The pizza boxes sat precariously balanced on Ryan's lap as he navigated his beaten-up scooter up the winding hill road. The engine wheezed with each turn, barely managing the steep incline. Dark clouds had been gathering all afternoon, and now the sky looked ready to open up any minute.
"Come on, just a little further," Ryan muttered to himself, checking the address scrawled on the receipt taped to the top box. 1247 Hillcrest Drive. Of course it had to be one of the fancy houses up here.
The scooter finally crested the hill, and Ryan could hear the thumping bass of music even before he saw the house. As he pulled into the circular driveway, his stomach dropped. The massive Tudor-style mansion was lit up like a beacon, with expensive cars parked everywhere and teenagers spilling out onto the perfectly manicured lawn.
"No way," he breathed, recognizing several faces from Westfield High. This wasn't just any party – this was one of *those* parties. The kind he'd never be invited to.
Through the large windows, Ryan could see kids dancing, red solo cups in hand. He recognized the house now – it belonged to Brandon Hartwell, whose father owned half the businesses in town. The same Brandon who made it his personal mission to remind Ryan daily that he was nothing more than "trailer trash."
Ryan killed the engine and carefully lifted the stack of pizza boxes. Five large pizzas – probably more than what his family spent on groceries in a week. He just needed to get paid and get out of here before anyone noticed him.
"Pizza delivery!" he called out, approaching the front door. The music was so loud he had to shout.
A girl from his chemistry class opened the door, clearly already drunk. "Oh my God, it's Pizza Boy!" she squealed, turning to the crowd behind her. "Hey everyone, Pizza Boy's here!"
Ryan's cheeks burned as several faces turned toward him, some snickering. "That'll be forty-seven fifty," he said quietly, holding out the boxes.
"Oh, you need to get paid from Brandon," the girl slurred. "He's around back by the pool. Tommy will show you!" She grabbed a stocky guy Ryan recognized as one of Brandon's friends. "Tommy, take Pizza Boy to Brandon!"
Tommy looked Ryan up and down with obvious disdain. "Come on, delivery boy. This way."
Ryan followed Tommy through the house, trying to ignore the stares and whispered comments. The place was like something out of a magazine – marble floors, crystal chandeliers, artwork that probably cost more than his mom's medical bills.
"Must be nice," Ryan muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Tommy asked, not bothering to turn around.
"Nothing."
They walked through sliding glass doors onto a massive patio. The pool area was even more crowded than inside, with kids jumping in fully clothed and others lounging on expensive outdoor furniture. String lights created a warm glow over the chaos.
"Brandon's over there," Tommy pointed toward the far end of the pool. "Try not to drip pizza grease on anything expensive."
Ryan made his way around the pool, balancing the boxes carefully. He could see Brandon now, sitting on a lounge chair near the pool house. But as he got closer, his world suddenly tilted.
There, curled up next to Brandon with her arms around his neck, was Emma.
His Emma. The girl he'd been dating for two years. The girl he'd saved up for three months to buy a promise ring for her last birthday. She was wearing the necklace he'd given her for their anniversary – the one that had cost him two weeks' worth of tips.
And she was kissing Brandon Hartwell.
The pizza boxes slipped from Ryan's hands, crashing to the concrete with a wet splat. The sound made Emma break away from Brandon, her eyes widening when she saw Ryan standing there.
"Ryan!" she gasped, scrambling to sit up. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm working," he said, his voice barely audible over the music. "What are *you* doing here?"
Brandon leaned back with a smug grin, his arm still possessively around Emma's waist. "Oh look, it's the pizza peasant. Nice timing, Adams. You just saved me from having to pay for those pizzas."
"Emma," Ryan's voice cracked. "What is this?"
Emma looked between Ryan and Brandon, her cheeks flushed. "Ryan, I... we need to talk."
"Yeah, we do." Ryan stepped closer, pizza sauce from the dropped boxes staining his shoes. "How long has this been going on?"
"Ryan, please don't make a scene," Emma whispered, glancing around at the growing crowd of onlookers.
"A scene?" Ryan's voice was getting louder. "My girlfriend is making out with the guy who's made my life hell for the past three years, and you don't want me to make a scene?"
Brandon stood up, his 6'2" frame towering over Ryan's smaller build. "Listen, delivery boy, maybe you should just stick to what you're good at – bringing food to your betters."
"Brandon, don't," Emma said, but she didn't move to Ryan's side.
"No, I want to hear this," Ryan said, his hands clenching into fists. "Tell me, Emma. How long?"
Emma's eyes filled with tears. "A month," she whispered. "Maybe two."
The words hit Ryan like a physical blow. "Two months? While I was working double shifts to pay for your birthday dinner? While I was saving up to take you to prom?"
"I'm sorry, Ryan. I really am. But... but look around." She gestured to the opulent surroundings. "Brandon can give me things you never could. He can take me places, buy me things—"
"I bought you things!" Ryan's voice broke. "I gave you everything I had!"
"Scraps," Brandon laughed. "You gave her scraps. That cheap necklace, those drugstore flowers. I took her to the city last weekend. Broadway show, five-star restaurant. Things you could never afford."
Ryan lunged forward without thinking, his fist connecting with Brandon's jaw. Brandon staggered back, more surprised than hurt.
"You son of a—"
"Ryan, stop!" Emma screamed.
But before Ryan could throw another punch, strong hands grabbed his arms. Tommy and two other guys held him back while Brandon rubbed his jaw.
"Big mistake, pizza boy." Brandon's eyes were cold now. "You just assaulted me in front of fifty witnesses."
"Brandon, please," Emma said, but she was still standing behind him, not moving to help Ryan.
"You want to play in the big leagues?" Brandon asked, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's see how tough you really are."
The first punch caught Ryan in the stomach, doubling him over. He tried to break free from the guys holding him, but they were too strong. Brandon's second punch split his lip, sending blood down his chin.
"Stop!" Ryan gasped, but Brandon was just getting started.
"This is what happens when trash tries to touch what isn't theirs," Brandon said, landing another punch to Ryan's ribs.
The beating continued for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. When Brandon finally stepped back, Ryan was barely conscious, his uniform torn and bloody.
"Get him out of here," Brandon said, wiping his knuckles on a towel. "And tell Tony's Pizza they won't be getting paid for those pizzas. Consider it damages for the mess."
Tommy and his friends dragged Ryan around the house and literally threw him onto the driveway next to his scooter. The pizza boxes he'd dropped were still scattered around the pool area.
"Emma," Ryan called out weakly as they started to close the front door. "Emma!"
But she never came.
Ryan struggled to his feet, pain shooting through his ribs with every breath. His hands were shaking as he tried to start his scooter. The engine turned over on the third try, and he slowly made his way down the driveway.
As soon as he was out of sight of the house, the tears came. Fat raindrops started falling from the dark sky, mixing with the tears and blood on his face. The rain quickly turned into a downpour, making the winding road treacherous.
Ryan could barely see through his tears and the rain. The image of Emma in Brandon's arms kept flashing in his mind. Two years. Two years of believing she loved him, of sacrificing everything for her, of planning a future together.
"How could I be so stupid?" he sobbed, the words ripped away by the wind.
The scooter hit a patch of standing water on a sharp curve. Ryan felt the back wheel slide out from under him, and suddenly he was airborne. Time seemed to slow as he flew off the road, the scooter spinning away in the opposite direction.
He hit the ground hard, his body tumbling down the steep embankment into the treeline. A sharp pain exploded in his head as it struck a fallen log, and he felt something warm and wet running down his face – more blood.
Ryan lay there in the mud and wet leaves, rain pelting his broken body. Everything hurt. His ribs, his head, his heart. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his vision was starting to blur around the edges.
"Lily," he whispered, thinking of his little sister waiting at home. She'd be doing her homework at the kitchen table, probably wondering why he was late. "I'm sorry, Lily."
His eyes started to flutter closed when suddenly, a brilliant blue light cut through the darkness above him. It wasn't lightning – this light was steady, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
Then, impossibly, a translucent screen appeared in front of his face, hovering in the air like something from a video game.
**SYSTEM INITIALIZATION DETECTED**
**FATAL INJURY CONFIRMED**
**SECOND CHANCE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED**
**Do you accept the System's offer?**
**[YES] [NO]**
Ryan stared at the impossible display, wondering if he was hallucinating from the head injury. But the screen remained, waiting for his answer.
With his last bit of strength, he reached up and touched [YES].
The world went dark.