Chapter 2 Old Life, Fresh Start
Tasha popped open her wallet and nearly dropped it—a crisp twenty and a fifty were just chilling there. Seventy bucks, out of the blue.
Her parents, Janice and Orson, wouldn’t give her a nickel for pocket money. Meanwhile, her little brother Wesley, still in middle school, was drowning in 170 bucks a month. Her younger sisters, Hattie and Pancy, each scored 70. Tasha? Zip. Zero. Nada.
Then it clicked. This moment was straight out of her last life. Around this time, Hattie had nailed her SATs, making the family look like superstars. Orson, plastered at some bar, had bragged about booking a fancy hotel for a huge party. When he sobered up, he bailed on that plan and decided to just throw a dinner at home.
This seventy bucks? Grocery money Orson had tossed her way for the feast. Too bad for him, Tasha had just poofed back into her current body and completely forgot his orders.
She shoved the cash in her pocket without a second thought. Even better, her ID was still tucked in the wallet, probably left there post-exams.
No reason to drag herself back to that dead-end shop job now.
This seventy bucks? Her launchpad for a new life.
After slaving away at that shop for two lifetimes and getting peanuts, walking away with just 70 bucks felt like she was some kinda saint.
Her clothes were baggy, gross, and reeked of old sweat. Tasha hit the wholesale market, dropping 26 dollars on new underwear, a t-shirt, shorts, and some bargain-bin flip-flops. She haggled like a pro, driving the vendor nuts until he tossed in a pack of loud, colorful hair ties just to get rid of her.
New gear in hand, Tasha zipped to the bathhouse. She spent seven dollars on a towel, soap, and a toothbrush kit, then another seven scrubbing herself raw, like she was washing away her old life.
Dressed and fresh, she felt like a whole new person. Downside? Her wallet was down to 30 bucks.
System 103 had been watching the whole time. As Tasha slipped into her new outfit, it piped up.”Hey, host, why not trade some of that extra weight for more cash?”
Tasha raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say weight’s only good for boosting my stats? Cash doesn’t exactly fit the bill.”
“Just checking if your new brain’s firing on all cylinders,” System 103 said, sounding like it dodged a bullet. “Guess it is.”
“You’re such a goof,” Tasha said, rolling her eyes.
She ditched her old clothes in a trash bin and headed to the train station, dropping 13 bucks on a ticket to Ironwood. While waiting, she grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of massive dinner rolls.
The train rolled in.
The car was a hot, crowded mess. Tasha’s cheap hard-seat ticket stuck her between two big guys, practically squishing her into a human sandwich.
By lunchtime, the air was thick with the stench of humburgs, BO, smelly feet, and random takeout. Total barf-fest.
Tasha didn’t care. She wolfed down four giant rolls, washing them down with water.
The guy next to her stared, jaw on the floor. This average-looking girl can put away food like nobody’s business.
Between bites, Tasha pinged System 103 in her head.”Hey, system, you got any knockout sleep tricks up your sleeve?”
“Yeah, we do,” System 103 said. “Free, even. But it’s kinda dicey.”
“Dicey how?” Tasha asked.
“It’s, like, lights-out sleep. You’re gone until the timer’s up. No amount of shaking’s gonna wake you.”
In other words, passing out that hard in a packed train car wasn’t exactly safe.
Tasha just shrugged. “Whatever. Someone gonna rob me for my looks? I’m no model. My cash? I’ve got, like, seventeen bucks left.”
Her “screw it, I’m over it” vibe left System 103 at a loss. After a beat, it said, “Alright, fine. How long you wanna crash?”
Tasha let out a huge yawn. “Train’s got four hours left. Let’s do four.”
System 103 made it happen.
A tidal wave of sleepiness slammed Tasha, her eyelids heavy as bricks. She didn’t even get another word out before she was out cold.
The train car stayed loud—clanking, chatter, snores—but Tasha didn’t so much as twitch.
She sank into a long, vivid dream.
Forced sleep wasn’t supposed to let you dream, but Tasha did anyway. It wasn’t just a dream—it was her old life, playing out like a movie in her mind.
In her old life, Tasha was the kid everyone picked on.
At barely 5 feet tall and pushing 220 pounds, she looked like a walking beach ball. Growing up, she was a total loner—no friends, no playmates. Her family acted like she was invisible, her relatives threw shade, and her classmates? They never let up with the jokes. It wasn’t until high school that Tasha thought she’d struck gold with her first real pal, Nicole Meyer.
Nicole was a knockout: pretty, kind, loaded, and the girl every guy in school had a crush on. But looking back, Tasha saw their “friendship” for what it was—barely a thing. Nicole didn’t have her back when the mean kids came around, but she didn’t join the dogpile either.
That tiny bit of not-being-awful was enough for Tasha to latch on like Nicole was her lifeline.
By some crazy stroke of luck, Tasha tripped into showbiz, landing gigs as the funny fat girl or the punchline in some goofy scene. Then she got wind that Nicole had jumped into the game too.
Tasha was pumped. She slid into Nicole’s DMs right away, and just like that, they were “besties” again. The tabloids couldn’t get enough, hyping them up as Tinseltown’s cutest sister act.
Tasha wasn’t exactly a natural star, but she worked her tail off. She threw herself into every ridiculous role, hamming it up like nobody’s business. The showbiz’s drowning in pretty faces, but someone like Tasha—willing to lean into the goofy, no-ego shtick? That was gold.
Bit by bit, she carved out her spot. Yeah, she was still the chubby girl who didn’t fit the mold, but the jobs kept coming. Pretty soon, her name was ringing bells louder than Nicole’s.
Then, like the universe decided to toss her a high-five, Spud Giggles came calling.
Yup, the Spud Giggles—the comedy crew that churns out hit after hit, launching stand-up legends and raking in billions at the box office.
And they wanted Tasha to play the supporting female lead in their next big flick.
This wasn’t just a gig; it was a whole new level. No more bit parts or throwaway roles as “Random Goon.” This was Tasha’s big break, her shot at being a legit comedy actress with her name in lights.
She was losing her mind with excitement. First thing she did? Video-call Nicole. She was a mess—laughing, crying, tripping over her words as she spilled the tea.
Looking back, Tasha couldn’t believe she was so clueless. ‘How’d I not catch that sketchy look in Nicole’s eyes? What made me think me and her were even playing the same game?’
Tasha had the invite locked in, but she wasn’t skipping that audition. Her name wasn’t exactly dazzling the whole industry yet. The day before her big shot, Nicole hit her up, practically begging her to crash their high school reunion.
High school wasn’t Tasha’s jam—too many bad memories. Still, Nicole wouldn’t quit, and Tasha didn’t want to be a jerk and bail. So, she threw on her best dress, half to show off. No way was she letting those snobs think she was still a nobody.
Big mistake. What happened next was a nightmare she’d never shake.
Her old “pals” had gone all out, splicing every cringey, dumb, or straight-up embarrassing moment from her acting gigs into a slick video. They splashed it across the hotel’s massive screen for everyone to gawk at.
Worse, they’d dug up goofy pig clips online, cutting them next to Tasha’s scenes. Her curvy frame beside those hogs? Yeah, it made her look like she was starring in Piggy: The Sequel.
The soundtrack was that viral “Oink Oink Jig” blasting through the ballroom.
Nicole’s boyfriend, Carl Lambert, was the evil genius behind it. He stood up front, clapping. When Tasha and a pig did a ridiculous mid-air spin in sync onscreen, Carl lost it, practically rolling on the floor. Nicole stood there, giggling behind her hand, the other smacking his back like he was a comedy king.
Tasha’s head was spinning. The room wobbled, her heart pounding in her ears. She’d worn her best dress, the kind you save up for, and now she was their clown. It was like the universe was laughing, screaming that her last ten years—her hustle, her friendships, her life—were one big joke.
Nicole’s sweet smile was still there, but her eyes? Was she mocking her? Pitying her? Tasha couldn’t tell.
Then she saw him in the corner.
Still perfect, still cold, still untouchable. Time hadn’t touched him.
He sat there, blank-faced, watching the chaos like it was a bad reality show. Their eyes met for a second.
His gaze was empty—no pity, no smirk, nothing. Tasha, the humiliating circus—it didn’t faze him. He was like some king on a throne, sneering at the jesters.
That look broke her. The pride she’d clung to, the happy mask she’d worn—it all crumbled. A raw, guttural cry tore out of her, like a wounded animal, and she bolted from the ritzy hotel, stumbling into the street.
A flashy sports car screamed out of nowhere. The drunk driver behind the wheel sent her flying.
Tasha’s ghost drifted through the world, glaring at the driver who hit her as he forked over 170 thousand dollars to her parents. The guy played it slick, pinning it all on her—claimed she blew through a red light, causing the crash. That money? Labeled “charity,” not guilt. Her folks had to sign a paper saying Tasha was fully to blame. Her mom and dad, who never really clicked with their eldest, didn’t hesitate. Cash in hand, they signed that waiver quicker than one’d rip off a sheet of toilet paper.
Tasha’s death popped off online for a hot second before some influencer’s outfit and juicy dating drama stole the show. A few sketchy blogs reposted her story, tossing out half-baked RIPs while preaching about crosswalks and stoplights.
Her funeral was quiet as a ghost town—barely anyone showed up. Her family was there, snacking and rummaging through Tasha’s things. Her brother Wesley griped, “She was grinding in showbiz for years, and this is all she’s got? Barely enough for a decent plot!”
Nicole swung by, though. She chatted up the family, then stood by Tasha’s casket, squeezing out a few tears. Her photographer circled, snapping pics and muttering, “More sad vibes, babe, but keep it Insta-perfect—this is tomorrow’s viral post.”
And that was how Tasha’s story fizzled out in her old life.
*****
Ironwood, New Cascadia’s dazzling film and TV capital, is the beating heart of the region’s entertainment scene. It was where dream-chasers flock to the studios, grinding it out for that one shot to go from nobody to red-carpet royalty.
System 103 bet Tasha would sprint straight for the studios. Nope. Fresh off the train, she wandered down a quiet pedestrian street and slipped into a rundown little bookstore.
The place looked like it hadn’t been touched since the ’80s—faded sign, peeling paint, zero customers.
In half a second, System 103 scoped it out. Shabby or not, the shelves were stacked: fresh bestsellers mixed with rare used books. Only downside? The whole place smelled like a musty attic, thanks to an owner who clearly wasn’t big on cleaning.
Said owner, a sweet old lady with chunky glasses, was napping in a creaky chair, oblivious to Tasha’s arrival.
The system caught Tasha’s expression when she saw the old woman—a wild mix of sadness, joy, and nostalgia.
‘Humans and their emotional rollercoasters,’ System 103 thought.
Tasha stepped up and tapped the counter.
“Hm?” The old lady jolted awake. “Oh, hey, kid! Lookin’ for a book? Grab whatever.”
“Not shopping,” Tasha said with a grin. “Ma’am, you hiring?”
*****
Half an hour later, System 103 piped up, “Host, you and the book lady knew each other in your last life, right?”
“Caught that, huh?” Tasha was now strolling through the studio district, soaking in the vibe. “You’ve got some serious street smarts.”
“Knew it the second you hit that bookstore. Wanna spill? What’s the deal?”
Tasha’s face softened, like she was flipping through a mental scrapbook. “Her name’s Polly Mills. “Last time, I didn’t leave home till way later.
“Same as now, though, I was flat broke. Got lost in the city and crashed into her bookstore.
“Polly let me stay with her for a month till I landed my first extra gig in the studios.”
“When I got my first paycheck, I tried to pay her back.
“She wasn’t having it. Said, ‘Kid, everyone hits hard times. You’re a broke actor—hang onto your cash. Pay me back when you’re a big deal.'”
Tasha’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. After a pause, she went on, “I never forgot that. Years later, when I’d finally made a name for myself, I came back.
“But Polly’s shop? Gone.
“I asked around, but the old neighbors had split. Took forever, but a food truck guy down the street filled me in.
“Polly got sick—cancer. Her son and daughter-in-law wouldn’t pay for treatment. A gem like her, just left to waste away.”
“After she was gone, the bookstore got sold.
Tasha opened her eyes. That was the story’s end.
In her old life, Polly was one of the few who gave Tasha a bit of warmth. She was the first friendly face in this strange city.
But life’s no storybook. Good people didn’t always win, while heartless types—like Polly’s family—rode Tasha’s coattails, cashing in on her old-life success without deserving a dime.
“Gotcha,” the system said, clearly not getting human emotions but sensing Tasha’s funk. It paused, then mumbled, “Uh, host, sorry for your loss.”
‘That’s what people say, right?’ it thought.
“Pfft!” Tasha snorted, laughing. “Loss? Chill, Polly’s doing great. This time, I’m making sure she doesn’t get the same raw deal.”
She’d already linked up with Polly early, and Polly had opened her door sooner than before.
Just now, they’d worked out a plan. Tasha could crash at the bookstore. Polly would run things during the day; Tasha would hold down the fort after 8 p.m.
No salary, but Polly would cover meals. Free food and a roof? Not bad at all.
Tasha was cool with it. Polly’s bookstore wasn’t exactly a goldmine, and foot traffic was slow. Taking Tasha in wasn’t about needing help—it was just Polly’s big heart.
With her living situation sorted, Tasha headed to the film studio. First stop: the Screen Actors Guild.
She dropped three bucks for an actor’s permit. Thank goodness it wasn’t a few years later—back then, getting one would’ve been a hassle. One’d need ID, a bank card, and even a code to join some group chat. Tasha would’ve been lost without a phone.
System 103’s deep sleep feature was no joke. Even on a train, Tasha slept better than she ever had in both lives. She felt sharp, light, and ready to take on the world.
Stretching with a yawn, Tasha suddenly remembered something.”Hey, System, what’s my status right now?”
The system pulled up her stats.
Name: Tasha Newman
Age: 20
Weight: 112 lbs
Height: 5’1″
IQ: 138 (Excellent)
Beauty Score: 0 (Just another face)
Health: 41 (Not great)
Strength: 0
Charisma: 0
Losing 120 pounds worked magic on Tasha’s vibe, even without cashing in for a beauty upgrade. Her charm score climbed from the negatives to at least zero, and she was totally hyped about it.
System 103 cut in, “Host, your health was at 30 before. Post-weight loss? It’s 41 now.”
Talk about a steal—drop pounds, boost health, and look sharper? Tasha was sold.
She skimmed her stats and spotted new numbers. “Wait, what? These weren’t here yesterday,” she said, squinting.
System 103 didn’t hold back. “‘Cause your brain wasn’t ready to get these numbers yesterday.”
“Well, rude.”
Fresh from snagging her actor’s permit, Tasha wandered the film studio lot. Sure, she’d napped hard and her body was way lighter now, but exhaustion hit fast.
Yawning like crazy, she trudged back to the bookstore.
Polly’s shop was on a laid-back street near the studios, so Tasha was there in a flash.
Inside, Polly was chilling behind the counter, peering through chunky reading glasses at a book. She looked up with a grin. “Hey, you’re back! Saved you some eats.”
Tasha eyed the spread: a couple of flaky biscuits, a bowl of creamy mac and cheese with a golden breadcrumb topping, and a mug of warm chocolate milk. Classic diner vibes, no doubt—probably zapped in the microwave just for her.
She froze, imagining Polly hustling next door, charming the socks off the diner folks for that chocolate milk, then coaxing the owner to heat up the grub.
The thought hit hard—not from this life, but her old one.
Polly’s bookstore was barely scraping by. Her pension was decent, but her leech of a son took most of it. ‘She is stretched thin, so why is she doing this for me?’ she thought bitterly.
Polly’s smile was all warmth. “Good to see ya, kid. I’m off. Eat while it’s hot.”
She nodded to the back. “Got you some bedding from my place. It’s in the storage room. Eat and crash.”
Tasha mumbled, “Thanks, Polly.”
Polly shuffled out with her cane, grinning.
Tasha didn’t follow, watching Polly’s wobbly figure fade.
She knew Polly’s house was close, where she lived with her son and his wife. The pension kept her safe from grief, but respect? Not so much.
If Tasha walked her home and the chatty daughter-in-law saw, it’d spark drama for Polly. No way Tasha was risking that.
She sank into a chair, grabbed a biscuit, and bit in. Soft, warm, buttery—perfect. She chewed slowly, head down.
Then System 103 saw it: a wet spot on the fluffy biscuit.
“Polly,” Tasha whispered, mid-bite, “I’m gonna make it big. I’m gonna stack cash—tons of it.”
