Prelude to the exam battle

During their two-year exam-prep break, Alan and Emma had to go full-on 1990s mode—yes, they wrote letters. Not emails. Not texts. Actual, handwritten, snail-mailed *letters.* Why? Because back then, the closest thing to a "smartphone" was, well, nothing! It was either pen and paper or shouting across town (which, let’s be honest, wasn’t a good look).

They weren’t exchanging love letters every day, though—oh no, they were way too focused on being the school’s top students. Their letters flew back and forth only on weekends because these two were practically allergic to wasting time. In their world, wasting time was like throwing your future in the trash.

I know, I know—kinda sad, right? But hey, this was life in the 90's. No social media, no endless memes to scroll through. It was all about being serious with a side of handwritten flair. Plus, as strict as school was, it shaped students into top-notch future employees—no internet distractions, just pure focus and a few bad hairstyles.

**Chapter 1: Prelude to the Exam Battle**

Emma was packing all of her things the night before the big exam. Her father, George, stood proudly watching, “Ah, look at my girl, Linda! So prim and proper. I promise you, she’s going to end up in a well-esteemed college.” He beamed, giving a self-satisfied nod.

Her mother, Linda, smirked and chimed in, “Oh, George, I know she will.” They shared a heartwarming laugh, basking in the glow of Emma being the shining light of the family.

Now, don’t be fooled by all this parental praise. Emma’s mother loved talking about her… but not in the way you’d expect. Sure, Linda was proud of her daughter’s academic success, but the truth was, she was secretly jealous of Emma’s beauty. You see, as Emma blossomed into a beautiful young woman, her mother became envious. So instead of praising Emma for her looks, Linda decided to criticize her behind her back.

To her relatives, Linda would say things like, “Oh sure, Emma’s perfect for a career, but when it comes to marriage? Ha! No chance. She has only one friend, Alan, and trust me, Tina” — this was Linda’s favorite gossip buddy, her sister-in-law — “even Alan will leave her high and dry one day. Mark my words, she’ll end up alone. Even if she marries a rich CEO who’s the center of attention, he’ll still treat her like a stranger. Hahaha!”

Ouch, right? Those words stung Emma like a thousand bees, but she tried to shrug them off. She wasn’t going to let her mom’s pettiness get under her skin—not tonight, anyway. After all, she had more important things to focus on.

Back to Emma. She double-checked her exam essentials: extra pens, a cute outfit, matching accessories. Oh, and let’s not forget—she even considered dying one strand of her hair brown. She thought, why not look fabulous for her first day of high school? Off to the salon she went!

Now, you might be thinking, "Shouldn’t she be, I don’t know, revising for the exam?" Well, relax. This is Emma, the *topper*. She’s revised a billion times already.

At the salon, the staff suggested, "Why don’t you go for soft curls? It’ll really suit you, and you look so beautiful."

Emma hesitated. “Uh, okay, but don’t overdo it. It’s my first day of high school, and I want to look my best.”

“No worries, ma’am, we’ve got you!” said the stylist.

While Emma was getting her hair done, a group of girls from her junior high entered the same salon. They couldn’t recognize her and started whispering among themselves, thinking she was some sort of celebrity. Emma giggled to herself, thinking, *Wow, I’ve changed so much no one even knows who I am!*

But then, the butterflies hit. What if Alan didn’t recognize her either? No big deal, she thought. She’d just show him the letters they exchanged during their two-year summer break. Problem solved.

Later that day, Emma alternated between revising for the exam and daydreaming. Everything was going smoothly, but thoughts of meeting Alan after two years gave her serious butterflies. Staring at herself in the mirror, she suddenly blushed. “Why am I feeling butterflies? Did I… fall in love with him?” She blushed even harder.

But being Emma, she shook her head and snapped herself out of it. Pointing a stern finger at her reflection and placing her other hand on her hip, she said, “He’s your *friend*. Stop thinking silly things.” With that, she gave herself a firm nod and hopped into bed, excitement bubbling up for tomorrow.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Alan had just returned from vacation at his relatives’ house. He ran to his room, filled with excitement. “I’m going to see Emma after two years!” he thought, practically bouncing off the walls with joy.

His parents, however, weren’t so thrilled about his enthusiasm. They exchanged suspicious glances, thinking, *Is our son in love with that girl?* But no, Alan wasn’t experiencing anything as dramatic as Emma’s mirror pep talks. He was simply thrilled to see his best friend again. Nothing more, nothing less. Or so he thought.

Alan stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide what to wear for tomorrow. Alright, readers, let me stop you right there—I know what you’re thinking. *He wants to look good for Emma*, right? Wrong! Nope, Alan wanted to look “posh” for his exams.

I get it—dressing up for exams sounds bizarre, but hey, knock knock, it’s the ’90s. People were weird in fun, interesting ways. Fashion statements during exams? Totally a thing back then.

Talking to himself in the mirror, Alan muttered, “I hope Emma and I end up in the same class and sit beside each other.” His eyes lit up as he remembered, “Oh! And I have a gift for her. Yes!” His voice brimmed with excitement.

Alan stared at his reflection, lost in thought. *"I wonder how high school is going to be... I just hope Emma doesn't run into any of those weird girls,"* he sighed. *"Ugh, high school girls. When all they have is beauty but no brains, they’re just... useless. I mean, what’s the point of being popular if you’re as sharp as a spoon?"*

Alright, folks, let me clarify—Alan wasn’t one of those guys who only cared about looks. Oh no, he was all about the brains. Sure, he didn’t expect a girl to look like a monkey (I mean, who does?), but to him, intelligence was the real deal. He had no time for girls who were all makeup and no mental muscle.

In junior high, Emma had been the total brainiac, the kind of girl who could ace any test while the rest were struggling to spell their names. But Alan and Emma? They'd been friends since day one. So... did Alan like her because she was brainy? Or was it just because of who she was—his best friend?

*Alan glanced back at the mirror, scratching his head.* "Or maybe it's both? I dunno... I just hope no one annoys her in high school. Especially those girls who think ‘math’ is a type of makeup."

Well, let’s dive into the story to find out more about these two, shall we?

Alan made sure his books—and more importantly, the gift for Emma—were packed and ready in his bag. With everything set, he headed downstairs for dinner. As soon as he reached the table, his mother was on the phone. *"Stephen! George is on the line!"* she called. Alan’s father, Stephen, bolted from the dining table like the wind, half-chewed food still in his mouth. *"Oh hey, George!"* he managed to say, barely swallowing.

Alan’s mom, Patricia, chuckled, *"Look at your father, all high-spirited talking to George."* Meanwhile, Alan was barely paying attention, too busy mentally revising his exam notes (not thinking about those cranky high school girls, mind you). *"George who?"* he asked, just as he was about to take another bite of his meal.

Patricia smiled and said, *"Oh, no one important. It’s Emma’s father, George."*

At the mention of *Emma,* Alan perked up. *"Wait—Emma?!?"* He dropped his fork and, like a true copycat, rushed from the table just like his father did. His mom just shook her head, laughing. *"They’re both crazy about their friends!"* she thought, amused by the fact that the guys in her house would abandon food for a phone call.

Alan, of course, had only one mission now—get the phone! He stood beside his dad, giving him that *"hand over the phone right now or else"* look. Stephen understood, probably because he had just pulled the same move, and handed Alan the (sorry to disappoint, no smartphone here, folks) good old-fashioned wired phone.

*This is the 90s, after all—if you wanted to flirt, you had to wait for your turn on the family phone like a boss.*

Alan, suddenly feeling his heart race, picked up the receiver. *"Hello, sir, how are you and your family? Everyone doing good?"* His voice was filled with excitement, and maybe just a little too much eagerness for a *'casual'* phone call.

Now, George—Emma’s father—had always imagined Alan was *the one* for Emma, even if Emma’s mom *definitely* wasn’t on the same page. (Trust me, Linda was probably plotting something against the poor kid as we speak.) But back to Alan—George chuckled on the other end, *"I know who you really want to talk to."*

At that moment, Alan blushed so hard that he might as well have turned into a tomato. *"Hi, um, Emma..."* His voice came out all awkward and stumbled, because suddenly, Emma’s voice sounded like it could melt a glacier. Forget exams—this was Alan’s *real* challenge.

Now, Emma on the other end? She wasn't faring any better. Hearing Alan’s deeper, more manly voice (probably thanks to all that 90s voice-cracking magic), she nearly *fainted.* Yes, folks, *fainted.* Best friends, and suddenly they couldn’t string two words together.

Both sets of parents were standing there like, *"Uhh… what’s happening to them?"*

For a full 30 seconds, there was total silence. No one could talk, no one could breathe, no one could *think.* All the past years of *best friend-ship* and now they were blushing over a phone call like it was some grand romance novel.

Finally, after what felt like *eternity,* Emma whispered, *"You probably won’t recognize me tomorrow."*

Confused, Alan asked, *"Why not?"*

She just laughed sweetly, *"Good luck on your exam, and if you’re a genius, maybe you’ll recognize me… Haha!"*

That laugh—that *pretty* laugh—hit Alan like a truck. His face turned so red you’d think he was overheating. As Emma hung up, Alan stood there, holding the phone like it was a lifeline, thinking, *"I am Alan, and I will recognize you, my dear Emma."* And just like that, he was blushing again—harder than ever.

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