By the first week of November, Jake had turned Van Nuys High School into a system.
By lunch, he was seated at the far corner table of the cafeteria, the unofficial center of gravity for a small but rapidly growing orbit of useful people. Around him sat his usual collection of helpers: four broad-shouldered upperclassmen from the wrestling team, Malcolm from the AV Club, and a sophomore girl who ran half the rumor traffic between the honors kids and the cheerleaders.
Jake himself was busy with a more immediate concern.
"No, if you buy the broken pagers in bulk, the margin improves," he said, scribbling numbers across the back of a geometry worksheet. "But only if Malcolm can refurbish at least three units per lunch period."
"I can do four," said Malcolm.
Jake nodded, satisfied.
That was when Josh appeared at the edge of the table, and the conversation around Jake died almost instantly.
Josh glanced nervously at the people surrounding him before lowering his voice.
"It's Mike."
Jake looked up from the worksheet.
Slowly, deliberately, he set the pencil down.
Josh immediately swallowed.
"What about Mike?" Jake asked.
"He took the money yesterday. Said he'd pay it back after school, but now he's pretending it never happened."
Jake leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in quiet thought.
Then a small, almost pleasant smile crossed his face.
"Interesting," he said.
Around the table, several of his helpers exchanged knowing looks.
Jake folded the worksheet neatly in half and stood.
"Finish the inventory projections," he told Malcolm.
Then he looked at Josh.
"Let's go talk to Mike."
Jake found Mike exactly where Josh said he would be: hiding in an empty history classroom during lunch, pretending to study while the rest of the school flooded the cafeteria.
"Hey, Mike, everything alright?" Jake asked brightly as he stepped into the room.
Behind him, the four broad-shouldered students filed in with surprising discipline.
The last one shut the door with a soft click and leaned against it, arms folded.
Mike's throat bobbed as he stood up. "Uhh... y-yeah. Everything's fine."
"Perfect." Jake smiled and gestured toward the chair across from the desk. "Go ahead and sit down. I promise this is less dramatic than it looks."
Mike glanced at the wall of silent students.
"I'd really rather stand."
Jake's smile widened just a fraction. "Mike, if you stay standing, they'll keep looming, and honestly it makes me look worse than I'm going for here."
After a second, Mike sat.
"Much better," Jake said pleasantly, taking the chair opposite him like this was a parent-teacher conference. "So. Josh tells me you borrowed money from him."
"I didn't know he was with you—"
"He mentioned it twice, actually."
"I just thought maybe—"
"That the rules didn't apply to you?" Jake asked, still sounding almost amused. He tilted his head. "That's ambitious. I respect ambition, but if it's not accompanied by intelligence, it's just recklessness."
Mike's eyes darted to the boys by the door.
Jake noticed and gave a small sigh.
"No one is going to hurt you, Mike. They're here so you understand I'm not repeating myself."
He leaned forward just slightly.
"Here's what's going to happen. You give Josh his money back tomorrow morning."
Mike nodded quickly.
"Plus twenty dollars," Jake added.
Mike blinked. "Twenty?"
Jake smiled pleasantly. "Administrative fee."
One of the boys behind him chuckled.
Jake stood, smoothing out his shirt. "See? Easy way."
Thursday, November 7, 2002. 1:20 PM.
The office of Mr. Higgins smelled, as always, of stale peppermint and institutional exhaustion.
When Jake walked in, he didn't just sit; he hopped into the oversized leather chair with a small, energetic "oof," letting his legs swing back and forth. He gave Higgins a bright, gap-toothed grin—looking even cuter and more innocent since his canine had fallen out last week.
"Jake," Higgins said, rubbing his temples. "Have a seat. We need to talk about some... feedback I'm getting from the student body."
"Feedback is certainly a gift, Mr. Higgins," Jake chirped, leaning forward and resting his chin on the palm of his hand. "Though, usually, when people come to see you, the feedback involves a lot more crying. Are you doing okay? You look like you haven't been sleeping. Is it the neighbor's dog again?"
Higgins blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in concern. "The dog is fine, Jake. What's not fine are the stories about you and the wrestling team. I heard a junior had to pay you forty dollars just to get his cafeteria privileges back after he shoved a freshman from the AV Club."
Jake let out a laugh, shaking his head. "He didn't trip him, he shoved him, and I have no idea what you're talking about."
He tilted his head, his expression softening into something incredibly earnest and disarming.
"The shoving was actually a repeated pattern of harassment, sir. I merely mediated the situation, and the freshman felt safe. Isn't that what we want? A school where everyone just... gets along?"
Jake reached out and adjusted a bobblehead on Higgins' desk by a fraction of an inch, his eyes twinkling with playful, secret knowledge.
"It's about harmony, really. Speaking of harmony..." Jake lowered his voice to a mischievous whisper. "That silk tie is a bold choice for a Thursday. Very date night. Is that why you've been checking the clock every five minutes? You've got somewhere much more interesting than Van Nuys to be at 3:30, don't you?"
Higgins turned a subtle shade of pink, his hand instinctively flying to his tie. "That's... that's beside the point, Jake."
"Of course it is," Jake said, sliding out of the chair with easy grace. "But you should probably head out a few minutes early. Traffic on the 405 is going to be a nightmare today, and you don't want to keep her waiting. First impressions are everything."
He stopped at the door, giving a little wave. "My mom is already here. See you next week, Mr. Higgins. And don't worry—the school is in very good hands. I promise."
4:00 PM.
"I just don't understand why your father is so obsessed with diversification," Judith complained, her voice a sharp staccato as she navigated the Volvo station wagon through suburban traffic. "We have the money, Jake. We should be looking at that property in Hidden Hills, not reinvesting in tech hardware."
Jake was in the passenger seat, humming a tune from a commercial he'd heard earlier, seemingly without a care in the world.
He was loosely strapping on his shin guards, his soccer cleats clicking together rhythmically.
"Dad's just being prudent, Mom," Jake said, his voice light and airy. "He wants to make sure the foundation is solid before we build the palace. It's actually quite a romantic way to look at finance, if you think about it."
"It's a romantic way to stay in this zip code for another six months," Judith sighed, though she reached over and patted Jake's knee. "But at least one of the men in my life is listening to me."
"You can always count on me, Mom," he said in a noncommittal tone.
She pulled into the dirt lot of the local park. Out on the field, the U-10 team was a chaotic swarm of neon jerseys and flailing limbs.
Jake hopped out of the car, feeling the afternoon sun on his neck.
On the field—
"Harper! Let's go!" Coach Gary yelled. "Find the ball!"
Jake let the soccer module run quietly in the back of his mind.
He moved with a loose, easy rhythm, dodging players not because he was fast, but because he seemed to know exactly where they were going to stumble before they did.
The world didn't turn into a cold grid. Instead, it became a dance floor. He felt the weight of the air, the dampness of the grass, and the chaotic energy of the kids around him as a series of gentle pushes and pulls.
Jake didn't charge the ball. He waited until it popped out of the scrum, spinning lazily toward him. He took two steps and caught the ball on the rise.
He swung his leg in a wide, fluid arc, his body leaning back just enough to create the perfect leverage. His foot met the ball with a soft thrum rather than a violent crack.
The ball took off, catching a gust of wind and curling in midair like it was being pulled by an invisible string.
It sailed over the heads of the defenders, dipped violently at the last second, and kissed the inside of the post before settling into the net.
The parents in the stands started to clap. Even the kids on the other team stopped to stare.
"Just a lucky bounce, Coach!" Jake shouted back, his voice bright and high-pitched, the perfect picture of a happy, normal nine-year-old.
That felt much better, he thought, jogging back to his position.
Style points matter.
...
Thanks for your power stones donations.
I didn't think we could achieve 100 power stones before 24 hours, so I'd be dropping the second chapter today in a few hours.