Chapter 2

Back in my dorm, I locked the door, pulled the curtains shut, and started scribbling down every important date I could remember on my laptop like a total maniac.

My fingers trembled over the keyboard as all those details I thought I'd forgotten came flooding back.

Ethan didn't get involved with the mob until the summer of 2017, which was four years from now.

That was when his dad died from a work accident, and his mom's health took a turn for the worse, leaving them desperate for money to cover her medical bills.

But right now, he was just an ordinary freshman.

I closed my laptop and let my forehead rest against the cold desk. Did I really get a second shot at life? This was insane.

Why was I back? To keep Ethan from turning into that person? Or... to make him pay?

The image of that bright, smiling boy on the basketball court blurred together with the cold, ruthless man I remembered.

My heart clenched hard.

Early the next morning, I made a beeline for the school archives.

"No, you can't just look up student records," the office clerk said as he pushed up his glasses.

I bit my lip, pulled out three twenty-dollar bills from my wallet, and slid them across the counter in quiet motion. "Sir, I'm with the student services committee. I just need to verify the financial aid roster for a report we're preparing."

Ten minutes later, I had Ethan's basic information. He was an economics major, eighteen years old. His father, Frank Cole, worked construction jobs whenever he could get them, and his mother, Linda Cole, had been out of work for years because of a chronic illness. Their address was listed as Sunrise Court, an aging apartment complex on the east side of town.

Sunrise Court? Wasn't that the well-known run-down neighborhood?

In my memories, Ethan couldn't stand that place.

After leaving the archives, I found myself wandering over to the economics building, like I was being pulled by some invisible force. Through the window at the back of the room, I spotted him right away.

Ethan was sitting in the second-to-last row, propping his chin up with one hand, totally absorbed in whatever was on the board. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow over his profile.

He was nothing like the man I remembered from ten years later, the man who sat in a dimly lit booth with a knife turning lazily between his fingers.

Once class ended, Ethan walked out with a few friends, joking about something the professor had said and breaking into laughter every so often.

I kept my distance as I followed them to the dining hall, watching him and his friends shuffle into the line. When he finally reached the counter, he picked the cheapest things he could get away with, just a scoop of plain pasta and a tiny cup of the broth they kept by the salad bar.

For the next three days, I shadowed Ethan like a full-on creep and memorized his entire routine. He showed up at the track for a run at six thirty every morning, went to the dining hall at seven twenty for a small bowl of oatmeal and whatever fruit happened to be on the discount stand, arrived to every class ten minutes early, headed to the library at four, and worked the evening shift at the corner store from seven to nine.

On Friday afternoon, I finally got up the nerve to head to the third floor of the library, the part with all the philosophy and social sciences books.

Sure enough, Ethan was there.

I wandered around the shelves for a bit, grabbed a random book, and sat down right across from him.

"Sophia?" Ethan called out.

I looked up, pretending I'd just noticed him. "Oh, hey... Ethan, right?"

His eyes lit up. "Hey, you remembered my name."

"After you nailed me with that basketball, how could I possibly forget?" I joked, pointing at the fading red mark on my forehead.

Ethan scratched his head, looking sheepish. "Sorry again about the whole thing. How about I finally buy you that smoothie I owe you? Want to go now?"

I checked my watch. "The library café should still be open. We can go there."

At the café, Ethan refused to let me pay. I picked the cheapest drink on the menu, just a small Americano, but he insisted on adding whipped cream to it.

I took a sip of my coffee and asked offhandedly, "Philosophy seems to be your thing, huh?"

Ethan's eyes suddenly sparkled. "Yeah, especially existentialism. Do you think who we are comes down to our choices, or is it all about the environment we're in?"

That question stabbed straight into my heart.

Was Ethan, the guy who ended up in the mob in my last life, really forced into it by the world around him?

"I think... everyone has the right to choose, even in the most extreme situations," I said softly.

Ethan nodded, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, that's what Sartre said too. But sometimes, making a choice comes at a huge cost..."

Suddenly, his phone rang.

Ethan glanced at the caller ID, and his expression shifted. "I need to take this."

He walked over to the corner, turning his back to me.

Even though he kept his voice low, I still caught words like "medical bills" and "just a few more days."

When he came back, that sunny look was gone, replaced by that brooding expression I remembered, though it only flickered across his face for a moment.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, just some family stuff," he said, forcing a smile and glancing at his watch. "Hey, I've got a shift soon, so I need to head out. Let's catch up another time?"

"Yeah, totally." I pulled a flyer out of my bag. "Oh, by the way, the Humanities Society is accepting new members next week. Interested? I'm the vice president."

Ethan took the flyer, his eyes lighting up. "I've always wanted to join, but I heard it's tough to get into..."

"Don't worry. I'll talk to the president for you," I said with a smile. "See you in the club room Sunday at two."

Watching him walk away, I let out a long breath.

Step one of the plan was officially a success.