Part 1So-Called Destiny

My brother used one of my curated selfies to catfish people online. He was hoping to hook a sweet, shy girl, but instead, he snagged a leviathan: our university’s resident hothead, Jax.

Jax, feeling deeply insulted, took to the campus confessions board that very night to put him on blast: "PSA: My roommate is a total creep. Not that I'm planning anything, but just hypothetically, is it illegal to murder him?"

Someone in the comments tried to play peacemaker: "Dude, chill. What if he wasn't lying? What if that's actually his sister?"

Jax's reply was swift and brutal: "Bullshit. Nobody looks that good in real life. Photoshop frauds must die."

Then came the next day's basketball game. There, in the cheerleading squad, he saw me—the girl who "couldn't possibly look that good."

He dropped the ball mid-dribble, whipped out his phone, and frantically edited his post.

"URGENT: I think I scared my brother-in-law so bad he fainted. Should I give him mouth-to-mouth? Waiting online for answers!"

* * *

Tyson and I are twins.

But the distribution of intellect between us is ridiculously skewed, as if I stole his share of brains back in the womb.

While I was winning gold medals in the Math Olympiad, he was playing in the mud.

When I got early admission into a top-tier university, he was being held back by his teacher for mixing up the alphabet with, well, everything else.

Somehow, by a stroke of dumb luck, he got an athletic scholarship to the same university as me.

Just a few days into the semester, the idiot showed up at my door, his face glowing with a dopey, lovesick grin.

He told me he was in love and was going to pursue the famously aloof campus queen.

I knew who he was talking about. That girl wasn't even into guys.

Tyson, however, was a firm believer in the invincible power of true love.

For the next few weeks, he gave me daily progress reports.

"Paige, she added me! She accepted my friend request!"

"She's so sweet when she texts, and she sends me cat emojis! Is this what it's like to talk to an angel?"

"..."

"Paige! Help! She wants to meet up tomorrow! I'm freaking out, can you help me?"

When I got that message, I was buried under a mountain of thesis revisions from my advisor, my brain completely fried. I agreed without a second thought.

I worked late into the night, finally emailing the paper to my professor before collapsing onto my bed, phone in hand.

As my brain slowly rebooted, a thought surfaced.

Wait a second. The campus queen was known for her ice-queen vibe. When did she become a "sweet angel"?

And besides, Tyson, with his single-digit IQ, actually managed to win her over?

Before I could puzzle it out, my roommate, Tilly, forwarded me a trending post from the university forum.

The title was pure clickbait.

My thumb slipped, and I tapped on it.

The poster’s username alone screamed "don't mess with me," and every word dripped with fury: "My roommate is a sicko. Can I just bury him in the woods?"