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📘 Chapter One: Homework and Hashtags
Ever feel like you're meant for more… but the world just hasn't noticed yet?
That was Nova Lane. Fourteen, locked in a small town with big Wi-Fi and even bigger dreams. School? That was just a cage with bells and class changes. She didn't hate it. But it never felt like it fit.
Nova was the girl with notes in one hand and ambition in the other. The girl who finished her homework early — not because she cared about grades, but so she'd have time to build an empire before dinner.
She wanted to be something. Now. Not after college. Not when she was older. Right now.
She signed up for everything.
Freelance platforms she didn't understand. Apps that promised you could earn money by breathing. She wrote fake bios. Practiced fake smiles. Started blogs she never finished. Posted YouTube videos with shaky hands and shaking hope.
Every morning she'd tell herself, "This could be it." And every night, she'd delete the evidence.
Nothing ever worked.
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People always said, "You're too young to be worried." But they didn't understand what it felt like to carry a dream that was too loud for her chest.
Nova wanted followers before she had real friends. She wanted a manager before she learned how to manage her time. She wanted success that didn't require her to wait.
And waiting?
God, it felt like drowning.
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There was this one time…
She skipped lunch just to record a cover in the girl's bathroom because the acoustics were better. She edited it on a cracked screen, posted it with a filter she didn't even like, and waited.
Refreshed. Waited. Refreshed again.
Ten likes. Three were from her own accounts.
She told herself she just needed to try harder. Be better. Louder. Prettier. More interesting. More... something.
But deep down, she was already starting to feel it. That sting. That voice that whispered: "Maybe you're not enough."
That voice never left. Still hasn't. But she wouldn't let it win. Every great story starts with great suffering. This was hers.
She could already tell her story was going to be unique. Not just something for the history books — but something that would live on every screen. People would dress like her, talk like her, be like her.
Her parents kept saying she was too young to care about all this. That she had time. That she should focus on school. But education? It only takes you so far. The rest is hustle. Passion. Effort. And books were never her thing.
Nova didn't learn how to read the ABCs until she was seven. Seven. Shouldn't that have told them education just wasn't her path?
She was destined for more. And she wasn't about to let that destiny slip through her fingers.
Not now. Not ever.
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BANG!!
Reality came crashing back when a book slammed against her locker desk.
Nova blinked.
"What the hell…" she muttered.
Standing in front of her was none other than Mr. Borden — her English teacher and personal tormentor. He was the human equivalent of a paper cut: small, sharp, and annoyingly painful.
Mr. Borden's eyes dropped to the notebook on her desk.
He picked it up, his grey brows furrowing as he scanned the scribbles. Pages filled with brainstorm bubbles, arrows, half-formed video ideas, thumbnail sketches, usernames circled and scratched out.
At the top of the page: Empire Plan – Day 3.
Below it:
Skincare Haul – Borromea's Products
Mini-vlog: A Day in the Life of a Future Icon
Late Night Rants video (Too Much?)
Research: How to Go Viral (again)
Post at 6 p.m. – peak time
He stared at it for a second too long. Nova's stomach twisted.
Then came that slow, sharp exhale through his nose — the one that always made her skin crawl.
"Daydreaming, aren't we?"
She didn't answer. What was the point?
He flipped the notebook shut with one hand and dropped it back on her desk like it was dirty laundry.
"You can keep dreaming," he said. "In the principal's office."
His voice went from bored to deadly.
"Go. Now."
"Seriously?" Nova blinked.
"Go now, Miss Lane."
Every pair of eyes in the room turned to her — some curious, some smirking.
Her face burned, but she didn't flinch. She shoved the notebook into her bag like it was sacred and walked out.
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Principal Harper didn't even let her speak.
"Disruption of class. Lack of attention. Repeated warnings from Mr. Borden."
He scribbled on a yellow slip, not even looking up.
"You'll serve detention today after school."
"But I didn't even—"
"Don't test me, Nova."
He pushed the slip toward her.
"You've got ten minutes left of lunch. Use them to cool off."
She walked out, fists in her jacket pockets, jaw clenched, lip bit hard enough to hurt.
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🚪 Detention Room 42
Room 42 smelled like dust, floor polish, and lost hope.
Mrs. Gracie barely looked up when Nova entered.
"Ah. Miss Lane. Back again, are we?" She sipped tea from a chipped mug. "You're turning into a regular."
Nova rolled her eyes and headed for the back — her unofficial seat in this weekly nightmare.
"Find a spot and don't test me, dear. I'm in no mood."
There were four other kids. Two were half-asleep. One was copying notes.
The last was Ryan Kane — local jerk, locker-kicker, and ego the size of Jupiter.
Mrs. Gracie started assigning chores.
"You. Mop the hallway." "You. Erase the boards." "You. Pick up trash in the courtyard."
Then she looked at Nova.
"You. Clean the supply closet."
Nova didn't move.
She pulled out her notebook instead and started writing.
> Detention Chronicles – Episode 1
"Plot twist: The villain isn't detention. It's boredom."
"Can I turn punishment into power?"
Her pencil scratched softly across the page.
Until—
"What are you always scribbling in that thing?"
Ryan Kane.
Nova ignored him.
He stood up anyway.
"What is it, your diary?" He snatched the notebook.
"Hey!"
Nova shot up from her seat. The chair screeched. Her heart raced.
"Give it back, Ryan."
He flipped it open, mocking every word.
"'Empire Plan'? 'Thumbnail test'? You seriously think anyone wants to see your face?"
"I said give it back!"
"Or what?" He grinned. "You gonna go viral on me?"
Before Nova could explode, Mrs. Gracie's voice cracked like thunder.
"Mr. Kane."
Ryan froze.
"Hand. It. Over."
He tossed the notebook back like it meant nothing.
But it meant everything.
Nova caught it mid-air and held it to her chest.
Mrs. Gracie stared her down for a beat longer than necessary.
"Get to work, Miss Lane."
But Nova didn't pick up the mop.
She opened to a new page and wrote:
> "He laughed.
But one day, they won't."
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