Reborn at the Reunion I Exposed the Class That Framed Me

Ten-year class reunion. Glasses clinking in the private room, the air thick with cheap nostalgia.

Nelson Whitney stood up without warning and slammed his palm on the table.

"Let me tell you all a secret. Our class? Every last one of us—scum. Cancer on society."

"That assault near campus back in the day? That was us."

"Russ Pruitt was the ringleader. I was the brains."

The whole room burst out laughing, sure he was just running his mouth.

Nelson stuck out his tongue. "Kidding. Just livening things up."

But a second later, he pulled out his phone. "Thing is, I've got proof. Here's the video from the attack. Here are the group chat logs. And here—a photo of our class beauty Laurel Fox, knife in hand, in the middle of it."

On the screen, a photo of me holding a knife. Clear as day.

He'd said my name. The class beauty. I looked around at the old classmates—the same ones who'd shoved me off the rooftop of that karaoke lounge in my last life—and slowly set down the glass I'd raised.

Last life, I tried to explain. They pushed me off anyway. This time, I said nothing.

Someone had called the police. An officer pushed through the door. "Who's Laurel Fox?"

——

The officer stood in the doorway of the private room.

"Officer, it's her! She's the one who ran the whole thing back then!" Nelson pointed at me, shouting.

My classmates scattered in an instant, leaving me stranded in the center of the room.

Russ Pruitt, the class monitor, shouldered his way up to the officer.

"Officer—we were all begging her to turn herself in just now, and she threatened to kill every one of us if we talked."

I looked at these old classmates. The same ones who'd pushed me off a thirtieth-floor rooftop in my last life.

Back then, I'd fought to explain. The photo was doctored. The person in the video wasn't me.

They'd just laughed. "It's a joke, relax. Why are you taking it so seriously?"

Then Damian Delgado led the way and pushed me over the edge.

"I'm Laurel Fox." I wiped the corner of my mouth.

The lead officer stepped forward and flashed his badge.

"You've been reported on suspicion of organizing a criminal syndicate and connection to the stabbing case in the alley behind the college district ten years ago. You'll need to come with us."

The handcuffs closed around my wrists.

"Go on in, Laurel. Reform yourself real good—maybe they'll show you some leniency." Nelson smiled.

The entire class erupted in laughter behind him.

Damian stood at the back of the crowd, his arm around a new girlfriend.

"Acted so pure and innocent this whole time. Turns out she's a thug queen. Disgusting."

I didn't look at Damian. Didn't look at Nelson.

I looked calmly at the officer.

"I'll cooperate with the investigation."

Two officers flanked me, one on each side, and walked me out.

The chatter from the private room surged behind me like a tide.

"Nelson's got balls. Turning in one of his own like that."

"For real. I always knew something was off about Laurel Fox. Walking around with that cold face all the time."

"She's going away for a long time, right? Life, at least?"

I sat in the back seat of the squad car. The officer in the passenger seat turned to look at me.

"You're pretty calm for someone in your position. Already know what you did?"

I leaned back against the seat.

"I didn't do anything. Of course I'm calm."

At the police precinct, I was taken straight into an interrogation room.

Detective Mercer dropped a thick stack of files onto the table with a heavy thud.

"Laurel Fox. Ten years ago, the alley behind the college district. The victim had three fingers hacked off. You going to own up to that or not?"

I shook my head.

"No. I didn't hurt anyone."

He turned his laptop screen to face me.

"Still want to play tough? These are printed chat logs from the group, provided by the person who reported you."

I leaned in for a closer look.

The group was called "Fox Crew — Core Members."

In the chat history, an account with my photo as its avatar was giving orders.

"[Laurel Fox]: Tonight. The alley out back. Cripple that bleach-blond punk who doesn't know his place."