The final bell rang, and students poured out of Midtown High, their chatter filling the crisp afternoon air. Among the crowd, Ben, Peter, and Ned walked side by side, their usual banter masking the tension of their daily routine. Ever since Twitter had gone viral, the trio couldn't step outside without attracting attention.
As they approached the school's front gates, they saw the usual crowd of reporters gathered on the sidewalk. Cameras flashed, microphones bobbed in the air, and voices rose as the media shouted questions, desperate for a soundbite.
"There they are!" one reporter called.
"Ben! Peter! Ned! Can we get a comment on Twitter's success?"
"How does it feel to revolutionize social media while still in high school?"
"What's next for you three geniuses?"
The trio ignored them, as they always did. They kept their heads down and walked toward the familiar black sedan parked by the curb, where Ben's father waited for them. The car was their daily sanctuary from the chaos.
"Same routine," Ben muttered. "Just keep walking."
Peter adjusted his backpack. "I don't know how you deal with this every day, Ben. It's like being a celebrity without asking for it."
Ned shrugged. "At least they're not throwing tomatoes or something. Could be worse."
Ben smirked. "Trust me, Ned, it's getting old fast."
As they neared the car, something unexpected happened. A surge of reporters pushed past the school's security guards, breaking through the barriers. Microphones and cameras surrounded the trio before they could react, and questions flew at them from all directions.
"Ben, do you think Twitter can maintain its success?"
"Peter, is it true you're the brains behind the platform?"
"Ned, are you just along for the ride?"
Amid the chaos, one reporter's voice cut through like a dagger. "Ben, is it true your family's success is a fluke? Some people say your father's involvement is shady."
The insult hit Ben like a slap. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched. Peter noticed immediately and whispered, "Ben, don't. They're just trying to provoke you."
But it was too late. Ben grabbed his shoe, yanked it off, and hurled it at the reporter's face. The shoe struck with a satisfying thud, and the man stumbled back, stunned.
"That's for talking about my family!" Ben shouted, his voice shaking with anger.
The crowd gasped, cameras zoomed in, and the chaos reached a fever pitch.
Before Ben could do anything more, his father appeared, cutting through the crowd like a storm. His face was stern, his presence commanding. He stepped between Ben and the reporters, his voice booming.
"That's enough!" he barked, his protective fury evident. "You have no right to harass my son like this!"
The reporters hesitated, their boldness faltering under his glare.
"Ben, Peter, Ned—get in the car. Now," Ben's father ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Peter and Ned quickly obeyed, tugging at Ben's sleeve to pull him toward the car. Ben hesitated for a moment, his chest heaving with residual anger, but finally relented.
As they climbed into the car, security guards rushed to contain the reporters. The gates of the school were closed, and order was slowly restored.
The trio sat in the backseat, the tension thick in the air. Ben stared out the window, his jaw tight, his fists still clenched.
"Ben," his father said from the driver's seat, his voice calmer now but firm. "What were you thinking? You can't let them get to you like that."
"They insulted our family," Ben snapped, his voice trembling. "They crossed the line."
Peter placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. "I get it, Ben. But they're just looking for a reaction. You gave them exactly what they wanted."
Ned nodded. "Yeah, now your shoe is probably trending on Twitter."
Ben let out a frustrated laugh despite himself. "Great. That's just what I needed—'#ShoeGate.'"
His father sighed. "Son, I know it's hard, but you have to rise above this. The more successful you become, the more people will try to tear you down. Don't let them win."
Ben slumped in his seat, the weight of his father's words sinking in. "I'll try. But it's not easy."
His father glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression softening. "No one said it would be. But you've got people who believe in you—me, your friends, your team. Don't let anger define you."
As they drove away from the school, Ben pulled out his phone and opened Twitter. Sure enough, clips of the incident were already circulating online. One headline read: "Twitter Genius Loses Cool, Throws Shoe at Reporter."
Ben groaned. "Well, this is just perfect."
Peter leaned over to look at the screen. "Could be worse. At least they're not calling you a villain."
Ned chuckled. "Yet. Give it a few hours."
Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I've got some damage control to do."
Peter nodded. "We'll figure it out. Together."