The Perfectionist’s Playbook Chapter 2

At dinner, my parents, accustomed to my second-place finishes, praised me as usual:

"Second place is amazing! Your mom and I never scored this high when we were in school. Don't put too much pressure on yourself."

How could I not?

I absolutely had to get first place.

But at my level, hiring those expensive, gold-star private tutors wouldn't do much good.

Suddenly, a car pulled into the driveway next door.

My mom mentioned casually, "Ethan is back for the summer. Do you want me to go over and ask him for his old study materials?"

Ethan Sterling. He was two years older than me. During his senior year, he swept the state academic decathlons and secured early admission to an Ivy League university.

When he got in, let alone our school, even our neighborhood threw a block party. For a while, he was the absolute star of the town.

Before I could speak, my dad said, "Ethan is a competition genius. His materials probably aren't suitable for our girl's standard curriculum, right?"

The moment my dad said that, a lightbulb went off in my head. I jumped up from my chair.

"Why are you acting so frantic?" My mom was startled.

I sat back down, shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth at lightning speed, put down my fork, and announced, "I'm going to ask Ethan for his study materials."

The gate to the Sterlings' yard was open. I walked right in, greeted Mr. and Mrs. Sterling on the first floor, and sprinted straight to the second floor.

Ethan, wearing a white tee and baggy jeans, was slouching on the upstairs sofa playing a game on his phone. The lights were dim, and the glow of the screen illuminated his flawlessly sculpted profile.

Honestly, I didn't like Ethan.

From the first time I met him when I was ten, listening to our parents exchange parenting tips, I knew immediately—this guy was also a massive "try-hard."

And try-hards never like people who are better at faking it than they are.

Sure enough, all these years had only proven my initial impression right.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw me. "Well, if it isn't little Riley..."

Before he could finish his sentence, I dropped straight to my knees in front of him.

Before I could even speak, Ethan, who had been lounging on the sofa, jumped up in shock.

"Riley, why the hell are you kneeling?"

I looked at him, absolutely serious. "Ethan, I heard you're home for the summer. I want to hire you as my tutor."

Ethan came over to pull me up. "If you want to hire a tutor, just ask. Why are you kneeling? You're going to curse me, and if my mom sees this, she'll beat me to death."

"It means I'm begging you," I blinked. "Kneeling on one knee is weird, so kneeling on both shows more sincerity."

"..."

"Ethan, can I book you for two months at market rate?"

"...Don't word it like you're hiring an escort."

"Oh."

Ethan pulled me up and looked me up and down for a good moment.

"I remember your grades being pretty solid. Why do you need me to tutor you?"

I hesitated for a second, debating, but decided to be honest.

"So you're telling me, since entering high school, you've been stuck in second place for two straight years?" Ethan looked at me in amazement, then gave me a genuine thumbs-up. "Honestly, impressive."

"..."

Was he mocking me?

From what I knew, even though Ethan focused on advanced competitions, whenever he took the standard school exams, no one could ever pry him out of the number one spot.

He had no weak subjects.

"So you're here to learn the secret to getting first place?"

My ears burned, but I nodded honestly.

As expected, a fellow try-hard understands best.

Ethan suddenly let out a laugh. "If you're willing to drop to your knees and beg me, it seems you really want that number one spot."

People like us hate begging others. But Ethan didn't need the money. If I didn't beg, why would he agree to tutor me?

And compared to the humiliation of begging, staying the perpetual runner-up would actually kill me.

"So, will you teach me?" I looked at him eagerly.

Ethan had a lazy smile on his face. It was the exact same effortless, carefree smile he wore during his senior year when he secured his Ivy League acceptance.

Faking it without breaking a sweat.

I was so incredibly jealous.