Chapter 1: I Refuse to Play by the Script

So, I woke up and realized I’d landed smack in the middle of a classic American YA drama—one of those moody, small-town teen soaps where the angst is thicker than the cafeteria mac and cheese.

The second I figured out what kind of story I’d dropped into, I almost groaned out loud. Watching the main couple slog through their tragic love story—running away from home, getting into trouble with the cops, all that melodrama—I cringed hard. The secondhand embarrassment was so bad I wanted to crawl under the desk. All this over high school romance? Seriously? Give me a break.

Come on, high schoolers getting tangled up in romance? Nah, they should be buried in textbooks! I mean, who’s got time for love triangles when you’re drowning in SAT prep and sweating over college essays? Honestly, I wanted to toss everyone a planner and a pack of highlighters right then and there.

So, what did I do? Well, maybe I didn’t literally throw punches, but I definitely shut down the local bullies and called out the mean girls in the halls. If someone tried to shove a kid into a locker, I was right there—ready with a snappy comeback, and, if needed, a well-timed nudge. Word got around fast: I was the weird new teacher. Some students started calling me "Ms. No-Nonsense" behind my back. I’ll take it.

I set my sights on getting those two out of their mess. Forget detention and heartbreak—my mission was to make sure these kids landed scholarships and a real shot at the American dream. Detention and heartbreak? Nah, these kids were about to get a whole new game plan.

No joke, one minute I was scrolling through my phone, next thing I know, I’m living in a world where the cafeteria pizza tastes like cardboard, and the drama’s set to max volume. Welcome to my new reality.

The system dumped me here, left me with a single instruction, then totally ghosted me. It was like some cosmic HR sent the onboarding email and then blocked my number. Classic.

"Change the story’s ending."

So there I was, holding the script the system handed me, flipping to the last page and letting out a deep sigh. The boy gets arrested for love, the girl runs off and marries some random guy out of state. What was this, a bad Netflix original?

I set the script down and just shook my head. Oof. That’s rough. I could practically hear the sad indie soundtrack swelling in the background.

I flipped back a few pages—only got more frustrated. Smoking, drinking, street fights, messy romance, even attempted suicide. And bombing the SATs on top of it all. It read like a checklist of everything you pray your guidance counselor never discovers.

Wait, bombing the SATs?! My heart actually dropped. Not the SATs! That’s a fate worse than heartbreak if you ask me. Seriously, why would you do this to a kid?

After tossing and turning all night, I made up my mind: I’d get them focused on school, working their tails off, crushing the SATs, and chasing the American dream. If I had to drag them there myself, so be it.

Smart kids don’t fall for the dating trap—there’s a whole future waving at you! I could practically see college acceptance letters raining down like confetti.

I almost got choked up by my own pep talk. Who knew I could be this inspiring? Maybe I missed my calling writing motivational posters.

But here’s the thing. My own SAT score? 1170. Yeah, not exactly Harvard material. Go ahead and laugh. I did. Guess I’m the pot calling the kettle average.

Silence. I spent another night debating. Should I fudge it? Nah. Better just fake it ‘til you make it, right?

Forget my 1170. I was fired up. I applied to be a substitute teacher at their school—dusted off my old college diploma, pulled on my best blazer, and tried to act like I actually knew what I was doing. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

When the school board grilled me about why I wanted to teach, I put on my best mysterious voice. "Because I have a hunch there are two prodigies at this school, and I was sent by the district to help them."

The board members just stared at me, eyebrows raised, like I’d started speaking Klingon.

But I still got in. Either they bought my story, or they were just that desperate for teachers. Either way, not complaining here.

Honestly, the system gave me a mission, but I let them think I was some undercover academic fixer. Let ‘em guess.

Rumor spread that I had connections with the superintendent. I might’ve let that slip. Maybe. Who’s keeping track?

Using my made-up backstory, I managed to convince the board to let me teach the main guy’s class. It wasn’t easy—lots of skeptical looks, a few raised eyebrows, but I pulled it off in the end.

The principal was surprised and a little hesitant. "That class is notoriously wild. Why not take our AP class? They’re a breeze."

Hearing that, I was honestly touched. It was the first time anyone ever offered me an easy way out. Almost made me rethink my whole life trajectory.

But I stood my ground. "If I’m here on assignment, I should take on the tough jobs and set an example. Can’t abuse my power for a cushy gig!" I added a little shrug for effect.

The principal got misty-eyed. He squeezed my hand, eyes shining. "Alright, wonderful!"

"Such integrity!" I could practically see cartoon sparkles in his eyes. I’d definitely made an impression.

I waved it off, trying to look modest. "Hey, don’t say that. I’m just here to help the kids." Inside, though, I was already sketching out lesson plans in my head.

I managed to snag the homeroom teacher spot for the main guy’s class on the very day the girl transferred in. I couldn’t help grinning. My timing? Absolutely flawless.

Thinking back to the original plot: the teacher sat the girl next to the guy because he didn’t have a desk partner. The girl, bullied at her old school, had no choice but to seek his protection. That’s how they got tangled up. Not on my watch. No way.

I stroked my chin, then waved my hand like a magician. Not today, fate—not on my turf.

I sat the boy and girl on opposite sides of the front row. One by the window, one by the door. Maximum separation. I even gave them different colored chairs for good measure.

I nodded with satisfaction—putting as much space between them as possible. If the universe wanted to throw them together, it was going to have to work overtime.

But the boy looked seriously annoyed. His sharp, world-weary face twisted in a scowl as he dragged his desk up front with a loud screech, shot me a look, then flopped down and pretended to sleep. He wore his apathy like a badge of honor.

He seemed rebellious, sure, but in some ways, he actually listened to teachers. At least he didn’t flat-out ignore me. Small victories, right?

Still, I swallowed hard and patted my chest. Was I really going to survive a whole semester with this crew? Well, I was sure as heck going to try.

I glanced over at the girl—she looked like a delicate wildflower, arms folded tight, watching me with big, wary eyes, like she was bracing for the next storm.

Girls really are cuter, aren’t they? I couldn’t help but smile at her. Even in all this chaos, some kids just have that gentle glow.

Technically, as the homeroom teacher, my job was just to manage the class, not teach any subjects. Basically, my role was to herd cats and keep the peace.

But come on—why settle for just taking attendance when you could actually change lives?

I cleared my throat at the front of the room. Time to channel my inner Mr. Feeny. "Class!"

"We’re in our senior year—the SATs are coming up!"

"This might be our only shot to change our lives."

"To achieve big things, start with the little ones."

"It’s too late to just work hard—you need to go all in!"

"Seize this chance, turn things around, and hit the books!"

"Class!"

I gave it everything—passionate speech, desk-pounding, the works. I half expected someone to start a slow clap.

Crickets. No one cared. One kid was doodling, another zoned out the window, someone in the back was definitely napping.

Well, so much for my Dead Poets Society moment.

But then!

The girl gave a tiny, gentle clap, her big eyes shining up at me, lips curled in a soft, encouraging smile. It was like someone flicked on a tiny light in a dark room.

My eyes stung. I wanted to run down and swear eternal sisterhood with her right then. Someone finally got it!

You get me! I mentally handed her a gold star. Maybe I could do this after all.

Can’t rush these things—especially with a class full of slackers. Gotta lead them one step at a time. I’d watched enough after-school specials to know that much.

I decided to start with the girl, help her out of her misery, and set her up to be a strong, confident student. She deserved to be the heroine of her own story, not some tragic background character.

As for the boy… I’d get to him soon enough. Heh. One step at a time.

I made a point to talk to the girl. I called her over after class, doing my best friendly-teacher smile. She looked anxious, fiddling with her sleeve, head down, silent by my desk—like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I tried to put her at ease. "Hey, don’t worry—I just want to chat, that’s all." I kept my tone soft, hoping she’d relax.

Still nothing. Her silence felt heavy, like she was holding her breath.

"So, Callie Rivera, I’ve learned a bit about your situation…"

Before I could finish, her face went pale and she started trembling. My heart just broke. No kid should be this scared of a teacher.

"I want you to come stay with me for a while, forget all that other stuff, and focus on prepping for the SATs."

The words just tumbled out before I could stop myself. Maybe it was too much too soon, but I meant every word.

"But… why?" Her eyes were a little red, and she asked stubbornly. I saw a flicker of hope, buried under all that fear.

"You probably don’t know."

I dipped my head, squeezed out a couple of tears, then looked up and wiped at my eyes—without actually wiping away the tears. Yeah, I was laying it on thick, but sometimes you gotta sell the story.

"My family always wanted a boy. My dad wouldn’t let me take the SATs—he made me work to pay for my brother’s tuition, even though my brother didn’t even get into a decent school."

"Not taking the SATs is my lifelong regret, so I don’t want you to feel that way too."

By the end, I almost had myself tearing up. I was never much of an actress, but desperation makes you creative.

As an only child, I mentally apologized to my dad! Sorry, Dad, but this cause is worth it.

But clearly, she felt for me—she wasn’t as wary now. She patted me gently, trying to comfort me. It was a tiny gesture, but it meant everything.

"It’s okay, Ms. Carter. You’re teaching us now, aren’t you?"

… I choked up a little. I didn’t deserve this kid. Not really. But hey, let’s just say I’ve got friends in high places!

Anyway, after settling things with the girl, I turned my attention to the boy. He was the wild card in all this.

I sent a student to fetch Mason Brooks. He didn’t show. The student came back and said, "Ms. Carter, he told you to get lost."

Excuse me? Who does this kid think he is? My eye twitched so hard I thought it might get stuck that way.

I marched right over to his desk, saw him sprawled out asleep, and sneered. He looked like he was auditioning for a grunge band revival.

"Mason Brooks, come to my office. Don’t make me say it twice."

I slammed my hand on his desk, then turned and strode out, trying to look cool as I left. Truthfully, my hand was throbbing like crazy.

Once I was out of sight, I shook my hand, wincing. Damn, that hurt. Next time, I’m bringing a ruler.

Seeing him slouched against the wall, all lazy and boneless, just ticked me off. He was the poster child for teenage apathy.

"I had someone call you earlier. Why didn’t you come?"

I shot him a cold look. I was not in the mood for games.

"Hm?"

He cocked his head, like I’d just started talking quantum physics, then said, "He told me the new homeroom teacher has a crush on me."

I blinked, completely thrown. Was this a prank?

He smirked, his sharp eyes full of mockery. "So I told him to get lost."

…

Well, great. I got played. This class is full of comedians. I mentally added ‘teach basic social skills’ to my ever-growing to-do list.

I dragged that student up to the front and made him stand with Mason Brooks. They looked like the world’s most awkward comedy duo.

I slapped the desk in frustration. "You think this is funny?"

Some students looked up, curious. The rest just looked like they were waiting for the next episode of their favorite sitcom.

"None of you are thinking about the SATs, huh? Less than a year to go and you’re still goofing off. What’s going on in your heads? Don’t care about your futures?"

"What, you proud to end up sweeping floors or working at the local car wash? You want to settle for minimum wage forever?"

A student quietly raised a hand. "Ms. Carter, we eat just fine at home."

I shot him a look. "Glad you’re eating well, but you could be eating steak if you aimed higher."

At least someone was paying attention.

Looking at all those young but numb faces, my heart ached. But seventeen years of apathy doesn’t vanish overnight. I had to remind myself: meet them where they are, not where I want them to be.

All I could do was help as much as I could, hoping they’d get to see the big city someday. Even if they chose to come back, at least it’d be their choice, not the only option. I wanted them to have options, to believe in something more.

After my little outburst, they actually straightened up. During morning study, when I peeked through the back door window, no one was sleeping. Not everyone was working, but even the other teachers noticed and came by to thank me. I felt like the captain of a slowly turning ship.

What can I say? I felt a little proud. Even the school board came to talk to me. I tried not to let it go to my head.

"Didn’t expect your class to get so motivated. You really get involved!"

"Just here to help the kids," I said, playing it cool. But inside, I was beaming.

Don’t fall for me, I’m just a legend. I couldn’t resist winking at the secretary on my way out.