Gateway High. Deputy's Office.
The room reeked of stale coffee and marker ink. The table was littered with exercise books; all bearing the heading 'Mathematics.' On top of this mess sat a silver mac-book, its screen under the intense scrutiny of the deputy headmaster.
His glasses, if they could still be called that, had only one remaining lens and was missing an arm, forcing the middle-aged man to tilt his head just to keep them in place. That single lens had a visible crack that split the lens into three parts. Along with his scruffy coat, he looked like he had just stepped out of a comic book.
John barely resisted, unleashing his usual disses. His months of work; and even his future — depended on this man's go-ahead. He could not lose himself after going through the pain of setting up this meeting.
"Hn," Deputy Woo-Hat acknowledged with a node as he continued scrolling through the sleek interface. His right hand would periodically pause on the touch pad while his left propped up his 'glasses.'
The effort it took to remain silent was immeasurable. Sensing his breaking point , John immediately introduced. "Automatic headcount, seamless attendance capturing and grading—no more paper cuts!" he announced, his words flowing like a rehearsed play.
Woo-Hat remained unresponsive before finally asking, "Can this system also accommodate the other students from elementary , on top of the high school traffic?" As veteran in web development, he was skeptical of a high school teenager's ability to pull off a system of this magnitude.
"Well, the framework I am using allows me to scale the project—"
"That won't do. This system is clearly vulnerable to a Denial of Service attack. Do you even know what that is?" Woo-Hat asked, finally removing his nose from the laptop.
"I do. In fact, I was the top student in computer science—with a 98% average."
"Oh." Woo-Hat buried his nose back into the screen, scrolling idly around a single point before blurting out, "So, you pulled this off alone?"
"Yes, and that's exactly why I'm the best man for the job—"
"No, that won't do. Even Picasso didn't build Rome by himself. You need a team." Woo-Hat shut the laptop and clasped his hands under his chin, striking a pose that belonged in a CEO's office.
'But Picasso wasn't even born at that time,' John thought but wisely kept it to himself. He needed this man's help to reach the school owners. But getting past him was not going to be easy.
Noticing Whis shaken expression, Woo-Hat conceded "However, there might be some merit to your work. I'll need to take a closer look at it," Dropping his 'glasses.', he continued "The school appreciates your generous offer." As he reached for his coat while grabbing some notebooks.
John knew that was just a polite invitation to leave. "But can I take the laptop for a final test before the presentation?" He reached for it, but Woo-Hat instantly dropped his books, scooping the laptop into one of his desk drawers. "Can't do, the first impression is always the strongest. You should go get some rest." Woo-Hat's gaze flicked to the dark circles under John's eyes. A flicker of nostalgia crossed his face. Once, he had been an ambitious lad too. Yet… ah. He still had to crush the boy's dreams.
"Fine, I'll be on my way," John sighed, rising to his feet. Leaving his laptop behind felt like a mistake, but this was Gateway, the richest school in the city. Naturally, its security was top-notch. His baby wasn't going anywhere. He'd spent too much time in the hood. Now everyone looks suspicious. It was high time he moved uptown.
As he closed the door behind him, a smirk tugged at his lips. 'At least I got his attention.' He stretched his arms, letting out a triumphant chuckle. "Poverty—" His voice dragged out as he punched in the air, while continuing "I finally have the upper hand! Seventeen-year-old Bill Gates, ha-ha-ha!" His laughter echoed down the hallway and moments later, series of howls from nearby teacher spread out.
"Who's that !?"
"Noise!"
"Get me my stick!"
"Oops!"
Students peeked through windows, eager to spot the unlucky culprit. But they were too late; John was already halfway down the hallway, heading for the stairs to the ground floor.
...
Behind the closed door, Woo-Hat's hands trembled.After losing his previous job, he had started to doubt himself—to wonder if his programming career had slipped beyond recovery. He had convinced himself that his best years were behind him.
But now, a broad smile crept onto his face. "This-this is it."
The moment John introduced his idea, Woo-Hat saw its trajectory from the runway to the takeoff. Across the country, in underdeveloped nations, how many schools still lacked even a basic website?
Let alone a system that allowed parents to monitor their children's time of arrival and the current route of the school bus. Along with many endless features. The moment this product hit the market, it'd take the world by a storm and its creator will be greatest genius of the century.
* * *
Slowing down at the corner, John took the stairs down to the ground floor. But after a few steps, his body froze like a lamb that had spotted a tiger. Out of the shadows emerged a dark-skinned youth with a lollipop perched at the corner of his mouth, flanked by two other boys.
Who else but the notorious bully, Sweet Tooth? John slowly turned to retreat when he suddenly felt a hand grab his collar with a practiced quickness. In an instant, he was slammed against the wall. The other boys rushed in, seizing his arms. It was clearly an ambush.
"Oh, where are you rushing off to, stick-man?" Sweet Tooth sneered, smacking his lips as he pressed his elbow against John's neck. A muffled groan escaped John's clenched teeth, but Sweet Tooth only pressed harder and taunted, "What, you can't hear me?"
In a burst of anger, John managed to push Sweet Tooth back. Through gritted teeth, he demanded, "What do you want?" In all his two years at the school, he had never encountered this squad. He couldn't fathom why they would target targeted him, knowing he wasn't even rich. Especially Sweet-Tooth, weren't they pals back in the day, when they were both green
new-comers.
But the gang only chuckled, offering no explanation. "Stick-man sure has some fight in him," Sweet Tooth said, delivering another elbow to John's neck. "They should probably make a game about you—oh, wait, they already did," he added, laughing as his cohorts joined in.
Desperate to break free, John attacked using his free limp. However , his counterattack was anticipated, and his blow was swiftly blocked.
"That's a p*** move, even for you, sticks." Sweet Tooth jeered as he stopped John's right leg a few inches below his nether region. Any slower, and he'd be having blue balls till dismissal time. Annoyed, Sweet Tooth released his grip on John's leg, before continuing to batter him in the stomach.
"Gugh!" John groaned as the force of Sweet Tooth's blow sent pain shooting through his gut.
"That was for that low blow" Sweet Tooth said, swinging his fist again. "And this is for your frequent visits to our class. Has your Fountain [classroom] run out of b*** already?" he taunted, unleashing another blow that sent John staggering. This time split flew in the air.
Disgusted, the two boys holding John's arms loosened their grip to flee. A momentary lapse flashed in John's eyes. Seizing the cover, he swung his right hand and landed a solid punch on Sweet Tooth's face—knocking a tooth out in the process. Don't know if it was the sweet one.
Caught off guard, Sweet Tooth stumbled, and his gang quickly dragged him down the stairs.
John slumped to the ground, taking long, labored breaths as he clutched his knees. Though he had managed to fend off his attackers for the moment, he knew he'd only worsened his situation. Bullies hated nothing more than a retaliating victim.
The gang halted their descent by clinging to the railings. One of the boys had already backed away. Poking a cornered chicken was not a wise idea. However Sweet Tooth had a different idea. Stiffened in disbelief, the punk had just returned a blow. He started licking his lips in delight, but the taste of iron and a gap that ought to contain a…
"You did not!" Sweet Tooth shouted as he clawed for John's clothes.
John's heart skipped a beat as adrenaline surged through him; his fist clenched, ready for the inevitable clash. Scenes of Jackie Chan's moves started to flow through his eyes and yet the anticipated impact never came.
"Hey, hey, let him have it. Time's running out," Ronnie barked, struggling to hold Sweet Tooth back. "Do you really want the teachers involved? Especially Gaza and Tomato?" His words had the desired effect.
The other youth reluctantly held Sweet Tooth's other arm, helping Ronnie to hold him back. He could risk him lashing out later, but he cannot lose his monthly allowance. His parents would not tolerate, violence on his report.
"Let go of me!" Sweet Tooth tried to shrug off Ronnie's grip, but the boys were determined. "You and me, tomorrow, at the school grounds!" he shouted, attempting to intimidate John. That was the only thing he could do, after all, he'd already exhausted his three strikes, after getting caught sneaking alcohol into school, on valentine's day. This time if news of this gets out; it was definite expulsion.
John exhaled a sigh of relief as the youths retreated. But he could a feel headache coming after him. Now of all time, he'd actually booked himself a match with Sweet Tooth.
Not to mention his sickly physique, he had almost near-zero experience in brawls. The last time John had gotten into a scuffle was back in elementary school. Escaping that encounter had been nothing short of a miracle; all thanks to the other kid's caution of his recent operation — afraid he might accidentally kill him.
But tomorrow… Sweet Tooth would undoubtedly try to restore his reputation by all mean necessary a feel teeth would not cut it. "Gruuh!" John's stomach growled in protest.
Was it the lingering pain, or the anticipation of what tomorrow might bring? No matter what, he must avoid the fight otherwise if the school staff decides he's a a violent wild-ling; he might might lose the opportunity to pitch his idea. "Gruuh!" His head turned toward the nearest bathroom, as if seeking escape from the uncertainty ahead.
* * *
"And where are you coming from?"
As the glass door swung open, the squad was met by a stern-faced teacher dressed in a worn-out suit. Clearly a man from the hood with tons of problems and underpaid, but his single gaze shifted the expressions of the youths instantly.
"We couldn't find any extra chairs, sir. T" Ronnie quickly interjected, his wit on full display.
Gonzo's expression remained impassive as he scanned the group. His eyes soon fell on the bloodstains on Sweet Tooth's face. "And what happened to you, Savior?" he asked.
The boy standing beside Ronnie opened his mouth to reply—but before he could, Sweet Tooth stomped his foot, stepping forward to cover the mishap. Acting nonchalantly, Sweet Tooth answered, "I fell on the stairs, sir," his voice inadvertently breaking into a whistle.
"Ha-ha-ha!" Laughter erupted from the crowd as they noticed his missing tooth. Even the normally serious students, busy scribbling notes, dropped their pens in amusement.
"Silence!" Sir Gonzo bellowed, his cool, unyielding demeanor instantly quelling the clamor.
A few stifled chuckles managed to escape, which only incited Sweet Tooth further—a boy more accustomed to being the target of insults now found himself with a chance to retort. Yet, once again, all that emerged from his mouth was a defiant whistle. This lone sound sent the bored students into another wave of mockery, with shouts of "Whistling-man!" echoing from the back of the class.
Before Gonzo could regain control, his unsightly face contorted with displeasure. "Who said that?!" he demanded.
The entire class quieted as all eyes shifted toward a figure in the left corner—a student whose wool hat was worn so low it nearly concealed his eyes.
"Ah, Taps please join your friends" Gonzo ordered once he identified the culprit. A tall boy, a sly smile playing on his lips, made his way over to the group; his suppressed laughter betrayed no remorse.
[Note: At Gateway High, after Grade 7, students are graded from 1 to 5. A "4 Orange" is equivalent to grade 11, class - orange.]
"Okay. You 4 Orange students are becoming notorious for mischief around here. If you were as disciplined as the Fountains [John's class], I could spend my day without frowning—or having to pester Brother Charles," Gonzo sneered.
"Now, I'll ask one question, and i expect one answer: which classes did you visit in your search for the 'extra chairs?'" He continued to question. The silence and lack of response only further cemented the truth forming in his mind. "So not only do you fool around in other students' classes, but you also forget your chairs when its my lesson?"
"Now you're busy sneaking away during my period—and one of you even got hurt?" Gonzo snapped, smacking his lips in derision. "My Geo lesson must've been incredibly boring." With that, he turned and began rummaging through the front desk.
Sweet Tooth couldn't bring himself to confess that it was John's doing; if he did, many people would become his 'friend' today and a huge mob is likely to stand beside him.
Gonzo continued shifting books on his cluttered teacher table. The object he sought was evident by the ashen faces the squad had worn.
Getting flogged in front of the class would certainly lower their "heat level" by a large margin. Fortunately for them, after a few moments, the teacher failed to find it.
"How lucky—I forgot to bring Brother Charley. Anyway—" Gonzo's voice was abruptly cut off by the chime of his phone.
Seconds later, a smile crept onto his face. "Seems there's a blockage in the senior bathroom pipes, and the responsible staff is on leave." Gonzo scanned the rows of students; some turned away, some looked down, while others offered nothing more than poker faces. He teasingly smiled at each one, fully aware of the mischief brewing in their minds. But today, they were not the ones who would face his wrath. His gaze abruptly shifted toward the squad lingering by the door.
"Heh… since you've escaped Brother Charley's disciplinary lesson, you will assist in the fetching of toilet water as well help fetch the water, during lunch"
The squad's expressions darkened—none more so than Sweet Tooth's. His face twisted as if he had swallowed a fly. He could already hear the whispers, see the smirks. He was going to be the talk of the year. And it was all because of that punk-ass Stick-Man. His veins bulged as he clenched his fists. That match was on. But first—he needed more money for the hit on John. Publicly cleaning the toilets. Losing his tooth. All for ten lousy bucks.
…
Meanwhile, John casually shooed a fly away. "There are so many annoying things at this school; luckily, this is the final year of torture" he muttered under his breath. Getting up as he pulled his pants, closed the lid and grabbed the handle —but it didn't work.
"Well, this is what those janitors are being paid for," he remarked dryly as he left the room, not knowing what he left would only fuel the chaos that was gonna come.