Chapter 1-From Frustration To Fear
ETHAN ==•==•
I sat at my desk, staring at the blank notebook page like it had personally insulted me.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, but it did nothing to make this crap any easier.
My pencil hovered over the paper, scratching out half-formed sentences that I immediately erased.
"Why the hell did they have to invent assignments?" I muttered under my breath, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Just teach us the damn stuff, ask if we get it, and when we say yes, believe us. Boom, done. No assignments, no tests, no exams dragging us through hell."
But no. Of course not. They loved watching us squirm, piling on the misery just to prove who was boss.
I slammed my forehead into my palm, letting out a long, frustrated groan that echoed off the walls.
My head throbbed from the pressure, but it was better than looking at this garbage again.
The question on the page mocked me:
Explain the socio-economic impacts of corporate mergers in post-recession markets, with specific reference to case studies from 2008-2012.
Provide at least three examples and analyze their long-term effects on workforce displacement.
What the actual fuck? I mean, come on. Who came up with this? I pictured Mr. Hargrove, my economics teacher, waddling into class every day with that gut of his spilling over his belt like a poorly tied balloon.
The man had a forehead so massive it could block out the sun, and his hairline? Forget it—receded so far back it looked like his scalp was auditioning for a horror movie.
"Balding bastard," I grumbled, chewing the end of my pencil harder.
"Bet he sits at home inventing these nightmares just to torture us. Probably gets off on it, the sweaty pig."
I scribbled a few words—"mergers bad"—then crossed them out so hard.
My brain felt like it was melting, every synapse firing blanks.
I gripped the textbook tighter, my knuckles turning white, and for a split second, I seriously considered hurling the whole thing across the room.
It would hit the wall with a satisfying thud, pages fluttering.
But nah, that'd just mean I'd have to pick it up later.
Instead, I tossed the pencil down and rubbed my temples, whispering, "Screw you, Hargrove. May your hairline keep retreating until you're as bald as your damn soul."
I was still muttering curses—louder now, letting them spill out like venom—when my phone buzzed to life on the desk.
The ringtone blared some annoying pop crap I'd meant to change months ago.
"Who is this motherfucking bastard calling me this fucking morning?" I snarled, glaring at the screen.
Didn't they know mornings were sacred? Prime time for battling assignments before the day turned into a full-blown disaster.
I snatched the phone up, squinting at the caller ID. Daniel. My classmate, the human equivalent of a bad rash.
"Why is he calling me?" I thought, my jaw clenching. It was high time I blocked every single one of these idiots or at least sent out a group text warning.
The call kept ringing. I hit ignore and watched the screen go dark, letting out a huff of relief.
Back to the assignment. I picked up the pencil again, shoving it between my teeth and gnawing.
Come on, brain, give me something. Anything. Workforce displacement? Yeah, like how this question was displacing my will to live—
Buzz. Buzz. The phone lit up again, same name. Daniel, you persistent prick.
At this point, I nearly yeeted the damn thing out the window. My hand trembled as I grabbed it, thumb hovering over the power button.
"Why is this motherfucking bastard calling me!?!" I yelled at no one, my voice cracking with rage.
"I am fucking going to murder someone! Noooo—as a matter of fact, murder people? Hell yes! I'd start with the motherfucking teachers at my school, every last one of them, then my classmates for being enablers, and top it off with the principals who couldn't be bothered to tell those assholes to quit dumping these marathon assignments on us with a measly 24 hours to finish. Die, all of you!"
My chest heaved, heart pounding like I'd run a mile. Screw it. I swiped to answer, jamming the phone to my ear.
"Shiballlllllll!" I fired off, the word exploding out.
There was a beat of silence, then Daniel's voice crackled through, laced with amusement.
"Oooh, bro, calm down. When did you start speaking Korean?"
"That," I snapped, "is to show you how angry I am. Quit calling me, you bastard!"
"You know, one day I'm gonna get rid of you once and for all if you don't stop this shit." I was cussing him out now.
"Don't you know this is the time I always do my assignment? And didn't you know how hard these questions are? Why are you even calling me? To frustrate me more? To cut off my thoughts right when I'm supposed to answer this crap?"
Daniel chuckled, that easy laugh of his that always made me want to punch something.
"Oooh, shhhhh. Quit whining like a little kid. We both know you're in the top five, Ethan. You always crack these things. You're probably just acting up 'cause you didn't sleep right. Bet you read till late last night, huh? No good rest before waking up for class. But come on, you're smart as hell—none of this is gonna trip you up."
I swear, if I could have crawled through the phone right then, I would've. I'd have appeared behind him and delivered a solid knock to the middle of his skull, just to jumpstart that brain of his. Clearly, it had checked out years ago.
"That reminds me," he went on, oblivious as ever. "Please do your assignment early, yeah? Take a picture and send it over so I can knock mine out."
"And what makes you think I'd ever do something like that?" I shot back, my voice dripping sarcasm.
"Besides, what happened to bugging one of the other classmates? You know, since you're too dumb to do it yourself?"
"Ouch, Ethan. That's offensive, man." He sounded mock-hurt, but I could hear the grin in it.
"You can't blame me for the dull brain. Blame my mom and dad—they knew they were both kinda slow but still got hitched and popped out me, the biggest dullard of all time. And nah, I can't copy from anyone else but you. I might be dumb, but I'm wise enough to know your stuff's always spot-on."
I scoffed, loud and disbelieving, leaning back in my chair. Part of me wanted to unload a fresh round of curses, but it was too damn early for that level of toxicity. He'd probably end up more miserable than me, and then I'd feel bad.
"Is that all you got?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"If that's it, I'm hanging up now." I pulled the phone away from my ear, thumb poised over the end button, counting down the seconds to sweet silence.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Daniel's voice screeched through the speaker, desperate and way too loud. I froze, eyes rolling so hard I thought they'd stick.
"Oooh, dear Lord, please take me now," I groaned, slumping forward like my spine had given up.
"What the fuck do you want? You gonna make me kill myself before you stop bothering me? At this point, I doubt you'd ever quit. I know you'd haunt my corpse if I kicked it, poking at me with your dumb questions from the afterlife." I gritted my teeth.
"You know, Daniel, I curse the day I gave you my number and agreed to be friends. You turned my stable life into a circus with your silly, senseless bullshit every five minutes."
"Sorry, my beloved friend," he said, and I could picture that shit-eating grin stretching across his face.
"Last thing: I'm inviting you to this party. Beautiful ladies, man. Sexy ones with big asses—you could spend the whole night with one, if you play your cards right."
"The party is going to be tomorrow. You need to get here early—like, as early as 10 p.m. It kicks off at 10:10 and goes till dawn. Dress code is—"
"And who told you I was ever coming to this party?" I cut him off, my tone flat.
"You're dreaming too much, you bastard. No wonder you're a dull zombie—you'd rather party than crack a book. I'm not going. I got a future ahead of me. My dad already mapped it all out, and now it's on me to grind and make it real."
Once I ended this call, that was it—his number was getting blocked. No way was I sticking around someone that dense. It'd drag me down like quicksand.
"I know you're a read freak," Daniel pleaded, his voice turning wheedly. "But can't you just spare tomorrow night? A few hours, that's all. Please, just spare—"
His words cut off mid-sentence, drowned out by the soft creak of my bedroom door swinging open. I blinked, the phone still pressed halfway to my ear, Daniel's tinny voice fading to background noise.
It was my father.
My attention snapped to him. He stood there in the doorway, shoulders slumped, face pale as milk.
His eyes—usually sharp, always plotting the next big move for the business—were dull, red-rimmed, like he'd been staring into an abyss all night.
Why was he looking this way? Why did he look so… broken?