Chapter 2The Love Letter I Threw Away

I walked right past the lonely shadow lingering near the school gates, keeping my eyes fixed ahead.

When I got home, I sat at my desk, opening my laptop to look up Columbia’s incoming freshman research programs. My phone on the desk started buzzing incessantly.

Irritated by the disruption, I unlocked it.

It was Rae. Dozens of unread texts flooded the screen.

Why didn't you wait for me? Aren't we studying tonight?

Yeah, sorry. Schoolwork is piling up. No time, I typed back, a curt, dismissive reply.

Without hesitation, I removed her from my "favorites" list and toggled her notifications to "Do Not Disturb." No more texts came through. I flipped the phone face down, completely uncaring of whatever she might be feeling.

In my past life, Rae and I were the classic childhood sweethearts. We grew up on the same block, went to the same schools. But while I was pulling a near-perfect academic track, Rae barely managed a C average.

"Whatever," she used to say, laughing it off. "School isn't my thing anyway."

But right before the final exams, she suddenly pulled all-nighters, looking at me with a rare, desperate seriousness. "Thomas, please tutor me. I want us to go to the same college."

I had been thrilled. For weeks, I stayed up late compiling study guides, mapping out personalized lesson plans, and packaging them up for her.

Only for those exact study guides to end up on Wright's desk.

I had been devastated, my mind so cluttered with hurt that I completely tanked the next mock exam.

For the first time in my life, I fell from the top spot. I remember staring at the leaderboard, my knuckles white as I gripped the edge of the bulletin board.

Rae had stood beside me. She reached out to pat my shoulder, then hesitated and pulled her hand back, mumbling, "It's fine. You'll get it back next time."

It wasn't until much later that I learned the truth: some kids had been mocking Wright for always being "second best." He had actually cried about it. Rae hadn't asked for my help to catch up to me; she had wanted to drag me down so her precious Wright could have his moment of glory.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the old, burning anger, and focused on my review sheets. Many concepts were rusty, having been locked away in my mind for fifty years.

I studied until the early hours of the morning, resulting in me oversleeping the next day.

I rushed out the door, turning the corner of our street, only to find Rae waiting next to her bicycle.

"Thomas! Come on, hop on. I'll give you a ride!"

I checked my watch. We were running tight on time. Swallowing my pride, I hopped on the back peg of her bike.

Rae started pedaling. "Are you still mad at me?" she asked quietly.

She reached into her jacket and handed me a warm breakfast sandwich she’d been keeping insulated.

I looked at it, a tiny ripple of emotion passing through me, but I didn't take it. "Just pedal," I murmured.

We hadn't gone three blocks when she suddenly gasped, tapping my shoulder frantically.

"Thomas, stop, stop!"

Her voice was frantic. I dragged my feet on the pavement to help her brake, and the bike screeched to a halt.

"Wright twisted his ankle! I have to go check on him. You take the bike, Thomas—just go so you aren't late!"

She practically threw the handlebars at me, jumping off before I could even respond, and ran back toward the intersection without a single backward glance.

I looked back. There was Wright, sitting on the curb, cradling his ankle with tears welling in his eyes.