Preface

Nicholas and Nora shared the same birthday---April 14th---and this year it marked something larger than just turning eighteen. Senior year was already winding down, and both of them had secured admission to the colleges of their choice. With only two months left in high school, the days felt long but strangely hollow, like the last pages of a novel they had been reading for four years. They had survived the essays, the tests, the clubs, the endless after-school meetings. They had pushed themselves hard enough to get accepted into college. And now, like many of their classmates, they were coasting.

But coasting didn’t mean the days lacked surprises.

The contest had been announced almost casually, almost unbelievably. A wealthy alumnus of their school (Dr. Zaaijer), someone whose name floated across the football field scoreboard and the library plaque but who nobody had actually met, had donated an unusual scholarship opportunity. It wasn’t about GPA. It wasn’t about scoring the winning touchdown. It wasn’t about writing a perfect essay or delivering a heart-tugging speech. Instead, it was about empathy, adaptability, and endurance in the strangest sense of the word.

Whichever student could convincingly live the life of another---switching places, stepping entirely into that person’s world, routines, relationships, habits---would win a full scholarship. Tuition. Room and board. Books. The whole four years, fully covered.

No student loans. No late-night worry about debt. No nagging questions about how to afford a dorm or scrape together for meal plans. The offer was outrageous, and irresistible.

And Nicholas and Nora, born on the same day, classmates since elementary school, chosen because they were similar enough in size, circumstance, and standing, were the pair. They had been selected for the contest.

---

Nicholas was a sports kid---sort of. He wasn’t the star athlete whose face graced the yearbook’s glossy pages, but he suited up in his team uniform, practiced every week, and traveled with the group. He was a role-player, one of those quiet presences that kept the machinery of a team moving. His girlfriend, however, demanded more of him. She liked attention, sweet little texts in the middle of class, gifts for no reason, constant proof that he was thinking of her. Nicholas found it exhausting, but he complied most of the time, because that was what she expected.

Nora, on the other hand, had a boyfriend who took control. He liked things his way: spur-of-the-moment plans, unannounced arrivals at her house, expectations that she’d drop her homework, her hobbies, her time with friends---all to be with him. He insisted she look her best whenever they were together, whether it was a quick stop at a fast-food place or a semi-formal event. Her role was to be available, to bend, to accommodate. Sometimes it annoyed her. Sometimes it frightened her how normal it seemed to everyone else. But she played along, because she had grown used to it.

Nicholas and Nora were not best friends, not exactly. They’d shared classes for years, collaborated on the occasional group project, and occasionally joked about their matching birthdays. But they weren’t inseparable. They lived in slightly different social worlds---his orbit tied loosely to the athletes, hers to the arts crowd and student government. And yet, fate, or luck, or something more mischievous, had chosen them as each other’s mirror.

---

The rules of the contest were clear:

* Each would move into the other’s home and live with the other’s family.

* Each would wear the other’s clothing.

* Each would assume the role of the other in their school and social life---friends, hobbies, activities, relationships.

* Each would adapt to expectations: boyfriends, girlfriends, sports, appearance, social obligations, parental routines.

* Each would continue until graduation day, at which point judges---including teachers, parents, and peers---would decide who had best lived the other’s life.

It sounded absurd, like the plot of a teen movie they might laugh about at midnight during a sleepover. But the scholarship was real. The stakes were real. And Nicholas and Nora knew what it meant: one of them would step into college debt-free. The other… would not.

---

They agreed to meet after school in the library study room, the one with the long wooden table and the glass wall overlooking the courtyard. Papers and folders spread out before them like blueprints for a heist. Each would show the other “their life,” spelling out every detail, every responsibility, every expectation---because whoever glossed over the truth might hand the other an advantage.

“I’ll start,” Nicholas said, leaning back, arms crossed. He looked larger than he was in his sweatshirt, though he wasn’t a bulky athlete. “You think my life is easy? You’ll see.”

He pulled out his practice schedule first, a neatly folded paper from the coach. “Three afternoons a week. Practice doesn’t end until five. You’re expected to show up, change, run drills. Even if you don’t play much during games, you’ve gotta know the plays. And there are games every other Friday night. You travel on the bus, you wear the jersey, you keep the energy up.”

Nora arched an eyebrow. “So… standing around a field half the time? Cheering on people actually playing? How hard can that be?”

“You’ll see,” Nicholas repeated, smirking. “It’s not just about being there. The coach notices if you slack. And the guys---they can tell if you’re not pulling your weight. You’ll need to keep up.”

He set aside the schedule and pulled out his phone. “Now, my girlfriend. She’s not gonna let you slide. She wants attention. Every. Single. Day. Texts in the morning, during lunch, after practice, before bed. She wants little gifts---bracelets, flowers, sometimes coffee from that café on Main Street. If you don’t show you’re thinking about her, she gets upset. So… be prepared.”

Nora grimaced. “That sounds suffocating.”

“Exactly,” Nicholas said. “But you’ll have to do it. That’s part of my life.”

He slid over another sheet: his hobbies. “I play video games in the evenings, usually with a couple friends online. You’ll have to get good enough not to embarrass me. I also jog on Saturday mornings with my dad. Rain or shine. He won’t let you skip it. And…”---he hesitated, but then added---“I’ve been working on my prom plans. Limo, dinner reservation, the whole thing. You’ll have to follow through.”

“Prom?” Nora blinked. “With your girlfriend?”

“With my girlfriend,” Nicholas confirmed. “Hope you know how to dance.”

Nora jotted notes furiously, already feeling the weight of his world. It wasn’t schoolwork. It was people---constant expectations, small performances, obligations that never let up.

When Nicholas finished, he leaned back, smug. “Your turn.”

---

Nora straightened her posture, her eyes narrowing. “You think you’ve got it hard? Wait until you step into my shoes.”

She unfolded a floral notebook, covered in doodles. “First, my boyfriend. He’s not patient. He’s not sweet. He’s demanding. When he wants to see me, I have to go. Period. Even if I’m hanging out with my friends, even if I’m halfway through something important. He calls, I answer. He says jump, I ask how high. And don’t forget---he expects me to look good. Hair, makeup, outfit. Every single time. If you show up sloppy, he’ll let you know. Loudly.”

Nicholas swallowed. That already sounded worse than he’d imagined.

“Next,” Nora continued, flipping pages. “I’m in art club. That means after school twice a week, sometimes staying late to finish pieces for displays. You’ll need to paint, sketch, help with set design for the spring play. The others count on me. If you blow it off, they’ll notice.”

She handed him a flyer. “And student government. I’m secretary. That means meetings, minutes, event planning. There’s a charity fundraiser coming up---you’ll need to coordinate volunteers, call local businesses, send thank-you notes. It’s a lot of detail work. You’ll have to fake my handwriting, too.”

Nicholas blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” she said firmly. “And then there’s my family. My mom checks my outfits before school every morning. If my skirt’s too short or my jeans are too baggy, she makes me change. My little sister barges into my room at night, wants to talk about everything. You can’t just ignore her. And weekends? I help with grocery shopping and babysitting my cousin. My parents rely on me.”

Nicholas scribbled notes, his smirk fading.

Nora leaned forward, lowering her voice. “And prom. My boyfriend expects me to look perfect. He’s already got this whole plan about what we’re wearing, where we’re going after. You’re going to have to smile, pose for pictures, play the doting girlfriend. You mess that up, he’ll flip.”

Nicholas groaned.

“Exactly,” Nora said, satisfied. “So don’t think my life is easier than yours.”

---

By the time they finished comparing, the table was littered with notes, schedules, and reminders. Both of them felt a mixture of dread and determination. They had agreed to this madness, but neither had realized how suffocating the other’s life could be.

They sat in silence for a moment, the reality sinking in.