Chapter 3
Sophie was half a head taller than me, just like she was in my previous life. She was the kind of girl who was born to be in the spotlight, with delicate features, a tall figure, and two faint dimples at the corners of her mouth when she smiled.
Every guy in school lined up just to bring her breakfast.
Eric was one of them.
James was too.
"Why didn't you save him?" Sophie's voice rose, her nails digging into her palm. "Don't you like him? You're always following him around, getting his lunch, copying his notes for him. Don't you like him? Then why didn't you save him?"
People started gathering around us.
Students who had just finished their exams, parents waiting to pick up their kids, and a few people filming with their phones.
I heard someone in the crowd whisper, "That's her I heard she was right there, just stood there and didn't do anything"
Another voice chimed in, "Wasn't she really into that guy before?"
"What if she did it on purpose"
Sophie was waiting for my answer, her chest rising and falling with every breath.
I spoke up. "You're asking me why I didn't save him. Well, I have a question for you too."
My voice was steady, like I was reciting something from memory.
Sophie froze for a second.
"Eric chased after you for three years," I said. "He wrote you love letters, brought you roses, even waited in the rain outside your dorm just to see you. Everyone at school knew he was totally hung up on you."
Her face went even paler.
I said, "He brought acid to hurt James because he couldn't stand seeing you two getting close."
Sophie said, "But—"
"You're the reason he did all that."
"I never forced him—"
"And I don't owe it to anyone to take the acid for James."
For a moment, everyone went silent.
"You really think I should've jumped in and put my own face on the line for him?" I stared right at her. "Why? Just because I like him? Does liking someone mean I have to ruin my own face for him?"
Sophie's lips trembled, but she couldn't get a word out.
"You were standing even closer to him than I was," I reminded her.
Her eyes went wide in shock.
"Why didn't you step in?"
She didn't step in.
Yesterday, when the acid came flying, Sophie was barely a couple feet away from James.
She screamed, backed away, crouched down, and covered her face; only after that did she rush over and cling to James, who had already collapsed on the ground.
Nobody ever mentioned that.
Because in everyone's mind, the one who was supposed to jump in and take the hit was me, the nobody who foolishly had a crush on James, not Sophie, the school beauty.
"That's my answer," I said, looking away. "Next time you want someone to take the acid for you, why don't you see if your own face is good enough first."
I turned and walked away.
Behind me, I could hear Sophie's stifled sobs.
Maggie was waiting for me at the bus stop. After I told her everything, she was quiet for a long time, then gave me a thumbs-up. "That was badass."
"Yeah."
"But Emily" Her voice dropped. "People are probably going to gossip about you now."
"Let them talk."
The bus pulled up. I got on and sat in the back row, leaning against the window as I watched the neon lights outside.
Let them talk.
In my previous life, I lost my face, my future, and even my life, all for a meaningless "you're so brave" and an empty promise.
This time, I didn't need anyone to call me brave.
All I needed was a high SAT score and to keep my face intact.
*****
Over the next few days, things played out pretty much as I expected.
Eric was taken into custody, charged with intentional injury.
James was admitted to the burn unit at the city hospital. The left side of his face and neck were severely burned by the acid, his left eye was damaged, and he'd need multiple skin grafts.
His scores were invalidated.
Once the news got out, my phone blew up with messages.
Some classmates messaged me, asking, "What really happened?"
Others tagged me in gossip groups, demanding I "explain myself."
There was even a post on the anonymous school forum: [Witness Emily Shaw Just Stood By and Did Nothing—Was She Cold-Blooded, or Is There More to the Story?]
Hundreds of comments flooded the thread, half calling me heartless, half saying they understood, and the whole thing turned into a total mess.
I read through every single comment, then set my phone face-down on the desk, opened my mistakes notebook, and started reviewing my errors.
When my mom came in with some fruit, she noticed my phone still lighting up on the desk.
"Is someone trying to reach you?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
She sat down next to me, peeled an apple, and handed it to me. "Emily, I want to ask you something, but please don't get upset."
"Okay."
"When the acid was thrown, did you have a chance to push James out of the way?"
I put down my pen, took the apple, and bit into it. It was crisp, and the juice dripped down my chin.
"Yeah."
Her hand paused for a moment.
I said, "I wasn't obligated to do that."
"I'm not blaming you—"
"Mom," I looked at her. "If I'd jumped in, I'd be the one in the burn unit right now. Do you know what happens when acid hits your face? You get disfigured. Skin grafts.
"Every surgery means ripping the skin off your face and grafting it back on. After that, I'd never look like myself again."
Her eyes welled up with tears.
"Why would I risk my life for a guy who means nothing to me?" I asked.
"It's not about that I understand; you did the right thing. I just" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just worry you might feel bad about it."
I took another bite of the apple, chewed, and swallowed.
"I won't," I said.
Honestly, I felt just fine.
*****
Three days later, James's mom, Linda, showed up at my door.
She was wearing a crumpled gray coat, her hair greasy and plastered to her scalp, and her eye bags were so deep they looked like trenches.
It was obvious she hadn't slept in days.
"Emily," she said.
She grabbed my hand, her lips dry and trembling, and it took her several tries before she could get the words out.
"I know you're a good kid. James's really suffering right now. His whole face is wrapped in bandages, and every time they change the dressings, he screams from the pain. He keeps asking for you..."
I gently pulled my hand away from hers.
It wasn't rough, just decisive.
"Linda, I didn't throw the acid at James," I said.
"I know, I'm not blaming you, really—" she said.
"That's good," I said, taking a step back. "I need to go over my answers, so I'm heading back now."
"Emily!" she grabbed my arm, her knuckles turning white from the force. "Just go see him, just for a minute. He doesn't want to see anyone else, only you—"
"He's just a stranger to me," I said.
That left her speechless.
Linda froze.
'Not close? Seriously?' Linda thought. 'Did Emily really just say she's not close to James?
'Everyone in the grade knew Emily had a crush on James. She'd save him a seat, bring him lunch, even turn in his homework for him. Everyone saw it. How could she say they weren't close?'
"You—" she stammered.
"I used to have a crush on him, but that's all. There was never anything between us," I said, meeting her eyes. "He's just a classmate, not my boyfriend, not my family, and definitely not someone I owe my face to protect.
"Linda, you're looking for the wrong person."
My mom came out of the living room, and when she saw Linda grabbing my arm, her expression darkened.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"It's Mrs. Carter. She wants me to go to the hospital and see James," I said.
My mom's face fell even more.
"Mrs. Carter, Emily is waiting for her exam results right now, so this really isn't a good time," she said.
Linda finally let go of my arm.
She stood in the doorway, her lips trembling for a while before she finally said, "You weren't like this before"
I didn't say anything.
The door closed.
My mom looked at me, wanting to say something but stopping herself.
I walked back to my room and sat down at my desk.
The sunset outside filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm orange glow over the answer sheets spread out in front of me.
From the living room, I could hear my mom peeling an apple, with the occasional sound of her sniffling.
I wasn't like this before.
Linda was right.
The old Emily would've rushed in, taken the blow, and in the hospital, she'd bite her lip until it bled, never making a sound.
She'd cry in front of the mirror, staring at her shattered face until sunrise, then wipe away her tears and tell James, "It's okay, it doesn't hurt."
The old Emily would've died.
But that was not me anymore.