classic scene:

A young man, basketball in hand, smiling with that easy confidence, the curve of his lips full of pride, the echo of squeaking sneakers and shouts filling the gym.