Four Of A Kind

Chapter 29: [2.2] Assistant-kun’s First Order

“Oh, sick. Dude, that’s awesome.” He was already circling again, this time with appreciation rather than investigation. “Does it have the Mark Levinson sound system?”

“I think so?”

“You THINK so?” He looked genuinely offended. “Bro, that’s like a five-grand upgrade. The sound quality is insane. Fourteen speakers. Seven hundred watts. You could host a concert in this thing.”

He pulled open my driver’s side door without asking permission and stuck his head inside. “Yeah, look, there’s the logo on the speaker grilles. This is the good stuff. Whoever owns this car has taste.”

I watched Felix inspect the interior with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. The crisis had been averted. The lie had landed.

In Felix’s universe, a world where people casually handed over fifty-thousand-dollar vehicles to their bartenders was completely plausible.

Must be nice to live in that universe.

“You gotta let me ride in this thing,” Felix said, finally extracting himself from my car. “Seriously. After school. We’ll get ramen. You can show off.”

“I’m working after school.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“Also working.”

“Wednesday?”

“Felix.”

“Thursday? Friday? Saturday? Sunday? I will literally rearrange my entire social calendar, which admittedly consists mostly of eating and napping, but the point stands.”

I shook my head, grabbing my bag from the back seat. “We’ll see. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“We’ve got like forty minutes.”

“I want to check something at the library before homeroom.”

This was a lie. What I actually wanted was to avoid standing in this parking lot any longer than necessary, surrounded by evidence of my new double life. Every second I spent here increased the chances of someone asking questions I couldn’t answer.

Felix fell into step beside me as we walked toward the main building. “So this job. The car-watching thing. Does it pay well?”

“Well enough.”

“Because I’ve been thinking.” He paused dramatically. “What if we started a business? Like, a high-end vehicle maintenance service. You watch the cars, I taste-test the snacks in the glove compartments. We split the profits sixty-forty.”

“Sixty-forty in whose favor?”

“Mine, obviously. I’m the ideas guy.”

“Your idea is to eat other people’s snacks.”

“Which requires EXPERTISE, Isaiah. Do you know how many different brands of emergency granola bars exist? Because I do. The answer is seventeen. I’ve tried them all. I have opinions.”

I let Felix ramble as we crossed the courtyard and entered the main building. The familiar hallways greeted me with their combination of old money architecture and new money renovations.

Portraits of distinguished alumni stared down from the walls, their painted eyes seeming to judge everyone who passed.

The library detour lasted exactly long enough to make Felix bored. He wandered off to find the vending machines, promising to save me a seat in homeroom if I wasn’t too late.

I waited until he disappeared around a corner, then doubled back toward the east wing.

I needed coffee. Real coffee, not the instant garbage I’d had at home. The faculty lounge had a machine that was technically off-limits to students, but Ms. Chen in the library had shown me the back route during my work-study shifts last year. A small perk of being the kid who actually shelved books correctly.

I was halfway there when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: good morning assistant-kun! ready for your first day? (≧▽≦)

I stared at the message.

Assistant-kun?

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: this is harlow btw! in case the cute emoji wasnt obvious lol

Unknown Number: i saved ur number from the contract

Unknown Number: hope thats not weird??

Unknown Number: anyway come find us in homeroom! we need to talk about stuff! official stuff! very important!

Unknown Number: (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

I looked at the timestamp. 7:47 AM.

Homeroom started at 8:00.

So much for coffee.

I saved the number as “Harlow Valentine” and headed toward Room 3-A.

The classroom was already half-full when I arrived. The usual clusters had formed: athletes by the windows, overachievers near the front, everyone else scattered throughout the middle in patterns that probably meant something to someone who cared about high school social dynamics.

I cared about finding a seat near the back where I could close my eyes for ten minutes.

But first, I had to find my employers.

Harlow and Cassidy were in their usual spot by the windows. Harlow’s hair was up in twin tails today, secured with ribbons that matched her pink-tinted highlights. She was animatedly explaining something to the girl next to her, her hands moving in patterns that suggested either enthusiasm or an attempt to signal aircraft.

Cassidy sat beside her, slumped in her seat with the aggressive disinterest of someone who wanted the world to know she was too cool for this. Her uniform was its usual disaster. Skirt hiked up. Shirt untucked. Tie loose enough to be decorative rather than functional.

She spotted me the moment I walked in.

Her eyes narrowed.

I nodded once, a minimal acknowledgment.

She scoffed and looked away.

Harlow, meanwhile, had apparently developed supernatural peripheral vision. She caught my gaze and her entire face lit up like I’d handed her a surprise birthday cake. Then she did something strange.

She tapped the side of her neck twice with two fingers. Quick. Deliberate.

I blinked.

She did it again, this time holding eye contact.

What the hell was that? Some kind of signal? A nervous tic? Is she having a medical emergency?

Her gaze flicked toward the classroom door, then back to me.

Oh.

She wants to meet. Outside.

I gave a single, barely perceptible nod.

Harlow’s smile widened. She turned back to her conversation like nothing had happened.

I found my seat in the back row, next to Felix, who had materialized with a bag of chips from somewhere and was already halfway through them despite the “no food in classrooms” rule that existed primarily as a suggestion for wealthy students.

“You missed the vending machine drama,” he whispered. “Someone’s Snickers got stuck. It was harrowing.”

“Truly a tragedy for the ages.”

“I know, right? Anyway, what’d you actually do in the library? Wait, let me guess. You fell asleep in the reference section again.”

“I didn’t fall asleep.”

“Bro, you literally snored. Last semester. Ms. Chen had to wake you up with a ruler.”

“That was one time.”

“It was three times. She told me. We talk. She worries about you.”

The homeroom teacher, Mr. Patterson, entered before I could respond. He was a middle-aged man with the energy of someone counting down the days until retirement, which according to the faculty calendar was approximately four hundred and twelve days away.

He did not care about tardiness, dress code violations, or students eating chips in the back row. He cared about calling attendance as quickly as possible so he could return to the fantasy novel poorly hidden inside his grade book.

“Alright, settle down. Let’s get this over with.”

Names were called. Present was muttered. The clock ticked toward 8:15.

I waited until Mr. Patterson had reached the M’s before raising my hand.

“Bathroom?”

He waved dismissively without looking up. “Don’t take forever.”