Chpter 9 Jade's First Invoice
"What do you mean by 'more exciting'?" Max asked, but before I could answer, a surge of students rushed past our cafeteria table, many abandoning half-eaten lunches.
"They called Ashley to the principal's office!" a girl squealed as she hurried by. "Her mom just stormed in looking like she's ready to kill someone!"
Max's eyebrows shot up. "What's happening?"
I took a sip of water, watching the cafeteria empty as curiosity pulled students toward the administrative wing. "Justice, I suppose."
The lunch period transformed into an impromptu stakeout as students gathered in the hallway outside the principal's office. Through the glass panel, I could see Ashley and her mother sitting rigidly in chairs, both wearing matching expressions of barely contained fury. Principal Harrison's hands moved in placating gestures, but Mrs. Williams kept shaking her head sharply.
I kept my distance, leaning against a locker with casual indifference while chaos swirled around me. Teachers tried vainly to herd students back to classrooms, but the excitement was too contagious.
"Did you see the video?" asked the quiet redhead who normally sat behind me in history. "Someone recorded Ashley hiring those guys to attack a student. It's everywhere."
"Five hundred dollars to beat someone up... what a psycho," a boy nearby muttered.
I slipped into my next class just as the bell rang. The teacher tried valiantly to capture our attention, but it was a lost cause. Every few minutes, another phone would buzz, and another student would sneak a glance under their desk.
"They called an emergency staff meeting for next period," whispered the girl next to me. "My mom's a secretary in the admin office. She says Williams' dad is threatening to sue the school."
I raised an eyebrow. "For what? Letting his daughter get caught on video hiring thugs?"
She snickered, then quickly covered her mouth when our teacher glanced our way.
By the time the teachers returned from their emergency meeting, #AshleyExposed was trending across every social platform at Cloud City High. The hallways buzzed with speculation about who had been Ashley's intended target.
Ashley didn't return to school that afternoon. According to whispers, her father had pulled up in a sleek black Mercedes and practically dragged her from the principal's office.
I didn't need secondhand accounts. That evening, Emily practically skipped into the house, her face flushed with excitement.
"You'll never believe what I saw!" she crowed, not even bothering with her usual snide greeting. "I was at Samantha's house—they live near the Williams place. Their whole house was lit up, and you could hear Mr. Williams screaming from the driveway!"
Linda looked up from her phone, suddenly interested. "Robert Williams? The one running for city council?"
Emily nodded eagerly. "Samantha said he slapped Ashley right in the driveway when they got home. He was yelling about how she was ruining his campaign."
"What did Ashley do?" Linda asked, leaning forward.
"She hired some guys to beat up a girl from school, and someone recorded it," Emily explained, eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "The video's everywhere."
I continued eating my dinner, hiding a smile behind my water glass. For once, Emily was too engrossed in spreading gossip to bother insulting me.
Two days later, Principal Harrison's voice crackled through the PA system during homeroom.
"Attention students and staff. Regarding the video circulating about Ashley Williams—after a thorough investigation, we have determined this was a misunderstanding. The individuals seen in the footage have been detained by police, and the alleged evidence has been proven falsified. Miss Williams is an exemplary student, and these rumors are extremely unfair to her reputation."
Murmurs rippled through the classroom. Next to me, a boy snorted. "Yeah, right. My cousin works at the police station. Nobody's been arrested."
I leaned back in my chair. Rich people magic at work. Almost impressive how quickly truth goes on clearance when someone flashes a platinum card.
Ashley returned to school two days after the announcement. She tried to project her usual confidence, but the shadows under her eyes told a different story.
When she spotted me by my locker, her eyes narrowed to slits. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then apparently thought better of it, dropping her gaze and hurrying past.
Even more telling was Orion's reaction. When Ashley approached him before Model UN, he politely but firmly excused himself. Later, when the club broke into working groups, Orion deliberately chose a team on the opposite side of the room from her.
It was nearly 7 PM when Max left the school library after an extended study session. I was halfway to the school when I heard the commotion—a boy's voice, strained but defiant, and deeper tones of men laughing.
"Please, this has my competition materials. I've been preparing for three months!"
I rounded the corner to find Max surrounded by three rough-looking guys. His backpack was in one man's hands, and another held his phone. Max's glasses sat crooked on his nose, and he was leaning heavily on his good leg.
"Looks like fancy equipment," one man taunted. "Probably sell for a couple hundred."
"Just take my wallet," Max pleaded. "But please, I need that phone. All my physics data is on it."
The tallest guy shoved Max's shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. Max lost his balance, his bad leg buckling as he fell onto the sidewalk.
I stepped out of the shadows. "Put his things down. Now."
The three men turned and their face changed.
"I won't repeat myself," I said, my voice deadly quiet.
The backpack hit the ground first, followed by the phone, which clattered onto the concrete. Without another word, the men scattered in different directions.
I helped Max to his feet. "You okay?"
He nodded, brushing dirt from his pants. "My phone screen cracked. But I think it still works." He looked at me, confusion evident. "Why were they so scared of you?"
I shrugged. "We've met before."
"When?"
"Few days ago. They didn't enjoy the experience." I gestured for him to follow. "Come on. Let's get home."
"Wait here," I told Max once we reached our street. "I need to check something."
I ducked into the 24-hour convenience store with its built-in ATM. Fishing through my backpack, I found the single bank card I owned—the one the school made us get for tuition payments. I inserted it and checked the balance.
$100,000.
I stared at the number for a moment, then snorted softly. "Seriously? That's what a life is worth to the Haxton family?"
Still, it was enough for what I needed. Twenty minutes later, I walked out of a high-end electronics store with two boxes containing the latest iPhone models.
When I got home, Max was in his room, frantically trying to recover data from his damaged phone. I knocked once, then entered without waiting for a response.
"Here," I said, tossing one of the boxes onto his bed. "Yours was outdated anyway."
Max stared at the box, then at me, his mouth hanging open.