Chapter 4: Target Practice

Half a month before the SATs, most of my classmates were grinding nonstop. I was different. Every day, I stared at my textbook, but what I really thought about was how to kill Natalie without getting caught.

Natalie Evans—she wore monogrammed sweaters and had a laugh sharp enough to draw blood. Everyone thought I was her best friend. For three years, we were inseparable at school—even bathroom trips together. Natalie had perfect grades, a sweet face, and a personality teachers adored. I was average—mediocre grades, plain, quiet. We were opposites. In every yearbook, I was her shadow.

Natalie liked having me around because my ordinariness made her shine. I was her accessory, her contrast. I could feel it in every photo she posted—she’d tag me in pictures with captions like "with my fave dummy," always making sure everyone knew who was the star. Every story she told at sleepovers, every group chat, I was just the sidekick.

I’d heard her talk behind my back—saying I was dumb, that I always smelled like medicine, that she only stuck around out of pity. She’d whisper about me at parties, certain I’d never know.

Natalie was right—my family was pitiful. Dad died young. Mom worked herself sick, now on medication just to get by. But none of that mattered. I didn’t care what Natalie thought. I never wanted to be her friend. Our friendship was like an ugly, necessary costume—one I wore until it no longer suited me. Every time I laughed at her jokes, it felt like swallowing glass.

I first noticed Natalie at the high school placement test—she ranked first. I quietly put her on my candidate list. I worried her grades might slip, but she stayed at the top, acing every AP test, running the group chat, planning our prom outfits. I watched her like a hawk—her study habits, the way she chewed her pencil, the books she borrowed. It was almost clinical, the way I tracked her every move.