The ascent up the stairs felt like an agonizing climb to a gallows. Each creak of the old wood beneath Jake's sneakers was amplified in the oppressive silence, a soundtrack to his escalating dread and the terrifying gamble he was taking. Katy's desperate plea, "Jake, no!", echoed in his ears, a stark counterpoint to Tiffany's cold, unwavering footsteps behind him. He could feel Katy's presence, a frantic, worried shadow, following them up.
"Just so you know," Jake muttered, his voice tight, not looking back, "my powers, they… they used to not be confined. They used to expand all over the house. My bed grew, things appeared everywhere. It was… a lot." He hoped this tidbit, this hint of a larger, more chaotic past, would lend credence to his current, more limited, claims. It was a desperate attempt to build a foundation of belief before the main event.
Tiffany scoffed, her voice flat, devoid of any interest. "Save the bedtime stories, Miller. I'm not here for your sob-story origin myth. I'm here for proof. Or for you to admit you're a liar. Either way, let's get this over with." Her tone was dismissive, but Jake could sense the underlying tension, the razor-thin edge of her patience. She was here for a spectacle, not a narrative.
They reached the landing. Jake's bedroom door stood open, revealing the familiar, slightly messy interior. The afternoon light streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, making everything seem mundane, ordinary. Too ordinary for the impossible truth it contained.
Jake stopped at the threshold, turning to face Tiffany. Katy arrived a moment later, panting slightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and furious accusation. She stopped abruptly a few feet behind Tiffany, her gaze fixed on Jake, a silent, desperate question in her eyes.
"Okay," Jake said, his voice barely a whisper, directed at Tiffany. "This is it. My room. The… the locus." He gestured vaguely around the space. "My powers, they only work in here now. Anything I create, anything I wish for, it stays in here. It can't leave." He swallowed hard. "Just like your grandpa's illusions. They were real, but they were confined to his house, weren't they? That's why Michael only saw them on Halloween, when he was inside."
Tiffany's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. She glanced around the room, then back at Jake, her expression still skeptical, but a tiny seed of doubt seemed to have been planted by his mention of her grandpa's confinement. "So, you're telling me this is your… magic box?" she sneered, but the sneer lacked its usual conviction.
"It's not a magic box," Jake retorted, his voice gaining a touch of defensive pride. "It's where the Cubix Power is focused for me. It's… it's my realm." He took a deep breath, then gestured towards the far corner of his room, near his desk.
"And that," he said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, "is the portal."
Tiffany's gaze followed his pointing finger. Her eyes landed on the shimmering, almost imperceptible distortion in the air, a faint ripple of light that seemed to shimmer like heat haze over asphalt, yet held a depth that defied the solid wall behind it. It pulsed with a soft, internal glow, a subtle hum that Jake could feel more than hear.
For a long moment, Tiffany just stared. Her mouth, which had been twisted in a sneer, slowly parted. Her eyes, usually so quick to dismiss, were fixed on the shimmering anomaly, a flicker of genuine bewilderment replacing her contempt. Brittany and Chelsea, her usual audience, weren't here to reinforce her disbelief. It was just her, and the impossible.
"What… what is that?" she whispered, her voice stripped of its usual bravado, a raw, unadulterated question.
"It's a gateway," Jake explained, a tremor of triumph in his voice. "To my realm. A world I created. It's… it's where Aethelred exists. My other self. The god part of me."
Katy, standing behind Tiffany, let out a soft, desperate groan, her face buried in her hands. This was it. The full, unvarnished truth, delivered to the one person least likely to handle it with discretion.
Tiffany, however, seemed oblivious to Katy's distress. Her eyes were still glued to the portal, a strange mixture of fascination and fear warring in their depths. "You… you created that?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "That's… that's impossible. It's just… light. A trick of the light." But even as she said it, her voice lacked conviction. The portal hummed, subtly, undeniably.
"It's not a trick," Jake said, his voice firm now, imbued with the conviction of absolute truth. He needed her to see. He needed her to believe. "Watch."
He stepped fully into his room, crossing the threshold that separated the mundane from the miraculous. As he did, he felt the familiar surge of connection, the subtle hum of the locus, the boundless potential of the Cubix Power at his command. It was a feeling he had learned to embrace, to control, to use consciously as Jake, rather than be overwhelmed by it as Aethelred.
He turned to face Tiffany, who remained rooted to the spot just outside his doorway, her eyes wide, watching his every move. Katy, still behind her, had lowered her hands, her face a mask of horrified anticipation.
Jake took a deep breath, centering himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the object he intended to create. Something simple, undeniable, yet impossible. Something that would shatter her skepticism.
He thought of the school cafeteria, of the scattered tater tots, of Tiffany's sneering face. He thought of the endless, petty drama, the social hierarchies that felt so vast and insurmountable in the real world, yet so utterly insignificant in his realm. He thought of the contrast between his two lives.
He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the empty space directly in front of him, about three feet from where Tiffany stood, just inside the invisible boundary of his room. He focused his will, not with the raw, untamed power of Aethelred, but with the precise, directed intent of Jake. He pictured it, not just as an image, but as a concept, a desire made manifest.
"I wish," Jake commanded, his voice clear and resonant, filling the small room, "for a perfect, golden, steaming plate of tater tots."
Nothing happened for a beat. Tiffany's eyes narrowed, a triumphant smirk beginning to form on her lips. Katy squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable humiliation.
Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer in the air, like heat rising from asphalt on a summer day, a golden glow began to coalesce in the empty space. It grew, solidifying, taking on form and texture. A subtle aroma, warm and savory, filled the air.
And then, there it was. Hovering impossibly in mid-air, a foot off the ground, was a perfectly ordinary, white ceramic plate. And piled high on it, steaming faintly, were dozens of golden-brown, perfectly crispy tater tots. Each one was flawless, glistening with a faint sheen of oil, radiating warmth and the irresistible scent of fried potatoes. It was utterly mundane, yet utterly impossible.
Tiffany gasped. A sharp, involuntary sound that ripped through the silence. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the empty space, now darted to the floating plate of tater tots, then back to Jake's face, then to the plate again. Her jaw hung slack, her carefully constructed composure utterly shattered.
Katy, who had risked a peek, let out a small, incredulous sound, a mix of awe and despair.
"See?" Jake said, his voice a little shaky with triumph. He reached out a hand, plucking a single tater tot from the plate. It was warm, solid, real. He popped it into his mouth. It tasted exactly like a perfect tater tot. "They're real. And they're delicious."
Tiffany stumbled back, her eyes wide with a raw, primal fear. She looked at the tater tots, then at the shimmering portal, then at Jake, her face a canvas of utter, uncomprehending shock. Her sophisticated facade had completely crumbled, revealing a terrified, bewildered girl.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling, barely a breath. "No, no, no. That's… that's not possible. That's not… real. It's a trick. It has to be a trick." She shook her head vehemently, as if trying to dislodge the impossible image from her mind.
Jake took another tater tot, offering it to her. "It's real. Want one?"
Tiffany recoiled as if he'd offered her a venomous snake. Her eyes were fixed on the plate, then on the portal, then on Jake. The sheer, impossible reality of what she was witnessing was too much. Her world, her carefully ordered, predictable world of social hierarchies and popular cliques, had just been irrevocably shattered. Her grandpa's "Halloween tricks" were no longer just quirky stories; they were terrifying, impossible truths. And this dork, Jake Miller, was just like him.
She looked at Jake, then at Katy, who was now standing, her face a mixture of grim satisfaction and profound worry. Tiffany's gaze lingered on Katy, a dawning understanding in her eyes. Katy knew. Katy had known all along.
Tiffany let out a small, choked sound, a mix of fear and utter, complete defeat. She had demanded proof, and Jake had delivered, shattering her reality in the process. The silence in the hallway was broken only by her ragged breathing.
"You… you really…?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with a terrified wonder.
Jake nodded, a quiet, almost solemn confirmation. "I told you."
Tiffany stared at the floating tater tots for another long moment, as if expecting them to vanish, to prove her sanity. But they remained, golden and real, a defiant testament to the impossible. The weight of the revelation settled on her, heavy and undeniable. Her world had just tilted on its axis. And the dork, Jake Miller, was the one who had pushed it.