The rest of chemistry is a blur of whispers, snickers, and furtive glances my way. I keep my head down, pretending to take notes, but my ears are burning with the delicious sounds of Flash's downfall. Finally, the bell rings. Freedom!
The halls are electric with gossip. Everyone is glued to their phones, gawking at the Flash Thompson humiliation extravaganza. I catch snippets of conversations:
"Did you see the photos?!"
"His face is covered in graffiti!"
"I heard he broke his leg!"
"Serves him right!"
Yeah, serves him right.
As I navigate the crowded hallway, I see a group of kids huddled around a phone, laughing hysterically. Their faces are glowing with vindication. I almost feel bad for Flash, almost.
I overhear some people talking about finding Flash. Apparently, some freshmen needing mops stumbled upon the janitor's closet during the break. The look on their faces must have been priceless.
In the cafeteria, the energy is buzzing. Usually, Flash and his cronies would hold court at their usual table, swaggering around like they own the place. But today, that table is empty. A few brave souls have even dared to sit there, basking in the rebel vibes.
Peter and I grab some mystery meat and sit down at a table. He's still got that wide-eyed look like he can't believe what went down. "Dude, they had to rush him to the hospital! Broken leg! He is so out for the whole season."
I shrug, trying to look nonchalant while internally doing a victory dance. "Guess so."
Suddenly, Gwen slides into the seat next to me. Her expression is a mix of concern and suspicion. "Ethan, do you know anything about what happened to Flash?"
"Me? Nope. I was right here, suffering through chemistry, just like everyone else." I plaster on my most innocent face.
She narrows her eyes, studying me like I'm some bug under a microscope. I keep my face smooth, channeling my inner poker player. I've got to give her credit, she's perceptive.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she sighs. "Okay… I guess." But I can tell she's not entirely convinced. "The school's gonna do an investigation, you know. To find out who did this."
I shrug again, feigning indifference. "Good luck to them." Internally, I'm patting myself on the back. Digi-Camo is the MVP. Plus, the janitor confirmed that the bathroom I used wasn't anywhere near the closet. And let's be real, Flash has made a whole bunch of enemies over the years. The administration will have to sift through a whole school of suspects. It's not like I was the only one who had it out for him. They'll never find me.
A grin stretches across my face as I leave Midtown High. Today was a good day. Inside my pocket, I can practically feel Gatomon and BlackGatomon vibrating with glee.
"He totally had it coming," Gatomon purrs in my head.
"Finally, some payback!" BlackGatomon cheers. "Now that's what I call justice!"
I couldn't agree more. As I reach my floor, I see Olivia standing by my door, watering some plants. Her eyes widen a bit when she sees me. "Ethan! You look… happier than usual."
"Yeah, well, something nice happened at school," I say, trying to play it cool. "That's all."
Olivia quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? Well, I was just about to make some coffee. Why don't you come over for a bit? I'd love to hear all about it."
Coffee at Olivia's? I pause for a moment to think about it. Why not? I can always use some bad coffee and good company. "Sure, sounds great."
Olivia's place is cozy, kinda cluttered with books and plants, but comfy.
"So," she says, settling back into her armchair, "tell me everything. What happened with this 'nice thing' at school?"
I launch into the story, explaining how Flash got injured and humiliated. I leave out the how, of course. I make it sound like he tripped and fell, and the photos were just bad luck.
"…and everyone saw," I finish, "He's totally mortified."
"Well, good for you," Olivia says with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. "It's good to see you standing up for yourself, Ethan."
She gets back to work on her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. I peek over her shoulder and notice she's looking at the stock market. Numbers and charts are all over the screen.
"You're into stocks?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Olivia laughs. "Into them? Honey, I practically live off them. I own stocks in multiple companies, plus a few businesses of my own."
Okay, wow. Olivia is filthy rich. I had no idea. She's casually looking at her Stark Industries portfolio. I notice the line graph is on a sharp downward trend. Ever since Tony went missing, those stocks have tanked.
"You should save some of that Stark stock," I say without thinking.
She raises an eyebrow at me. "Save it? Why?"
"Uh, no reason," I stammer, realizing I'm treading on dangerous ground. What could I even say? Oh, Tony Stark is Iron Man, and he'll be back soon to pump the stock? Yeah, that would go over well. "Just a hunch."
Olivia shrugs off my comment and hands me a steaming mug. "Here, try my special blend. It'll clear your head."
I take a sip, and immediately my eyes go wide. My stomach churns. What. The. Hell. Is this?! I can't help myself, and I spit the liquid back into the mug.
"What is in this?!" I gasp, wiping my tongue with the back of my hand.
Olivia's smiling. "My own recipe! It's got a little bit of everything. What do you taste?"
I take a tentative sniff of the mug. "I definitely taste wasabi. And... is that pepper? And... mayonnaise?!" My voice rises in disbelief.
"A little kick, a little spice, a little creaminess," she says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "I also threw in some fish sauce, liquid smoke, and a dash of Worcestershire."
"Fish sauce?! Liquid smoke?! In coffee?!" I exclaim. "Who does that?!"
"I do," she says, completely unfazed. "It's an acquired taste."
"Do you actually… drink this stuff?" I ask, my face scrunched up in disgust.
"Every morning," she says, taking a long sip from her own mug. "Gets me going."
I stare at her, completely baffled. Her taste buds must be totally shot. How can anyone willingly drink this vile concoction?
"Wow," I finally manage to say. "Your… your taste buds must be something else."
"That's one way to put it," she replies with a chuckle. "But hey, at least it's memorable, right?"
I can't help but laugh. Yeah, memorable is definitely one word for it. "Memorable and awful." I'm still reeling from that taste.
"More for me, then," she says, grabbing my rejected mug.
I watch her take another sip, a strange mix of horror and fascination on my face. This woman is an enigma, a walking, talking paradox. One thing is clear: I'm never accepting coffee from her again.
"Ethan, honey, we need to talk about your rent."
My stomach drops. I knew this was coming. "I know, Olivia, I'm really sorry. Things have been kinda tight lately, but I promise I'll get it to you soon."
She sighs, setting her laptop aside. "I appreciate that, Ethan, I really do. But 'soon' doesn't pay the bills. I like you, kid, but I can't just let you live here for free."
I look down at my shoes, feeling like dirt. "I understand. I'll figure something out, I swear."
Olivia purses her lips, thinking. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to give you until the end of the week to come up with the money."
"Okay," I say with a small glimmer of hope.
"But," she continues, her voice taking on a harder edge, "if you don't have it by then, you're going to work for me until you pay off what you owe. No excuses."
Work for Olivia? It's not the worst idea. She's a cool woman, and who knows what kind of interesting jobs she might have? Plus, it beats being homeless. "That sounds… manageable."
"Manageable, huh?" She leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh, it'll be 'manageable', alright. First thing, you'll be cleaning out my storage unit downtown. It's filled with junk from floor to ceiling, and I want it spotless."
I nod, still thinking it won't be too bad.
"Then," she continues, "there's the garden at my beach house. It's overgrown, and I need it completely redone. We are talking weeding, digging, planting. No machinery, all manual."
My throat feels tight. Still, I could handle it.
"And," she adds with a flourish, "I have a friend who needs help renovating his brownstone. Demolition, hauling materials, the whole nine yards. I told him you were a strong young man."
Demolition? Hauling? My back aches just thinking about it. Olivia is not messing around. This is straight-up manual labor, the kind that breaks your body. I'm basically a modern-day slave.
"I'll get the money," I blurt out, my voice strained. "I swear, I'll have it by the end of the week."
I bolt out of her apartment, the image of that storage unit and the brownstone flashing in my head. As soon as I'm out on the street, I pull out my Digivice, desperate for a solution.
I have to come up with a ton of cash, and fast. How am I supposed to do that?
[New Mission: Destroy 10 hideouts of the Tombstone gang.]
[Progress: 0/10]
[Reward: 10x Supply Box]
[Time Limit: 7 Days]
What? A mission just popped up? Out of the blue? That's… unexpected. I stare at the Digivice, rereading the notification to make sure I am not seeing things. Destroy ten hideouts?
Okay, who is Tombstone? I wrack my brain, trying to remember from my past life. He's definitely a Spider-Man villain, right?
The System must have read my thoughts because another window pops up with the requested information.
[Tombstone, also known as Lonnie Lincoln, is an enforcer, crime boss, and hitman operating in New York City. He is characterized by his superhuman physique resulting from a lab accident, including increased strength, durability, and a chalk-white complexion. He is a frequent adversary of Spider-Man and other heroes. His operations include racketeering, drug trafficking, and murder-for-hire.]
Right, that albino dude with the super strength. This is going to be a problem. Ten hideouts in one week? Considering my level, this feels like a massive difficulty spike. But looking at the clock on my Digivice, I realize there's no time to waste. I need to prioritize this mission.
"Gatomon! BlackGatomon! We have a job to do!"
***
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