The classmates I'd spent three years helping, tutoring, sacrificing my own time for—they turned on me in an instant.
Fists and feet from every direction, and when I tried to break free I went over the edge of the rooftop. My fingers caught the lip of the building and I hung there, screaming for them to pull me up.
Fifty-six classmates. Not a single hand reached for mine.
Every one of them stood a few steps back, watching me dangle, laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.
My grip gave out. I dropped from the school rooftop and died on impact.
When the authorities questioned them, they swore in unison that I'd jumped.
My parents lost their only daughter in middle age. After that, they stopped eating, stopped sleeping, drifted through their days like ghosts until there was nothing left of them. They killed themselves at home.
Meanwhile, my classmates went on to college like nothing happened, enjoying their lives.
The memory of how my last life ended left cold sweat prickling down my back.
Maybe Molly noticed the color draining from my face,
because she turned to me, lip trembling, voice dripping with hurt.