09/04: Walk to school

You grab the brown paper bag from the counter and mumble, “See ya,” to Emily. She just grunts in reply, her attention already back on her phone. The front door clicks shut behind you. The cool air of early September hits you, smelling of wet grass. This is it. The first day of your second life.

The walk to Northwood High is a route you know by heart. You could do it with your eyes closed. Down your driveway, left at the corner, and past the dozen identical houses of your neighborhood. The lawns are perfect, the cars are clean. The only people out are a few dog walkers and other students heading to the same place.

You can't help but glance at Anna's house next door as you pass. It's immaculate, just like you remember, with perfect flower beds and spotless windows. In your first life, you sometimes saw her in the window, just a shadow. Sometimes, you swear she was watching you. You look away, shove your hands in your pockets, and walk faster. It's too early to think about Anna, the girl next door who became a total stranger.

The phone in your pocket feels like a lead weight. The Affinity Index app, a literal gift from God, a cheat sheet to the social labyrinth you failed so spectacularly to navigate the first time around. You should be excited, mapping out strategies, planning your first move. Instead, you just feel stuck. The memories of your past failures aren't lessons; they're just a list of every awkward moment and missed chance. Knowing what's coming doesn't make you feel powerful. It just paralyzes you.

You join the stream of students walking toward the school. ou hear them talking about summer, complaining about classes, and sharing gossip you aren't part of. You keep your head down and look at the pavement. You see faces you recognize, people whose scores you just checked on your phone, but you don't say anything. There's Cassie, leaning against a fence with a cigarette dangling from her lips, her thick, dark hair hiding her face. There's Caleb, walking alone with headphones on, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm against his thigh. Each one is a possibility, but making the first move feels impossible.

The sprawling brick building of Northwood High School comes into view. It looks exactly the same. The same old banners from last year's football season are hanging in the entrance. The same groups of students are in the same spots. Jocks by the front doors, skaters out back, band kids by the music wing. It's like nothing has changed at all.

Standing here at the school entrance, losing your virginity feels impossible. The confidence you had in your bedroom this morning is gone, replaced by the familiar dread of another school day. You take a deep breath that tastes like bus exhaust and anxiety, and **** yourself to walk through the main doors.