By the time I got to Prescott High the next morning, I’d decided that pretending to be Blake Thorton officially deserved its own Olympic category. Between dodging Joey, faking confidence, and trying to remember how to walk like I owned the hallway instead of apologizing to it, my brain felt like it had been through a blender.

I pushed open the doors, and as always, heads turned. I hated it. Blake lived in a spotlight I’d spent my whole life avoiding. People laughed louder when he walked by. ...