*Disclaimer: This tale is straight-up fiction. Ain't your typical high school soap opera. We're vibing in a parallel universe where booze and smokes ain't age-gated, and getting into college is all about acing a beast of a test called the CAA. Rankings are life. Expect some rough edges, spicy language, and maybe a little love and chaos.
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So there I was, body-snatched into some math-challenged girl's life, staring down a test that screamed "epic fail" in red ink. Flashback to my glory days - acing every subject and being the toast of Princeton - and I couldn't help but cackle. What a cosmic joke.
Then Mr. High-and-Mighty Valedictorian, with his perfect hair and condescending sneer, gives me the stink eye. "Why are you all up in my business?" he snarks.
I toss him a lazy grin, "Oh, so you're the brainiac around here?"
He raises an eyebrow, "And?"
I flick my hair like I'm in some shampoo commercial. "Honey, you couldn't touch my old scores with a ten-foot pole."
1
Boom, I'm reborn in this high school drama, with hands that could grace a hand model and a face ready for the 'Gram - if you ignore the designer bags under my eyes. Oh, and let's not forget the fashion statement of the year: a plastered leg.
My new desk is a graveyard of failed tests and zombie notes. I'm in the year 2020-2021, and apparently, I'm a ghost with homework.
The original me would have crushed these math problems between sips of her pumpkin spice latte. Now, everyone's grinding away, and my neighbor's giving me the "talk to the hand" vibe. Guess I'm not Miss Congeniality in this life.
I tackle the monster math problem like I'm defusing a bomb. Fifteen minutes later, it's done. The nerds in the back are squabbling over the last question, and I butt in with the answer, but they look at me like I've grown a second head.
Enter Mr. Bald-and-Bored, the teacher, sporting glasses that look like they've seen better days. "Who's done?" he asks, like he's expecting crickets. I shoot my hand up, and the class erupts like I've told the joke of the century.
He's all, "Sydney Morrow, you for real?" and I'm nodding like one of those dashboard bobbleheads.
He doesn't buy it, wants me to show him yesterday's hot mess of a test. I dig it out, and it's a sea of red "X" marks. Meanwhile, he's moved on to the brainy bunch, leaving me to wonder what kind of alternate universe I've stumbled into.
Welcome to my new life - where I'm a math whiz trapped in a math flop's body, and the hottest guy in school thinks I'm a joke. Strap in, folks. It's gonna be a wild ride.
