Chapter 3

I looked at Vivian in confusion.

"You know how much heavier the workload is in honors compared to the regular track," she said. "Blake just transferred in yesterday, so he didn't know the drill and showed up late this morning. The teacher hit him with a thousand-word essay as punishment.

"You're a great writer, Derek, so can you just write it for him?"

Vivian tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was incredible how such a pretty face could belong to someone with such a trash personality.

From watching Derek go through one hundred and one loops as a ghost, I knew he'd taken the fall and written essays for Blake before. He had agreed to do it only because Vivian promised to walk home with him every afternoon in exchange.

Except she never kept her promise. Not even once.

Derek always ended up walking home alone, forced to face his suffocating, abusive parents by himself.

"No way," I said, my voice flat and firm.

The playful smile on Vivian's face instantly dropped. "Derek, you were never like this before. You never say no to me."

"Well, now I do. Get out of my face."

Without another word, I snatched my prep book right out of her hands. This girl had already wasted ten whole minutes of my study time!

Earlier this morning, while I was limping into school from the sheer pain on my back, I saw Vivian and Blake sitting inside that overpriced café right by the main gate—the kind of place that charges ten bucks for a single pastry.

Blake was slouched back with his legs crossed, showing off a pair of brand-new limited-edition Jordans. Shoes that his parents couldn't afford if they worked their food truck for the rest of their lives.

He was swinging one foot conspicuously without a care in the world.

They both knew the real reason why he was late.

Before Vivian could open her mouth to lecture me again, I yanked back my long sleeve, exposing the dark, ugly welts running down my arm.

"Vivian, since I didn't make honors, my parents demanded that I score among the top ten students on the next school-wide exam. As an elite student, you should know exactly how impossible that is," I said coldly.

I held out my forearm, the vivid red welts burning in full view.

"I'm not getting beaten again," I said, "So, if you care at all about Derek—no, about the friendship you and I grew up sharing, don't disturb me while I study."

…

Vivian's eyes locked onto my arm, her jaw dropping open. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

Just as I was about to pull my sleeve back down, her warm hand wrapped around my wrist.

"Did... Did your parents do this to you?" Vivian whispered.

She lightly brushed her fingers against the cuts and leaned in, almost as if she was about to kiss the raw skin, but I yanked my arm back and dodged her touch.

Vivian didn't push it, though her voice shook.

"How could they do this to you? It's all my fault. I should've gone home with you yesterday to explain everything."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached out to stroke my hair with sudden tenderness.

"It's just top ten, right?

"Don't worry, I'm ranked first in our grade. I've got your back."

I hadn't expected anything from Vivian, but over the next few days, she actually kept her head down. She stayed by my side, helping me study and highlighting the key points.

As I had already been dragged through Derek's previous one hundred and one lives, most of the high school curriculum made complete sense to me.

Half the literature passages were classic essays from my own era that had simply been recycled into textbooks.

I had even learned basic English back then. The first English word and the first English sentence I ever learned, were taught to me by that woman.

"Peace and love."

Then there was History... Reading these textbooks taught me that just six years after I died, our country faced not only civil conflict but also a brutal foreign invasion. Yet against all odds, we won. It took countless bloody, heartbreaking battles to buy the peace these kids take for granted today.

I wished so badly I could go back in time and tell "her" that people today didn't just get to read books—there were no more wars to fight, either.

"Why didn't you choose a humanities-focused course load instead of STEM?" Vivian asked, pausing her calculations and spinning a pen idly between her fingers, "STEM is clearly way harder for you to catch up on."

It was because technology was the ultimate source of power, I thought to myself. Back in my day, all we had were our bodies and blood to throw against foreign artillery and gunfire. It was horrific.