The transition from the quiet warmth of his mother’s kitchen to the chaotic, echoing hallways of the local high school felt like stepping into another dimension.
Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked against the polished linoleum, and the chatter of hundreds of teenagers filled the air.
Jarad gripped the straps of his backpack, navigating the crowd.
He was fifteen again, but his mind felt miles ahead of everyone else in the building.
More importantly, his body felt heavy.
The reality was, by the time the original Jarad was fifteen, he was already deep into the culture.
He had been experimenting since middle school.
His body was used to the casual sips of lean, the weed, and the low-grade painkillers passed around by the older kids.
By waking up today and deciding to quit cold turkey, his nervous system was already fighting back.
A dull, lingering ache settled in his joints, and a quiet anxiety buzzed in the back of his head.
As he turned the corner toward his first-period class, he spotted his crew.
They were gathered near the side exit, laughing and shoving each other.
These were the friends who helped normalize the habits that would eventually kill him.
In his previous plan, Mike had thought about cutting them all off entirely.
But looking at them now, they were just kids.
They weren’t evil; they were just caught up in the same toxic environment he was.
He didn’t need to isolate himself.
He just needed to be stronger than the influence.
“Yo, Jarad!” one of his boys called out, a lanky kid in a baggy hoodie.
He walked up, giving Jarad a complicated dap.
“We’re linking up behind the bleachers at lunch. Got some fresh green, maybe a little something else. You in?”
The old Jarad would have nodded instantly, eager to escape the boredom of school into the haze.
The new Jarad just smiled, shaking his head.
“Nah, I’m good today, bro.”
His friend raised an eyebrow, genuinely shocked.
“You good? Since when?”
“Since today,” Jarad replied smoothly, keeping the vibe light but firm.
“I got some stuff I need to focus on. I’ll catch y’all at the lunch tables later, though.”
He walked away, leaving his friends staring after him in confusion.
As he put distance between himself and the group, a massive weight lifted off his chest.
He didn’t have to be a loner; he just had to be a leader.
One simple “no,” and an entire branch of a tragic timeline withered away.
For the rest of the morning, Jarad actually paid attention in class, using the lectures to distract himself from the mild cravings creeping up his spine.
But by the time study hall rolled around in the afternoon, the silence of the library gave his mind the space it needed to drift back to his true purpose.
He pulled a blank notebook from his backpack and clicked his pen.
It was time to map out his takeover.
He had his mother’s conditional blessing, a cheap USB microphone, and a completely clean slate.
But what was he going to record first?
The first drop on SoundCloud was crucial.
It was the bait that would hook the algorithm and the early underground curators.
He stared at the blank, lined paper.
His immediate instinct was to drop the nuclear bomb.
Lucid Dreams.
He wrote the title down.
If he dropped that in 2014, it would shatter the internet.
It was a guaranteed, immediate ticket to superstardom.
But then, a dark memory from 2018 flashed in his mind.
The lawsuit.
He remembered reading the articles about how the legendary musician Sting had sued Juice WRLD over the “Shape of My Heart” guitar sample.
Because the original track wasn’t cleared properly by the producers, Sting ended up taking a massive 85% of the royalties.
It had been a huge source of stress and lost millions for Jarad at the peak of his early career.
Frowning, Jarad dragged his pen through the words, crossing Lucid Dreams out with a thick black line.
I’m not letting anybody take 85% of my money this time, he thought.
He needed a hit that was entirely his own.
Something that didn’t rely on heavily copyrighted samples but still showcased his incredible vocal range and emotional depth.
He needed a track that fit perfectly into the sad-boy rap era that was about to take over SoundCloud, designed to get massive clicks from kids who felt exactly the way he did.
He tapped his pen against the desk, scrolling through the massive mental catalog of future hits.
Then, it hit him.
Wishing Well.
He wrote the title in bold letters, underlining it twice.
It was absolutely perfect.
The beat was driven by a simple, catchy acoustic guitar loop.
The flow was insanely catchy, and the chorus was an absolute earworm.
More importantly, it meant something to him right now.
Originally, the song was a cry for help about a losing battle with addiction.
Sitting there in the library, feeling his body ache for a pill, Jarad realized the lyrics were the perfect confession.
He didn’t have to change a single word.
It would serve as a raw, emotional release for the drugs he was actively stopping, a goodbye letter to his demons, and a masterpiece of melodic trap.
It was the ultimate first release.
It would pull listeners in with the acoustic vibe and trap them with the raw emotion.
The shrill ring of the final school bell suddenly echoed through the library, shattering his concentration.
Jarad snapped the notebook shut and shoved it into his bag, a confident smirk playing on his lips.
School was over.
It was time to go home.