Chapter 1: The Accusation

A sophomore had the nerve to accuse Emily Harper—a senior and the club’s golden girl—of stealing the championship trophy. Like, seriously?

The whole thing was so dramatic it felt ripped straight from a Netflix group chat or a Snapchat story gone viral. But this wasn’t just some meme—it was actually happening, right here at Northbrook High. Even if you couldn’t care less about trophies, you could practically feel the tension sizzling in the halls.

The two faced off in the school auditorium. Emily’s heart hammered in her chest. She could feel a bead of sweat slide down her back as the whispers around her grew louder, like a hive of bees. The overhead lights buzzed above, casting a harsh spotlight over the stage. Rows of students leaned forward in their seats, eyes glued to the drama unfolding. The whole scene could’ve been a season finale cliffhanger in a YA show—except it was their actual, very real life in their sleepy Midwestern town.

It was the kind of over-the-top scene you’d expect in a YA novel made for girls—complete with shaky accusations and the threat of total social annihilation.

A murmur ran through the crowd—phones up, screens glowing, fingers flying as hashtags like #TrophyGate and #DramaClubDisaster started popping up. People whispered in cliques, some smirking, others gasping. This was peak high school chaos.

Everyone in the club believed the sweet, innocent underclassman. She always wore pastel cardigans and carried a sparkly water bottle, the kind that said “Be Kind” in bubble letters. Rumors twisted facts faster than a game of telephone, and the sophomore played her victim role to perfection. Her trembling voice and big, watery eyes tipped the scales. Even Emily’s closest friends shuffled awkwardly, staring at their sneakers, not daring to speak up.

By the end of the meeting, the club president—her so-called fiancé—looked her dead in the eye and told her to leave. In front of everyone.

It was brutal—the same guy who’d slow-danced with Emily at Homecoming now acting like she was nothing. “We have to do what’s right for the team,” he’d said, his voice echoing off the auditorium walls. The words stung more than the accusation itself.

Alex Carter slammed the book shut, frustration thrumming through him.

He flung the paperback onto his comforter, raking a hand through his messy brown hair. “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever let that slide,” he muttered. “If I were her, I’d show them what real strength looks like.”

If he were that girl, he’d flip the script—call out the liars, make everyone eat their words, maybe even chuck the trophy at their feet for effect.

The next second—

He blacked out.

The world spun. The ceiling, the walls, his pile of laundry—all dissolved into darkness. Silence swallowed everything, and then—nothing.