Cliché

chapter 1. this is my world

I began suspecting my role in this world from the very moment I was born.

No, it wasn't when I emerged from the body of my mother. And yes, I know that's the definition of birth. But lucky for her, she didn't have to go through the pains of pushing for hours on end or being cut open. The rules are a bit different in the fictional world.

It was at my father's funeral.

As if someone had flipped open the cover of my book, I came alive. Of course, I had memories instilled into my head, but none of them felt real. It was as if someone had injected my childhood into my head in the form of words.

I had a mother and a sister.

And I had a father who served in the military.

He was dead now.

And that was it.

At the funeral hall, I was sobbing. Tears streaming in rivers down my cheeks, my weeps echoing throughout the room while all eyes were pitifully on me.

But as I was grieving my father's death, I knew I had finally begun my life.

And a few months later, when my mother announced to Jasmine and I that we were moving across the country, I felt the first pair of eyes.

It was you.

And that was when I knew. I'm the main character.

"Hey!" Jasmine snaps at me, breaking me out of my reminiscing trance. "Stop talking to your readers. You're probably boring them to death or scaring the hell out of them."

"Wrong. They love me," I fire back.

Doesn't matter if it's true or not. We can't hear you or your objections.

"No one ever comes for the main character in teen fiction. They come for the hot boys," Jasmine mocks. "So, hurry inside so I can record your first interaction."

"You're filming it?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah. Gotta show Mom something."

I shake my head, staying stubbornly in the driver's seat with my hands clutching the wheel, as if ready to drive away from the school parking lot at any moment.  Jasmine rolls her eyes in irritation, walking over to my car door and forcing it open.

"Let's go."

"I'm not coming."

"We have school! Are you going to ditch on your first day of senior year?"

"Sounds good to me. Want to head to the beach?"

Jasmine opens her mouth, tempted by the offer, but eventually shakes her head and snaps it shut with firm resolve. "No. We can't skip."

"Why? This is a fictional school. We don't even learn anything."

Jasmine looks at her pointedly. "Remember last time?"

I press my lips together in dismay, recalling the day after our dad's death. Instead of going to school, our mom let us stay at home to grieve and recollect ourselves— but that was supposed to be the day I got bullied for his death: the infamous tragic backstory. So, the next day, the entire clock reset, and I woke up to the same exact date on my calendar. But thankfully, that was also the day I was able to convince my mom and my sister that we were in a fictional book.

"If we skip today, it's just going to repeat tomorrow," Jasmine continues, a slight frown on her lips.

I sigh as I look towards the school through the windshield. The morning sun washes upon the eroded limestone of the building, reminding me more of a grand mansion fit for royalty than the hell it is. Students litter the recreational area in front, with a sculpted fountain effusing water in a maze of perfectly trimmed hedges.