From Sneers to Cheers: Anthea’s Ascent

After Daniel retreated to his room, he hopped onto his GlobalGigaNet account, eager to check his messages. Scrolling through, he was shocked that Sherman had boldly asked Phoenix to connect on the chat app.

But Phoenix had turned him down.

Daniel’s jaw dropped in shock and a look of utter disbelief painted across his face.

Man, this Phoenix was something else!

Mad respect!

His curiosity about Phoenix was growing by the second!

The Morris family was still as death, the moonlight barely penetrating the heavy curtains of the bedroom. A solitary figure lay in bed, engulfed by the shadows.

“No, please, no!” The figure jolted awake from a nightmare, fumbling to switch on the bedside lamp, her face pale as a sheet, forehead slick with cold sweat.

Rebecca had been haunted by that dream again.

Even upon waking, she couldn’t shake off the pain and despair from her past life’s final moments and that face.

Just the thought of it filled her with an unbearable dread.

In this life, she was determined to break the cycle.

Clutching the covers tightly, her hands trembling, Rebecca fired up her computer and typed in a name. The screen threw back a 404 error, showing no information found.

The bitter taste of powerlessness gnawed at her. Her fate was in the hands of another, out of her control.

But then, a figure flickered in her mind. Right, there was Mr. Christensen.

In this lifetime, she’d ensure to become the woman by his side, at the very top of the social pyramid!

It took more than looks to catch Mr. Christensen’s eye. She needed substance and strength.

It was time to step up her game with Daniel.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed with resolve. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Anthea was punching the clock at the local rotisserie, counting the days until her month–long shift substitution was up.

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She had just stepped inside when someone practicing French caught her ear. She paused, looking a bit thrown off.

In her past life, she was a multilingual master, juggling ten languages with ease, while rubbing elbows with world–class elites who also possessed flawless language skills.

The rough pronunciation was jarring to her ears, stirring an almost irresistible urge to correct

1. it.

When Baldie noticed Anthea, he greeted her, “Hey, Anthea, how are you?”

She smiled in acknowledgment.

“I’m brushing up on my French,” Baldie said. “You into it?” Mid–sentence, it dawned on him that Anthea hadn’t even finished middle school.

How could she possibly be interested in French?

I

“French is easy, you know? If you want, I can teach you. I’m the top of my class,” he added, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

The hierarchy of students was an unspoken rule. The underachievers hung out together, and the high– flyers stuck to their own.

Handsome and a class representative, Baldie was the dream of many girls in class. Offering to teach Anthea, he expected her to be over the moon.

“Thanks, but no,” Anthea declined politely.

Did she say “Learning a bit could do you some good, you know.”

no? Baldie was stunned by her refusal, staring at her in disbelief before adding.

Anthea touched her nose modestly. “Well… actually, my French isn’t too shabby.”

“Fine, if you don’t want to learn, that’s up to you.”

Baldie had wanted to help Anthea, stuck in the mire, but she seemed content to stay down and even swallow in it.

Whatever then!

It reminded him of that saying, “You can’t make bricks without straw.”

It’s one thing not to want help and another to be so delusional.

Anthea was speechless.

Was he upset? Couldn’t he take a joke?