Chapter 2: The Choice to Run

The moment I was completely abandoned, I felt dead inside. I acted on impulse. When you blow up your life like that, there’s no coming back. I was determined—never again would I have anything to do with the three of them.

There’s a special kind of emptiness that hits when you realize you’ve been left behind for good. It crawls inside and hollows you out, until acting on pure instinct is the only thing that feels real. That night, I wasn’t thinking about consequences or plans. Just escape—burn the bridges, torch the past, run.

But then, a tense, urgent voice yanked me back from the edge: “Son, the folks from Maple Heights Academy are about to arrive. You’ve got the best grades—hurry up and get yourself together so they’ll notice you.”

My mom was wringing her hands, her voice sharp with that edge she only got when something truly mattered. Dad hovered behind her, shifting from foot to foot, like he was trying to will me into my shoes. The old clock over the kitchen table ticked louder than usual, and somewhere, the neighbor’s dog barked. I blinked, piecing it together—this wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. A second chance, reset to the day everything started going wrong.

Opening my eyes, I saw my parents’ anxious faces. I stared in disbelief, looking around. The hellish scene of disaster was gone, and the pain in my body had vanished. Only then did I realize—I’d really been given a second chance. I was back on the day the three prodigies from Maple Heights Academy came to the Carter family to recruit new students.

I nearly laughed from the shock. The faded wallpaper, the worn armchair in the corner, the sun peeking through smudged windowpanes—all of it so achingly normal, so real. My chest ached with leftover panic, but I forced myself to focus. If fate was offering me a do-over, I’d be a fool not to take it.

Remembering everything that had just happened, I shook my head desperately and refused: “Dad, Mom, I’m not going. Please don’t mention me. If you have to, just say I left for a trip two weeks ago and I’m not home.”

They stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Mom’s mouth fell open. Dad’s face was a mess of confusion and rising frustration. I could feel their worry thick in the air, like humidity before a Midwest storm. But I couldn’t risk it. Not after everything.

After speaking, I ran back to my room to pack and get out. In my previous life, I was exceptionally talented and was unanimously chosen by Natalie, Aubrey, and Lillian—three senior girls as untouchable as movie stars—to join Maple Heights Academy as their only direct little brother.

The memory was bittersweet. My hands shook as I stuffed clothes into my battered old duffel. I remembered how my name was whispered in the halls, how teachers patted my shoulder and classmates watched with envy. It all felt like a bad dream now—one I couldn’t wake up from.

Everyone was jealous of me, and I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Looking back, those three were just as dazzling in my eyes, and I was inspired to follow them. After they decided to take me under their wing, everyone thought I’d be living the dream—doted on by all. I was over the moon as I followed the three girls back to the academy.

I can almost taste that feeling: the heady rush of being singled out, the way my feet barely touched the ground as I trailed in their wake. People smiled at me for the first time. I thought I’d finally found my place—safe, important, seen. But dreams like that don’t last.

The three were cold as ice, keeping everyone at arm’s length. To win their approval, I did everything I could to get close. I volunteered for all the grunt work, never complaining. I thought that hard work would pay off.

I’d wipe down tables in the rec center, organize club sign-ups, haul heavy boxes across campus—always hoping they’d toss me a word of thanks. I learned their coffee orders by heart, memorized every quirk and habit. But each favor only pushed them farther away, the wall between us getting taller, like they were building it brick by brick.

But just when I thought I was finally about to be accepted, they brought in another little brother from outside—Lucas. Unlike me, who had to do everything perfectly to change their minds, Lucas was loved by them the moment he arrived, getting in a day what I worked a year for. From the moment he came, the three girls no longer noticed I existed, focusing all their attention on him. Though they were cold by nature, they actually smiled at Lucas. Though there were three of them, all vied to take care of him, and none paid attention to me.

Lucas showed up like some golden retriever, all easy smiles and effortless charm. Suddenly, the impossible happened: Natalie laughed at his jokes, Aubrey shared her playlists with him, Lillian baked him cookies on weekends. I was a shadow in the doorway, watching the world move on without me.

When I ran into problems and needed help, not only did they refuse to see me, they even shut me out: “Lucas is homesick. We want him to make some comfort food. Don’t disturb us.”

The words stung, sharp and final. I hovered by the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, and listened as they giggled and cooked together. That night, I ate ramen alone in the dim light of the dorm lounge, pretending not to care as laughter floated down the hall.

I left in despair, trying to figure things out alone, nearly falling apart and ruining my future. Because of Lucas, they gradually started to dislike me. My dorm, my resources, my stuff—everything was taken back and handed to Lucas. He’d get praised for the smallest thing, while I, no matter how much I did, couldn’t earn a single kind look. I was thoroughly ignored.

My name disappeared from group texts. Someone else’s books filled my shelf. It was like I’d never existed, except for the ache in my chest. Every day felt like walking across black ice, just trying not to fall apart in front of everyone.

But they forgot—I was the little brother they first brought in. They’d promised to have my back forever.

I clung to those early promises, even as they faded like writing in the rain. I told myself it had to be a mistake, that things would turn around. But some stories don’t get happy endings, no matter how hard you try.

In Lucas’s third year at the academy, to help him achieve something, the three personally took him to the off-limits section to face a challenge. But Lucas, spoiled by their love, never took things seriously. In a crisis, not only was he useless, but in his panic to escape, he ran around and somehow made things worse. The three, who could have gotten out unharmed, were forced to protect him and ended up getting hurt.

I still remember the alarms blaring, the flash of red emergency lights bouncing off the old gym walls. Lucas fumbled, panicked, almost got everyone caught in the crossfire. I watched, helpless, as the three threw themselves between him and danger—scrambling to shield him from the fallout of his own mistakes.

Seeing disaster about to strike, Lucas, scared out of his mind, abandoned the three and ran off alone. At that time, I was fighting with a troublemaker trying to sneak into the academy. Sensing they were in danger, I didn’t hesitate and took a hit for them, dragging my battered body to rescue them. In the end, I risked everything to save the three.

I heard the shouts before I saw the blood. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, but I couldn’t. I crashed through the doors, took a punch meant for someone else, and half-staggered, half-dragged the three girls out into the night air. The taste of copper was thick in my mouth, my hands numb. But I’d done it—I’d gotten them out. Or so I thought.

At that point, I was already at my limit. After dragging them out of the off-limits area, I collapsed, coughing up blood, nearly dead. Everyone admired what I’d done. But they weren’t grateful at all; instead, they angrily questioned why, if I was so capable, I hadn’t come sooner, since Lucas was scared and now missing.

The nurses clucked over me as I lay on the cracked vinyl cot in the campus infirmary. But instead of gratitude, the girls just glared, their voices cold as ice water. “If you could save us, why didn’t you come sooner?” Aubrey demanded. “Lucas is missing. This is your fault.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut and tried to explain, but they didn’t believe me, even suspecting I’d deliberately made things worse out of jealousy—otherwise, why would I show up just in time to save them?

I tried to speak, voice barely a whisper, but Natalie cut me off. “Were you trying to make us owe you? Are you jealous of Lucas?” The accusation stung more than any wound. I realized then—they’d already decided I was the villain.

The more they thought about it, the angrier they got. Their looks toward me turned icy. Then, all three turned on me, and I ended up with a bloody wound in my chest. Only when Lucas strolled back, shamelessly claiming he’d survived by luck, did the three drop everything to take care of him, not sparing a glance for me, lying there bleeding.

I lay there watching them fuss over Lucas, the only sound my own ragged breathing. Blood soaked my shirt, but no one noticed. Not a single glance. I faded into the background for good.

Later, when disaster struck, the three only protected their beloved little brother and left me behind without mercy. How tragic, that even in the end, I couldn’t get them to look back at me once.

When the real crisis hit, I was already gone—left behind in more ways than one. I watched from the shadows as they circled the wagons around Lucas, never once looking back. In the end, I was just a ghost at my own funeral, longing for a single second of recognition.

Thinking back now, it’s almost laughable. Because I cherished the feeling of being chosen, I endured everything. I never thought that no matter how much I did, I couldn’t earn a single kind word. What was I even hoping for?

I shake my head now, almost smiling at my own foolishness. It’s like chasing after rainbows, thinking you’ll ever reach the end. Sometimes, you have to let go of the hope that’s killing you.

Who would have thought that joining the academy wouldn’t open up a bright future, but a toxic mess full of suffering, tormenting both body and mind. Not to mention, the pain of blowing up my life before getting this second chance is still vivid, warning me not to make the same mistake again. I should run as far as possible and never get involved with them again. If I don’t run, I might not survive.

I pace the edge of my bed, knuckles white around the backpack straps. Every scar feels fresh. I can almost hear the voices of my past self screaming: Run. Run and don’t look back.

The more I thought about it, the more anxious I got. I dropped my backpack, grabbed a handful of cash, stuffed it into my hoodie, and was about to leave. Who knew that just as I was about to step out of the living room, my dad stopped me: “Being picked by Maple Heights Academy is the dream of every parent—a huge honor for our family. How can you throw away your future over something small and even try to fool the recruiters?”

Dad’s voice was stern, but underneath, it trembled with hope and fear. He grabbed my shoulder, his hand rough and warm, just like when I was a little kid. “This is the real deal, Ethan. Do you have any idea what this means for us?”

“If you were just some distant cousin, that’d be fine. But you’re our only son—we want you to succeed. You have to go.”

Mom also pleaded: “Yes, Ethan. Besides, wasn’t getting into Maple Heights your dream since you were a kid? Have you forgotten how you always said you wanted to do something good for people? Be good, listen to your dad, and put other things aside.”

She wiped her eyes on the hem of her apron. The kitchen still smelled faintly of last night’s chili, grounding me in the home I was about to leave behind. Her voice wobbled with old pride and new worry. The kitchen suddenly felt tiny, air heavy with expectation. I couldn’t meet their eyes.

Maple Heights Academy is a top school, everyone wants in. Plus, with my grades and my childhood dream, my parents would never give up easily. In the past, even if no one wanted me, I’d shamelessly hang on. But now it’s different. Since I’ve been given another chance, how could I go back just to be a stepping stone for Lucas, only to end up a mess?

Their words echoed in my mind, but the memory of being overlooked, trampled on, was stronger. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not going to be anyone’s backup plan again—not even for the dream I once held so tightly.

My parents tried to push me back, wanting me to change clothes and go out to greet them, telling me not to make trouble. Seeing that if I didn’t leave now it’d be too late, I closed my eyes and, without hesitation, trashed my own future. Though my parents weren’t teachers, they knew how important this was. Without a shot at Maple Heights, I’d never get another chance. My face was pale and there was blood on my shirt, scaring them half to death.

My hands shook as I gripped the banister. I felt the room tilt and caught a glimpse of my reflection—eyes wild, shirt stained red. My parents gasped, rushing over. Dad fumbled for the phone. Mom pressed a dish towel to my side, voice cracking as she begged me to stay still.

They rushed over, panicked. “Ethan, what the hell are you thinking? You scared us half to death! If you don’t want to go, that’s fine—just don’t do this to yourself, please.”

Tears ran down Mom’s cheeks, landing on my arm. Dad hovered, helpless and angry. I could see the weight of disappointment and fear pressing on them, making their shoulders sag.

But there was no other way. If I didn’t leave, I’d be done for. To throw away my future or to suffer humiliation and self-destruct—I knew which to choose. There was no time to explain, so I could only beg: “Dad, Mom, please, just let me go, okay?”

The words scraped out of my throat, raw and desperate. I didn’t care about the future anymore, not if it meant repeating old mistakes. My parents’ faces blurred as I blinked back tears, but I stood my ground.

Afraid I might do something even worse, my parents agreed to everything. I got my wish, quickly patched myself up, and was about to bolt out the door. But I was still a step too late.

I shoved my old varsity hoodie in last. It still smelled like sweat and cheap detergent—a reminder of the kid I used to be.

My hands barely worked as I wrapped the bandage around my ribs. The front door felt impossibly far away. My feet hit the faded rug and the doorknob turned in my hand—then, tires crunched on the gravel outside.

Their car—a glossy black Tesla—slid up to the curb, headlights slicing through the dusk. When the doors opened, it felt like the entire neighborhood paused to watch. Even my dad, usually unfazed by fancy cars, stared with his mouth open.

The scene that once filled me with joy now felt like a death sentence, mocking me that my nightmare was about to start again. Even though I was still bleeding, I couldn’t feel a thing—my whole body had gone cold. Could it be that even with a second chance... I still can’t escape?

The world narrowed to the click of their heels on the walkway. My heart pounded so loud I was sure they could hear it. The old dread crawled up my spine—I was trapped in the worst kind of déjà vu.