It was near the end of May when I got off my night shift and got a call from my younger self, right before the SAT.

"Eight years from now, am I happy? Am I living abroad, or working at Collins Corporation?

"Charlotte said I don't need the SAT. She's taking me overseas."

He sounded excited, already planning to spend the next few days doing whatever he wanted.

I looked down at the grease on my uniform. Behind me was a cramped factory dorm, a cramped room packed with 12 beds.

"Charlotte's getting married today," I said. "But you're not the groom."

He sucked in a breath. "That's impossible. She said she'd marry me."

Last night, Charlotte Collins texted me.

[Don't come tomorrow. You work at a factory. You'll embarrass me.]

His voice caught. "Who is it? Do I know him?"

I said calmly, "Open the math worksheet in your bag. Finish it, and I'll tell you who she's marrying."

Young Edmund Lockwood didn't believe me.

"No. Charlotte's had this planned forever. She said we'd get married at 25. The groom has to be me."

I lowered my eyes.

I didn't realize how emotional I was at 17. I got excited, I cried, and I clung to things with that stubborn, almost childish kind of resolve.

"Then I'll show you."

We added each other, and I sent him the photos Charlotte Collins had just posted.

She had lost that soft, girlish look. Her smile was more polished and controlled now.

You couldn't see the groom's face, just his back. He wore a fitted dark suit, a rose tattoo behind his ear.

I had never liked tattoos. And I had a birthmark the size of a fist on my neck.

Young Edmund went quiet. Even his breathing faded.

"That's not me. It's really not me. Who is it?"

Right then, my phone buzzed with a text from Charlotte.

[The cars get there at 11 a.m. Go clean the house now. Wear a mask and shoe covers. If anyone asks, say you're the cleaner.]

I typed, [I just got off a night shift. I need to rest.]

Another message came in before I hit send.

[Payment's 1,000 bucks.]

On the other end, young Edmund started naming every guy he knew.

My eyes stung, but I pushed through it and got to my feet.

"Do the worksheet. I'll tell you when you're done."

He paused. "I don't know how. Charlotte's been busy. She hasn't helped me in a long time…"

"Skip what you can't do. I'll walk you through it."

I hung up, pulled on shoe covers, and went into Charlotte's villa.

It seemed like they had a fun night.

Clothes were torn apart right by the door. The bed upstairs was a mess.

Used condoms sat in the trash. Every window was open, but the smell still clung to the air.

This wasn't new to me.

I stripped the bed, bagged everything on the floor, and sprayed enough perfume to cover it.

When I finished, I noticed a framed photo of a staged campus shot on the wall.

Charlotte and the man were both in school uniforms. She stood turned slightly toward him, explaining a physics problem with an easy, patient smile.

She used to look at me like that.

When we were kids, we were always together. In middle school, even more.

I helped her with math, while she helped me with physics.

After our study sessions, she would write out two problems on the topic and make me finish them before she let me go.

In winter, when the classroom got cold, she would press a warm bottle into my hands.

If I tried to give it back, she would unwrap her scarf and loop half of it around my neck.

If someone called me a nerd, she would step in front of me.

"I dare you to say that again," she would tell them.

There was a time Charlotte stood on my side.

Then, freshman year, she met the quiet and sensitive Gideon Thorne.

After that, she had no time for me. But she had time to bring him food and buy him gifts.

She wore me down piece by piece. I couldn't sleep. Every time I opened a book, my stomach turned.

My grades fell apart. Still, I held onto the lie that she would come through for me.

As I was lost in thought, another message came in.

[We're at the gate. Leave through the back balcony.

[If anyone sees you, you don't get paid.]

From somewhere outside, I caught the sound of lively voices and cheers.

I dragged the trash bag out to the back balcony on the third floor and dropped it over the side, then grabbed the drainage pipe and climbed down, slow and steady.

By the time I came out front, the wedding convoy was pulling into the neighborhood.

The lead car had roses tied across the front.

In the back seat, Charlotte had her arms around Gideon's neck, leaning up to kiss him.

Neighbors lined the sidewalk, watching and talking.

"They're both from Wexford, top of their class. I heard the groom came from nothing. Lived on cheap food for three years just to stay in school."

My phone buzzed with a picture from my 17-year-old self.

It showed a math worksheet, half of it blank.

[I'm done. Tell me who the groom is.]

I sent him the campus photo from inside the house.

The chat went quiet for a few seconds before my phone rang. His voice was off.

"How is it Gideon?"

-

When I got back to the dorm, I noticed Charlotte had sent me 800 dollars.

[Found your hair on the floor, so I knocked 200 off your pay.]

I started typing that I had worn a cap. There was no way it was mine.

My younger self called again.

"Is it really Gideon?

"I supported him through high school. I scraped by for three years and sent him money in secret. He said he'd remember. So how is he marrying Charlotte?"

A blister had formed on my heel. I took a needle and popped it, cutting him off.

"If you want the answer, start today. Complete two math sets and one full science paper every day. Learn fifty new words and do five reading passages."

He hesitated. "Why? Charlotte said she'd take me overseas. I don't need to push for the SAT."

I chuckled. "She also said she'd marry you at 25."

His voice started to shake. "So I didn't get into college? I didn't go abroad? What did I do?"

"Factory work, twelve-hour shifts."

I heard young me suck in a breath, then a few broken sounds. He was crying.

From that day on, we went through practice tests together, one question at a time.

We stayed on the phone for hours. When he got stuck, he asked. I explained while I worked.

Before high school, I had been near the top of my class. I knew what worked for me.

It went smoothly. He learned fast.

A week later, I took a day off and went home.

My mom opened the door. The second she saw me, she looked away.

"Why are you here again? Didn't I tell you not to come so often?"

I stayed at the door.

"I need my ID. The factory scheduled a physical. I can't go without it."

"Then wait outside. Don't come in. Your shoes are filthy."

Through my headset, my 17-year-old self sounded confused.

"What's wrong with Mom? She just made me soup earlier."

I didn't answer. I looked past her and saw my dad sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone like I wasn't there.

Gideon walked out of the kitchen in a fitted shirt and slacks, smiling.

"You're here. Mom made soup. Have some before you go."

Mom leaned out right away. "That's for Gideon and Charlotte. Don't touch it."

Gideon gave me a small shrug, like he couldn't help it.

At that moment, Charlotte came downstairs in a red dress.

"Mom, Gideon and I are going out for dinner tonight. You and Dad should join us."

Dad smiled and told Mom to get ready.

Charlotte glanced at me, frowned, and looked away.

"We're heading out. Stay and clean up."

I kept my head down. "I just need my ID. I'll grab it and leave. I have to get back to work."

"One grand," she said easily before taking Gideon's hand and walking out.

At the door, Gideon added, "We don't stay here much, but keep our room clean. Not a single hair."

After saying they couldn't find my ID, my parents left, too.

The house Charlotte claimed for herself was quiet again, with just me inside.

I pulled off my headset. It felt like it had been buzzing the whole time. Young Edmund was still going off.

"Why does Gideon get to call our mom 'Mom'? His parents are long gone. I'm the one who worked and saved to put him through school!"

Young Edmund kept going. "And why are Mom and Dad treating you like that? You're their son.

"And what's wrong with Charlotte? She's got you cleaning like hired help. Who does she think she is?

"Say something, Edmund. Where's your backbone? They took your parents and Charlotte, and you're still taking it. Are you just gonna swallow your pride for a few thousand bucks?"

I kept wiping the table and let him finish.

"I need the money."

"How much do you need? I've been wanting to say this. What are you doing at that stupid factory? You're a grown man. You can work anywhere. Why stay there?"

I stopped, pulled off my mask, and took a photo before sending it.

In the photo, I stood expressionless beneath a baseball cap. The brim did little to hide the scars. They cut across my face in raised ridges, running from my forehead down my neck before disappearing beneath my collar.

"Because I don't have a choice."

He went quiet.

By the time I made it upstairs, I heard him trying to hold it in.

"Does it hurt?"

"It used to. Not anymore."

He was fighting it, but his voice still shook. "What happened in those eight years?"

Eight years. It went by faster than it should have.

Right before the SAT, I believed Charlotte and skipped school for a month.

The morning of the test, she called. She said Gideon had forgotten his admission ticket and needed me to bring it.

She said, "It doesn't matter if you take the test. He can't miss it."

So I went.

On my way there, a car came the wrong way and hit me, sending me several yards down the road.

I didn't die, but I missed the SAT and spent two months in the hospital.

The day I got out, I heard Charlotte and Gideon were heading to Wexford University, the best school in the country.

I went straight to the Collins' house to confront Charlotte.

"You said you'd send me abroad."

She looked at me like I was a nuisance. "I said that offhand. You took it seriously?"

Gideon stood next to her, trying not to laugh, like I was a joke to him.

I grabbed his wrist.

I wasn't trying to hurt him. I remembered what he was like when he first came to the city. I couldn't bring myself to do anything to him.

He screamed anyway and jerked back.

Charlotte rushed in and shoved me hard, sending me straight into a full-length mirror. It shattered, and I went face-first into the glass.

Blood ran down my face as my palms and bare calves split open almost instantly.

That was the day my life fell apart.

Dad couldn't accept what I had become, and Mom lost it and threw me out.

To keep them calm, Charlotte suggested they take Gideon in instead.

Just like that, I lost my home and my family.

I dropped out of high school. With my scarred face, no one would hire me. The factory was the only place that would take me.

I worked and saved for surgery. I studied when I could, hoping to retake the SAT.

But Mom kept my ID. She told me that Gideon had warned her, saying I wasn't stable, that I might use it for something stupid.

When Charlotte found out I needed money, she started calling me in to clean whenever she felt like it.

At first, I pushed back. I said whatever I could to hurt her.

But I needed the money.

The surgery alone cost 100 thousand. At the factory, I was stuck at the lowest pay.

The 1,000 she tossed me was half a month's wages.

Over time, I went numb. I stopped arguing and barely spoke.

I had no friends, no family, and no real chance at taking the SAT again.

Eight years stretched on like a bottomless pit. After a while, I didn't even have the strength to hate anymore.

Young Edmund broke down.

"What are you crying for?" I asked. "I told you, I don't feel anything anymore."

"I'm crying for you," he said between sobs.

I didn't answer. I crouched down and kept scrubbing the floor.

He sniffed and steadied himself. "I'm going to study. I mean it."

"Okay."

From that day on, every time I called him, he was buried in practice sets.

He didn't stop, no matter the hour.

The morning of the SAT, I got off my shift and saw a message from him.