Chapter 1: Selling Corn Dogs, Dodging Ghosts

When my childhood friend got into Columbia with guaranteed admission, I ended up at a solid—but honestly, pretty unremarkable—state college. It was the kind of place with brick buildings that all looked exactly alike. Honestly, the highlight of the year was the food truck festival. Still, every time I pictured him striding through those Ivy League halls everyone’s always posting about, I felt that ache in my gut—the one that quietly whispered I wasn’t enough.

To feel worthy of him, I threw myself into studying for Columbia’s grad school entrance exams. I’d hole up in the campus library until closing, guzzling burnt coffee and flipping through practice tests until the numbers blurred. I told myself, if I could just get in, maybe I’d finally belong in his world.

The year I failed, we broke up. No yelling, no tears. Just... silence. It wasn’t a dramatic scene—just a cold, final conversation, the kind that leaves you numb for weeks.

Honestly, I blocked him everywhere. Deleted our photos, erased his number, even changed my Spotify playlist so I wouldn’t accidentally hear our song.

He went to England for a master’s. I started selling corn dogs. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and I kind of liked the sizzle and snap of frying oil. Sometimes the smell clung to my hair, and I wondered if that smell would ever make him think of me, all the way over in London.

Later, one of his friends ran into me and looked absolutely floored.

“What are you doing here? Ethan’s practically lost his mind looking for you.” He sounded half in shock, half worried, like he couldn’t believe I was really there, apron and tongs and all.

I didn’t even bother to look up. “Starting a business. Want to invest?” I tried to sound casual, flipping another corn dog like it was nothing.

Three bucks for one, five for two. Take it or leave it.

When I bumped into Carter Blake, I was smack in the middle of trying to talk a customer into a second corn dog. He was tall, with that polished look that screamed money—shiny shoes, expensive watch, the whole deal. The kind of guy who probably never ate street food in his life.

Carter frowned. “Autumn Blake?” he called, sounding unsure. His voice wavered, like he couldn’t quite believe it was me.

I barely even looked at him. Orders were piling up, and I had ketchup on my sleeve.

His gaze swept over me—busy as ever—then down to my corn dog cart. The logo I’d painted myself was peeling at the corners, but I was weirdly proud of it.

He frowned, like he couldn’t make sense of it. “Why are you doing this?” His brows knitted together. “Why’d you just disappear like that?”

“You know Ethan’s been freaking out trying to find you?” He sounded almost like I owed him an answer.

Finally, after I’d handed out the last order, I had a moment to look up at him. The sunlight caught his hair, and for a second, I was back in high school, sitting across from him at the lunch table.

It took me a second to match his face to a name from memory. I remembered now—he was the golden boy, the one teachers always bragged about. Ethan’s classmate—another Columbia star.

“Starting a business. Want to invest?” I repeated, trying to sound like I was joking.

“Three bucks for one, five for two.” I said it automatically.

“Since we know each other, I’ll cut you a deal—ten for three.” I forced a grin, hoping he’d laugh. He didn’t.

Carter looked a little thrown by my response. He was dressed in a custom suit, briefcase in hand—the very picture of the corporate type I’d always imagined. He looked totally out of place next to my little street cart. I almost felt bad for him. I couldn’t help but notice the way he shifted from foot to foot, like he was itching to be anywhere else.

He stared at me for a long moment, looking awkward, but still bought three corn dogs. Guess even suits get hungry. He handed over a crisp ten, like he was paying for a museum ticket instead of street food.

He hesitated. “Ethan just got back to the States. Do you want to see him?”

I turned him down. “Nah.” I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.

“Please. With my state-college vibes, how could I ever fit in with you Ivy League geniuses?” I said, tossing my hair back. The words tasted a little bitter, but I smiled anyway.

Ethan was a total genius, and everyone around him was too—especially Olivia Chen, his underclassman, who was both smart and beautiful. Campus parties, academic competitions, every event big and small—it was always Ethan and Olivia hosting together. A perfect match, brains and looks both. It was like watching a movie where everyone had perfect teeth and perfect timing.

Ethan was always singing her praises. Not like with me—he only ever called me dumb and lazy. I even had to sneak around just to see him. He looked down on my school, thought I was embarrassing. Every time we met, it was always at a hotel a block away from campus. The kind of place with flickering neon lights and paper-thin walls.

So when word got out that I was trying to get into Columbia for grad school, all his friends thought it was hilarious and tried to talk me out of it: “Maybe try for something a little easier. Columbia’s tough, you know? Don’t waste your time.” Their voices still echoed in my head sometimes, especially when I couldn’t sleep.

Ethan looked at me like I was nuts, frowning. “With your grades? You really don’t know your limits.” His words stung. I pretended not to care.

After I failed the exam, it was only natural that we broke up. Guess I should’ve seen it coming. It felt like the universe confirming what everyone already knew.

I blocked him everywhere. Even set up a new email just to avoid seeing his name pop up.

So yeah, not exactly the fairytale ending I’d pictured. He went to England for more school, and I started selling corn dogs. Not exactly the storybook epilogue I’d hoped for.

Come on. Guys like Ethan don’t chase after girls like me—not in real life.

Before he left, Carter added me on Facebook. “We know each other, after all. Let’s grab a meal sometime.” His profile pic was him at the London Eye, city lights behind him, looking like he belonged there.

I scrolled through his feed. He’d gone to England for school too, now living the fancy life. His posts were all artsy and sophisticated. Sipping espresso in tiny cafes. Posing in front of art installations. The kind of effortless charm I could never fake.

As I kept scrolling, I saw Ethan. Standing right next to him, of course, was Olivia Chen. She looked radiant, her smile almost blinding even through the screen.

After Ethan got into Columbia, I followed all the school’s official accounts. Their campus photography was top-notch—always catching those perfect moments of the two of them smiling at each other, trophies in hand. This post was no different. The comments? Nothing but fire emojis and heart eyes.

I stared at Ethan in his expensive designer clothes, feeling sour, like I’d swallowed a dozen lemons. There was a sharpness in my chest. Just a reminder of everything I wasn’t.

Meanwhile, I was just scraping by. Ethan had really made it. He was living the dream, and I was keeping my head above water.

It’s not your ex finding someone new you have to worry about—it’s your ex showing up in a Range Rover. He’d always had looks and brains, and now he had money too. Every gift cost hundreds. Meanwhile, I had to shop around for coupon apps just to afford a Starbucks latte. Sometimes I’d splurge on a caramel macchiato and feel guilty for days.

If fate only dares to mess with people who went to state schools and now sell corn dogs for a living, then I guess I have nothing more to say. Some people get the golden ticket. The rest of us just try to keep our heads above water.

Maybe it was running into Carter, but that night, I dreamed of the past again. The kind of dream that feels too real, where you wake up and your pillow is damp.

The first time Ethan took me to a Columbia club gathering, a girl who liked him pulled me aside and went off on me: “Family, education, looks—which of those do you have over me?” Her words were sharp, and her eyes were colder than January in New York.

“Ethan must be blind and clueless.” She flipped her hair and walked off. I just stood there, heart in my throat.

Funny thing is, I couldn’t even tell who she was really insulting. Was it me, or was it him for choosing me?

Maybe Ethan and I really were never equals. He was my most impressive boyfriend. But I was just his mistake. I was the stain he’d rather forget.

He was smart and disciplined. In my memory, he always had a cold face when he looked at me, calling me stupid. Sometimes I’d try to make a joke, just to see him smile. Never worked.

I used to push back, throwing myself into studying. That last year, I slept only four hours a night and worked myself sick—ended up in the hospital. But you can’t make a tree grow if it’s already dead—no matter how hard I tried, I could never become the pillar he wanted. I’d stare at my textbooks until my eyes burned, but the grades never changed.

When Ethan got guaranteed admission to Columbia, I only made it into a lousy state college. At first, it was just a gap in degrees: Columbia and a state school. But later, when his wealthy family finally claimed him, it became a class gap—poor scholarship kid versus the Whitmore family heir. No matter how you looked at it, we didn’t fit. It was like trying to force two puzzle pieces together that were never meant to match. No matter how hard you try, it just doesn’t work.

Honestly, thinking back, it’s wild I even tried to stick it out this long. Better scroll through Amazon deals to calm down. Retail therapy might not solve everything, but it sure helps dull the sting.