Chapter 2

As expected, it barely took two weeks for the rumors about Lennox to spread like wildfire across campus.

It started with him skipping classes, followed closely by showing up late to practice, or just randomly ditching altogether.

Someone claimed they caught Tracy pinning Lennox against the wall by the gym's back door, making out with him while her trailer park deadbeat friends cheered and filmed it on their phones.

Others swore they saw the two of them smoking weed at some underground party, totally wasted.

Just like in my past life—no, even worse. This time, Lennox's downward spiral was happening way faster.

I pieced all this absurdity together from the hallway gossip. The moment I stopped doing his homework and lying to the coach for him, all his cracks vanished and his true incompetence was instantly exposed.

But I couldn't care less. Stanford early applications were right around the corner, and I refused to waste a single second on these meaningless people.

Until one afternoon. I was just about to push open the door to the girls' bathroom when the pungent smell of cheap perfume drifted out, accompanied by voices.

"...So this is what the Vince family's golden boy is really like?"

My hand froze on the doorknob.

Soon after, Tracy's disdainful laugh rang out.

"His dad's money is easier to squeeze out than an ATM. Don't let that gentlemanly, affectionate act fool you—one touch and he melts like mud."

"Hahaha, so what's he like in bed?"

"Desperate, like he's never seen a woman before," Tracy scoffed. "I told him to slow down, and he thought I was complimenting him."

I stood outside, listening to their laughter.

The reckless rebellion and "true love" Lennox thought he was fighting for was nothing more than a cheap joke to Tracy.

Then, the other girl chimed in.

"Take it easy, don't break the golden boy completely. State Playoffs are next month. I heard NCAA scouts are coming."

Tracy was indifferent. "If he breaks, he breaks. The game? All it takes is one word from me, and he'll gladly ditch practice tomorrow just to keep me company."

Next month's State Playoffs would directly decide if Lennox secured his college scholarship. In my past life, it was my endless pleading and covering for him—even helping his parents ground him until game day—that barely saved his spot on the roster.

But this time?

I released the doorknob expressionlessly, turning on my heel toward the end of the hallway, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.

That night, Lennox's mother called.

She was crying so hard she practically lost her voice, repeating over and over that Tracy was a drug-addicted gangbanger who would eventually ruin her son. She begged me to pull Lennox back on track, just like I used to.

My tone, however, remained restrained and completely detached.

"Mrs. Vince, I'm preparing my early applications for Stanford and simply don't have the time. Besides, he is eighteen years old. It's time he learned to take responsibility for his own life."

With that, I politely hung up the phone.

The crushing academic pressure of the pre-application season swallowed the entire senior class, and I pushed my schedule to its absolute limit. Between APs, SATs, competitions, and scholarship essays, I was barely sleeping.

News of Lennox's "latest disasters" kept trickling in anyway: written up for skipping practice, passing out during class, turning off his phone and vanishing completely.

I didn't even flinch, just kept my head down and organized my application materials. I thought that as long as I unilaterally cut ties, we would simply fade into two parallel lines that never crossed again.

However, three days before the State Playoffs, fate aggressively dragged us back into the same orbit.

I had just walked out of the library that afternoon when I witnessed a scene of absolute chaos in the open-air parking lot.

Following his absence records, the team's assistant coach had caught Lennox hiding in an old, rusted sedan at the edge of the lot. When the car door swung open, the stench of weed was strong enough to smell from a distance.

Lennox's father charged forward, his face livid. In front of all the passing students, he grabbed Lennox by the collar and aggressively hauled him out.

"Skipping practice to hide and smoke weed here three days before the playoffs?! Get in the truck! You're not stepping a foot out of your room until the game is over!" Mr. Vince roared, violently dragging him toward his own pickup truck.

This had never happened in my previous life.

I was about to detour around them, but Mr. Vince suddenly snapped his head around in the crowd and spotted me walking by.

Shoving a thrashing Lennox into the backseat, he pointed a finger at me and bellowed through gritted teeth, "Harper! If you ever catch him hanging around this trailer trash at school again, you call me immediately!"

Pinned against the car window, Lennox froze instantly.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. His pupils shrank as a flash of misguided realization crossed his face, followed immediately by a glare of pure, defensive hatred piercing straight through me.

He was convinced I was the one who snitched to his dad. He was convinced I still couldn't stand seeing him happy and was using these dirty tricks to drag him back under my control.

Looking at the absolute loathing in his eyes, I swallowed back even half a syllable of explanation. He wasn't just an irrational lunatic; he was an idiot. No matter what I said now, he wouldn't believe it.

The pickup's engine roared to life with a deafening screech. Stomping on the gas, Mr. Vince tore out of the parking lot with Lennox trapped inside.

The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed. A large section at the edge of the sprawling parking lot was left completely empty.

Then, from the other side of that rusted, weed-reeking sedan, Tracy stepped out. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there.