Fake It Till You Fail It

I never really had much connection with Clive.

But Charlize was a teaching assistant at Harvard and Stanford, so she had met Clive a few times.

Once, I overheard her telling Geena that Clive was the definition of boyfriend material—unlike me, who was just a bookish nerd.

My sister also said that if Geena were going to date someone, it should be a guy like Clive—wealthy and good-looking.

At the time, I thought Charlize was just joking.

But looking back now, maybe she actually meant it.

Even so, I still couldn’t understand—why would someone like Clive, practically born with a silver spoon, go out of his way to screw me over?

Just then, I saw his latest post on his blog.

He claimed he had predicted the essay topics for the SAT and was sharing it with everyone.

The moment I saw it, I froze.

That was the exact topic Charlize had predicted for me!

On top of that, Clive even posted his own so-called “unique” insights about it.

Word for word, they were identical to the notes I had casually jotted down on my scratch paper.

The comments were full of people hyping him up.

[Damn, not only is he hot, but he’s also insanely smart and generous! He even shares his SAT predictions with everyone! What a true angel!]

[Seriously! If I saw this topic on the test, I would’ve gone completely blank. Good thing I read his analysis in advance!]

Predicting the same topic might just be a coincidence.

But how could his essay outline be exactly the same as mine?

The only people who had been in my study room were Charlize and Geena.

It had to be them!

A chill ran down my spine at that thought.

I couldn’t wrap my head around why they would do this.

Was blood and years of friendship really worth less than knowing Clive for just half a year?

I sat on the toilet for an hour, thinking it over.

Then I made up my mind—I had to take a different approach.

I already knew the essay topic for this year’s SAT.

In my last life, I got accused of plagiarism, but that essay was actually my best work.

It scored high, but not a perfect score.

This time, I was going to write the essay in Old English.

Since Clive’s essay had been an exact copy of mine in my last life, I’d just rewrite the whole damn thing!

No matter the final score, at least I could shake off the plagiarism accusations.

Early the next morning, before Charlize woke up, I snuck out and went to Grandma’s place.

To be honest, I was hesitant.

Writing my SAT essay in Old English was not only ridiculously hard but also a huge gamble.

The moment I arrived, Grandma handed me a bowl of oatmeal.

“My sweet boy, what’s wrong? You look troubled.”

I forced a bitter smile.

“Grandma, if I don’t get into Harvard, are you gonna be disappointed?”

She patted my head, her eyes full of warmth.

“Silly boy, of course not!

“I just want you to be happy, Denny. Even if you don’t get in, you still have me. I’ll take care of you.”

Hearing those words, my resolve hardened.

As I left Grandma’s place, I got a call from Charlize.

“Denny, where the hell did you go? Geena brought you breakfast, but you weren’t there. Now she’s upset!”

I replied flatly, “I went out to buy some study materials. I’ll be back soon.”

I wasn’t planning on telling them about my new essay strategy.

After all, they were the prime suspects in the plagiarism scandal last time.

Instead, I headed to the library to rework my essay plan.

It was also the perfect place to do some research.

After hours of writing, I stretched and leaned back for a quick break.

I was curious—what would happen to Clive this time?