Chapter 4: A Different Kind of Love

In my last life, Natalie ignored every warning and still chased Tyler—her laughter echoing down empty halls, her jacket reeking of smoke, skipping classes like school was just a suggestion. Detention slips piled up, dance rehearsals missed, teachers stopped calling home.

I finally broke and told Mrs. Grant everything. She and Mr. Grant locked Natalie down—private tutor, phone in a drawer, curfews tighter than a drum.

But before graduation, she and Tyler plotted to run away. Mrs. Grant stopped her, and that night, Tyler died in a crash on Route 9. The whole town buzzed with rumors. The Grants moved away, vanishing before the gossip cooled.

Six years later, I saw Natalie again—now a famous dancer, all grace and distance. She’d smile and say, “You always did what was best for me.” But it never reached her eyes.

We dated, married, had a child—just like our parents wanted. But when the truck came, I threw myself in front of them. In the ambulance, Natalie hissed, “That daughter isn’t yours. I never loved you. Marrying you was just revenge.”

Her words echoed as I died, my mind spinning: Was any of it real? Did I ever matter at all?

Trying to save her only brought me pain. Tyler and his crew bullied me—‘snitch’ scrawled on my locker, my backpack dumped in the toilet, forced to get on my knees and beg for my glasses back in front of the whole class. Teachers looked away, afraid of Tyler too.

I learned to time my walks, avoid his gang. My grades slipped, my dreams faded. After Tyler’s death, Natalie blamed me for everything—her silence at the funeral was worse than any insult.

I barely scraped through the most important exam of my life, my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t fill in the bubbles. My rank tanked; Stanford became a joke. The regret followed me everywhere.

But this time, I swore: No more distractions. No more martyr. I’d get into Stanford, no matter what.