Chapter 1: How Not to Die in a Soap Opera

On the third day after waking up as the villainous supporting character in this story, the lightbulb finally went off for me.

It took me a while, but the reality hit me like a ton of bricks: in the original plot, I met a tragic end because I ticked off the heroine while chasing after the guy she liked. This time, I decided to play matchmaker for the main couple, push them together, and get this trainwreck of a story over with as fast as possible. Maybe then I could finally breathe. That way, I could enjoy being the number one princess of Maple Heights—without a care in the world!

Honestly, I could practically see myself—like, I mean, really see myself—lounging on the front porch, sipping sweet tea, just watching the drama unfold from a safe distance—finally, none of it my problem. The sooner I got the main couple together, the sooner I could kick back and live my best life.

"Miss, you need to hit the books tomorrow once you’ve had your medicine." Old Mrs. Watkins, my longtime housekeeper, brought over the medicine, her wrinkled face scrunched up in a mix of tired patience and that little head-shake she reserved just for me.

She set the mug down on the nightstand with a little clatter, her silver hair pulled back in a bun—like always—and that look in her eyes... the one that said she’d seen every trick in the book, especially when it came to me.

I hesitated as I took the mug, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes, then asked, "So, like, if I don’t drink this, does that mean I don’t have to study tomorrow?"

I even tried to bat my lashes, holding the mug hostage—like I might just dump it in the ficus if she so much as blinked.

"What do you think?" Mrs. Watkins gave me a look like she’d been putting up with my nonsense since the dawn of time.

She didn’t even flinch. That was her way—unshakeable, just like old oaks after a storm. Honestly, I swear, I could set the house on fire and she’d just sigh and tell me to grab the good china.

I'm Savannah Whitaker, the eleventh child of Mayor Whitaker of Maple Heights. The only daughter of the Mayor and First Lady, and the most spoiled little princess in the whole town. Go figure—I’m literally the only girl in the whole family.

Yeah, you heard that right. Ten brothers—ten!—and me. Let’s just say my closet was always full and my curfew was non-existent. But God help the boy who tried to hold my hand on Main Street.

Since I was little, I’ve been bold, stubborn, and always got my way. At fourteen, I met Mr. Carter, the new English teacher at Maple Heights Academy, and fell for him at first sight. I did everything I could to get close to him, but he avoided me like the plague. Later, when I found out he and Elena Rivera—the state representative’s daughter—were in love, I got even more reckless. I tried to make his life miserable and even schemed against Elena. In the end, when Mr. Carter finally made it big, he poisoned me at the family estate. Turns out, all that supposed affection was just a bad dream—like something out of a Lifetime movie marathon.

I mean, seriously, who writes this stuff? Southern gothic meets bad soap opera. And I’m the one who gets the short straw. Go figure.

Of course, that was the ending I saw for Savannah Whitaker before I woke up in her shoes. Obviously, I’m not her. Who would’ve thought a modern 21st-century woman—a total knockout and future superstar—would end up inside a romance novel just because she stayed up late reading?

Honestly, I should’ve known better than to binge-read until 3 a.m. I always said those book hangovers would be the death of me. Well—guess I was right.

And… not even as the heroine! Seriously, what did I do to deserve this?

The universe really does have a twisted sense of humor. I mean, come on. Not even a shot at the lead? Just the girl who gets dunked on for comic relief?

But hey, there’s still time. Right now, Savannah has only been bugging Mr. Carter for about a year, and the sweet, gentle heroine hasn’t even shown up yet. That means, as long as I keep things strictly teacher-student with Mr. Carter and don’t do anything dumb to mess with the heroine at school... If I just play my supporting role quietly, maybe I can avoid a tragic end.

I could practically hear my mom’s voice: "Just keep your head down, honey, and don’t go looking for trouble, you hear?"

"Miss, miss." Mrs. Watkins called, her wrinkled face creasing into a smile. "Time to get to the Academy. Your classmates and Mr. Carter are waiting for you."

She had that practiced patience, the kind that could only be earned by raising eleven Whitaker kids. She’d seen me fake fevers, hide in closets, and once—even pretend to be a ghost just to skip class. Honestly, nothing shocked her anymore.

"What’s the rush?" I turned over lazily, then mumbled through a mouthful of medicine, "He doesn’t want to see me anyway. Saves him the trouble."

I let my voice go all Southern-dramatic, like Scarlett O’Hara with a cold. Lord, help me. Mrs. Watkins just shook her head, probably wishing she could retire already.

In the book, Mr. Carter can’t stand Savannah Whitaker. Honestly, can you blame him?

"Miss, your father brought in a few new classmates for you today. Maybe they’ll cheer you up," Mrs. Watkins coaxed.

She had that sly twinkle in her eye, the one that meant she knew more than she let on. I sat up a little straighter. Curiosity piqued.

"New classmates…" I perked up. "You know, is there a girl from the Rivera family?"

I tried to sound casual, but my heart was thumping like a marching band at the Fourth of July parade. My palms were already sweaty. Great.

Mrs. Watkins thought a moment. "There should be. That Elena Rivera is famous for her smarts around here. The First Lady heard about her and asked her to come study with you."

She played it cool, but I could feel her eyes on me. Mrs. Watkins always did have a nose for drama.

My heart skipped a beat. No way. This is it, isn’t it?

I swear, I could feel the plot thickening right there in my chest—like I’d just spotted a tornado on the horizon.

The state representative’s daughter, Elena Rivera, is beautiful, super talented, gentle... and friendly. Yup—the delicate, sweet heroine is about to arrive!

I could practically hear the soundtrack swell. All that was missing was a gust of wind and the camera panning in slow motion. Honestly, all I needed was a popcorn bucket.

I quickly packed my backpack and dashed to the Academy’s study hall like my shoes were on fire. No way was I missing this.

I didn’t even stop to tie my sneakers. I just grabbed my bag, crammed a granola bar in my mouth, and bolted down the hallway. Mrs. Watkins called after me, but I was already halfway out the door, adrenaline pumping.

Mrs. Watkins hurried after me, mimicking my sneaky moves—her old bones creaking as she tried to keep up. She bent down and whispered, "Savannah, what are you doing?"

She tried to keep up, but her knees weren’t what they used to be. Still, she managed to shuffle beside me, whispering like we were planning a jailbreak. I had to stifle a laugh.

I pressed myself against the glass window, spying into the classroom. I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, just waiting for the show to start.

I felt like Nancy Drew, peeking through the window, looking for clues. My breath fogged up the glass, but I wiped it away with my sleeve. This was better than TV.

"Savannah!" Mrs. Watkins squinted her old eyes and patted me gently, her hand lingering on my shoulder.

She always did have the softest hands, even when she was scolding me. Her touch brought me back to earth for a second, and I took a deep breath.

I turned and spotted, at the teacher’s desk, a thin young man standing tall. Could that be Mr. Carter? Or was my memory playing tricks?

He looked different than I remembered—maybe it was the lighting, or maybe just my nerves. Still, there was something familiar about the way he stood, all stiff and serious. It was definitely him.

"Savannah!" Mrs. Watkins yelled, making me jump so hard I tumbled right into the study hall. So much for being stealthy.

My heart leapt into my throat. I lost my balance and toppled right through the doorway, arms flailing. So much for my subtle entrance. Why me?

I shut my eyes, thinking, Oh crap, I’m toast…

I braced for impact, hoping I wouldn’t break anything—or anyone—on the way down. This was not how I pictured my morning.

Thud.

A pair of strong hands caught me—a faint scent of aftershave lingering in the air, something like cedar and mint.

The grip was steady, warm, and a little too familiar. For a split second, I thought I’d landed in a rom-com, not a tragedy. Was this my meet-cute?

The man at the front of the room, hearing the commotion, was about to turn around. All eyes were on me. Of course.

The entire class seemed to freeze, every head swiveling in my direction. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Fantastic.

Trying to recover, I blurted out, "I—I mean, this student is late. Sorry, Mr. Carter!"

I tried to sound as chipper as possible, but my voice wobbled. My Southern drawl came out stronger when I was nervous. So much for playing it cool.

My stuttering made the other students snicker behind their hands. I could practically hear the whispers starting.

Someone in the back let out a muffled giggle. I wanted to crawl under a desk and disappear. Why did it always have to be me?

The room went dead quiet. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

Silence stretched. I glanced around, hoping someone would bail me out, but nope—everyone was loving the show. Typical.

The man at the front froze. He didn’t move, but I could sense the tension rolling off him like a summer storm. Yikes.

I tried again, sheepish: "Mr. Carter?"

My voice was smaller this time, almost apologetic. I could feel my ears burning. Please let this be over soon.

"Not only are you late, but your mind’s clearly still in bed." A smooth, low voice came from behind, making my heart skip a beat. Busted.

There was something in that voice—steady, confident, just a little dangerous. I swallowed hard, trying not to look as rattled as I felt.

I turned and saw a pair of hands still on my waist, steady and warm. That touch was doing weird things to my brain.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. The touch was gentle, but firm—enough to remind me I was very much in the spotlight. This was not how I pictured surviving high school.

Looking up, I saw beneath a dark suit jacket a man with black hair, stylish glasses, and a devastatingly handsome face—his blue eyes cold as he glanced at me. Seriously, was this guy for real?

He looked like he’d walked out of a GQ spread—sharp suit, crisp shirt, and a gaze that could cut glass. Those blue eyes weren’t just cold; they were arctic. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

I raised an eyebrow, thinking, This guy’s got nerve. Is he from the book? Maybe I missed a chapter.

I tried to remember if there was some secret character I’d missed—a hidden heartthrob with a secret agenda. My mind raced, but I came up empty.

"Savannah…" Mrs. Watkins’s face was horrified. She whispered, "That’s Mr. Carter."

Her voice was barely audible, but the urgency was clear. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Oh boy.

Mr. Carter?

No way. I did a double-take, my mind scrambling to connect the dots. This could not be happening.

I looked at the back of the thin man at the desk—he turned around, and his face was pockmarked! What the…? Wasn’t the male lead supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous? This…

I blinked, trying to process the plot twist. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? My expectations had clearly been set way too high. Welcome to my life.

Ha—

The handsome man behind me chuckled again. The sound sent shivers down my spine. There was something oddly familiar, and unsettling, about the way he laughed. Not helping, dude.

I shivered. Goosebumps prickled along my arms. I tried to play it cool, but I was rattled. Not my best moment.

"M-Mr. Carter?" I tried to look cute. I gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent look—the one that always worked on my brothers when I wanted the last slice of pie.

"I heard you caught a cold. Has it gone to your head?" Mr. Carter held a pen, staring at me with a detached look. His tone was flat, but his eyes never left my face. I felt like he was dissecting me, piece by piece. Creepy.

"Heh… I guess so. Still a bit fuzzy from being sick." I laughed awkwardly and rushed to the nearest empty seat. "Mr. Carter, please go on. I won’t interrupt."

I practically dove into my chair, pulling my backpack onto my lap like a shield. The other students exchanged glances, probably wondering if I’d finally lost it. Maybe I had.

He raised his brows, surprised that the usually bratty Savannah wasn’t pestering him today and was actually behaving. Was I that transparent?

He hesitated for a split second, as if waiting for the punchline. When none came, he just shrugged and turned back to the lesson. Guess I passed—barely.

I was secretly delighted. This was exactly what I wanted. As long as I kept my distance from him and didn’t cross any lines, maybe my ending wouldn’t be as tragic as the original. Fingers crossed.

Inside, I did a little victory dance. Maybe this time, I could outsmart fate. Or at least survive until finals.

"Just now, we were talking about ‘iron sharpening iron.’" Mr. Carter tapped the book, his gaze sweeping over everyone. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like he was daring someone to challenge him.

"Anyone know what that means?"

He looked around expectantly, but the room stayed silent. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

The class fell silent. Everyone was either avoiding eye contact or pretending to read their textbooks. It was classic high school awkwardness. I felt right at home.

I looked around. Where’s the sweet heroine? I scanned the room, hoping for a sign—a flutter of green fabric, maybe, or a gentle smile. Nothing yet. Come on, story, give me something.

"Savannah, you seem distracted. Do you know the answer?" Mr. Carter’s eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed. He was calling me out, and I knew I had to play dumb. My palms got sweaty.

I gulped. Caught daydreaming. I knew what the saying meant, but the original Savannah was clueless. I could only stammer. Maybe if I played dumb, he’d move on.

I fiddled with my pen, trying to look confused. If I showed off now, I’d just draw trouble. Not today, Satan.

"It means that people can help each other improve, like how iron sharpens iron. Originally, it was about learning from others’ strengths. Later, it meant listening to different opinions can help you grow."

A girl slowly walked in, wearing a pale green dress, her features delicate and her presence almost ethereal. It was like the universe had finally cued her entrance.

She floated into the room like a spring breeze, her steps light and graceful. Every head turned, and even the sun seemed to shine a little brighter through the window. If this were a movie, the soundtrack would swell right now.

My eyes lit up—she’s here! The heroine, gliding in like she’s floating. I could barely contain my excitement. This was it—the story was finally kicking into gear.

"Sorry I’m late, Mr. Carter." Elena Rivera smiled, but there was a sharp glint in her eyes. That’s right—the heroine of this book seems sweet and harmless, but she’s actually pretty cunning. The original Savannah was all bark and no brains, obsessed with her crush’s attention toward Elena, so she made Elena’s life hell. That’s why, in the end, Elena and Mr. Carter teamed up and took her down. Thinking of this, I shivered—determined to play cupid for the main couple and save my own skin!

I shot her a quick, nervous grin, hoping she’d see me as harmless—or better yet, as an ally. Please let this work.

Mr. Carter’s gaze landed on Elena. He seemed to soften, just a bit. The tension in his shoulders eased, and I caught a flicker of something—maybe admiration, maybe curiosity—in his eyes. Oh, here we go.

I couldn’t help but watch, remembering that, according to the plot, the heroine would almost twist her ankle and the hero would catch her. That’s when Mr. Carter would start falling for her. I stared, waiting for the line: "Miss, be careful."

I held my breath, half-expecting the universe to cue the dramatic music. Instead, all I got was silence and a slow, measured glance from Mr. Carter. Huh.

Elena’s eyes were gentle… She looked at Mr. Carter with the kind of softness you only see in Hallmark movies, but there was a sharpness behind it—a steel core wrapped in velvet.

"Try to be on time next time."

Mr. Carter’s tone was cold, his face blank as he tapped the desk and shot me a look: "Savannah, focus on your studies and stop daydreaming."

He really hit those last words. His voice was sharp, and the room seemed to shrink. I sank a little lower in my seat, cheeks burning. Ouch.

Huh?

That’s not how it goes!

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Wasn’t he supposed to be swooning over Elena by now? Did I mess up the timeline?

Elena calmly walked toward me. She moved with quiet confidence, glancing at me with a small, knowing smile. The rest of the class watched, curious. I tried to look casual.

Huh?

"Hi, Savannah." She smiled and nodded. Her voice was warm, but her eyes flickered with something unreadable. I tried to match her energy, smiling back.

Why is she so steady? The plot’s all wrong! My mind spun, but I just beamed: "Elena, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

I laid on the Southern charm thick, hoping flattery would win her over. You catch more flies with honey, right?

Flattery can’t hurt. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mama, it’s that a compliment can open doors—or at least buy you some goodwill.

Elena’s expression twitched for a second. She seemed caught off guard, like she wasn’t expecting kindness from the infamous Savannah. A little crack in her perfect composure.

Even Mr. Carter gave me a thoughtful look. He studied me, his blue eyes narrowing. Maybe I was acting too out of character?

Did I say something weird…?

I replayed the words in my head, wondering if I’d accidentally insulted her. My nerves were frayed. Don’t blow it now, Savannah.

After class, Mr. Carter kept me behind. He waited until the last student left, then motioned for me to stay. My heart pounded. This couldn’t be good.

"Mr. Carter… is there something you need?" I clutched my sweater, bracing myself. I tried to look innocent, but I was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

He stared at me with a half-smile. "You’re really forgetful. Didn’t you ask me to teach you piano?" His tone was teasing, but there was a challenge in his eyes. I didn’t like where this was going.

Piano lessons?

Oh right, in the story, Savannah lied to get close to Mr. Carter, making him teach her piano so she could try to win first place at the Mayor’s birthday gala. But the heroine always won in the end, which made Savannah hate her even more. Anyway—what I need to do now is keep my distance from Mr. Carter. After all, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder… Actually, I’m just scared the cold-hearted male lead will end up killing me.

I remembered the plot twist a little too late. My palms got clammy. I needed an out—fast.

I rolled my eyes and quickly said, "Oh! Right! But there’s no need now."

I tried to sound breezy, like I’d just lost interest. No big deal. Please buy it.

Mr. Carter raised an eyebrow. "You don’t want me to teach you?" He looked genuinely surprised, maybe even a little offended. That was new. I almost felt bad—almost.

I forced a smile. "I’m really not cut out for piano, and besides…"

I trailed off, hoping he’d let it go. But he just waited, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. No such luck.

He waited for me to finish. The silence stretched. I scrambled for an excuse, anything that would sound believable.

My mind raced, then I remembered: "Besides, Caleb Thompson promised to teach me."

I blurted out the first name that came to mind. Caleb was safe—friendly, harmless, and definitely not the main character.

Mr. Carter frowned slightly. "The councilman’s son? He is talented."

His jaw tightened, just a bit. Was that jealousy? Or just annoyance at being replaced? Either way, I’d take it.

Caleb is one of Savannah’s few friends in the story. He’s the kind of guy who’s always up for a laugh, and he never took my drama too seriously. I could trust him to play along.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Then, Mr. Carter, I’ll be going."

I grabbed my bag, ready to make a quick exit. My heart was pounding, but I managed a polite smile. Get out while you can, Savannah.

For some reason, my hasty escape seemed to annoy him a little. He watched me go, a faint crease between his brows. I hurried out before he could change his mind.