When best friends Claire and Jo wake up trapped in a fantasy romance novel, Claire thinks it's a dream come true while Jo knows it's her worst nightmare - especially after they are almost killed by a monster and end up on the wrong end of a handsome...
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"IT IS WITH sincere regret that we are unable to offer you admission..."
My eyes burned with more tears as I opened the blinds in my bedroom and obsessed over the most painful rejection letter I had received yet. Maybe ever. I read it so many times I could recite it word-for-word. My dream college, Stanford University, didn't want me.
It was a nightmare. Everything I worked so hard for since I was a child was gone. The trash can beside me was a wasteland of useless dreams, filled with even more rejection letters from my backup schools. The whole thing was a statement, a declaration that I would remain stuck in this town — this life — forever.
"We congratulate you on your impressive academic accomplishments."
I barely recognized myself in the bathroom mirror. All my sleepless nights spent studying hung in the circles around my eyes, all for the sake of maintaining a four-point grade average. But it wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough.
I spat out toothpaste, its minty flavor marred by the salt of stray tears. Between the meagre scholarships I'd been awarded, to even my backup colleges rejecting me, there was nothing left. I was out of options. My dreams had crumbled within the span of a few letters. They dissolved into nothing with every passing minute.
"Best of luck!"
Dread burrowed deep in my stomach as I thought about going to school and facing my best friend, Jo. For her, it had never a question of me getting into Stanford. She just thought I always would, even pushed me to apply early. I couldn't fathom the idea of telling her the faith she had in me was misplaced.
I reached for my favorite book, Swords and Roses, sitting on my nightstand. Reading always helped distract me. It took away any pain or frustration, especially when reading this story.
"The kingdom was in ruins as the villagers protested..." I didn't get far into the sentence before a droplet blurred the black letters. I didn't need to read one of the unhappier parts of the story. I needed to read a snippet of Lady Heathwood and Sir Ashwell's romantic adventures. I didn't want to read about protestors revolting against their king because of his rejection. It seemed too on the nose.
I ran fingers over the worn edges of the cover. It was a hazard from years of it being the only book I owned. Even after I discovered the library, I always returned to Swords and Roses and Lady Heathwood, who taught me how to be ambitious and kind, graceful and clever, and voice my passions. Or, at least she taught me to want to be and do all those things. She'd been my savior as a child, and was now a passport to another world whenever I needed it. When I opened the book, I pretended it was my story instead of Lady Heathwood's.
"The commotion turned into chaos. Knights rode in on armored horses, looking as regal as they did terrifying. Their swords were drawn as they shouted at the people who didn't move. Then, a man with a pitchfork took a swing at a horse. Its knight flewforward, then got trampled by his own startled mount. I ran toward him without thinking."
