"Old Larry didn't know squat about cars," Tim corrected, waving his phone. "He stood there Googling for, like, twenty minutes to figure out it's an SF90."
The dorm went graveyard-quiet. The air turned so awkward you could hear Brad Harrison's ego deflate like a punctured bouncy castle. His face flushed redder than a stoplight. He'd just gotten clowned—hard. The "supercar" they'd been drooling over wasn't his Porsche 718—it was a Ferrari SF90. Sure, both were fast, but the gap was galactic: $80,000 versus $600,000. You could buy a fleet of Brad's Porsches and still have change left for a yacht.
"Uh, your buddy's sure it's not a mix-up?" Brad croaked, clinging to denial. "SF90? Really?"
"Positive," Tim said, flashing the photo. "Check it—Ferrari logo, not Porsche. We're not car nerds, but we know a horse from a shield."
Jake and Mikey crowded around, gawking at the sleek red beast on the screen. Brad's bravado crumbled into a pile of dust. "That's a real supercar," Jake whistled. "$600,000 of pure sex on wheels."
"Yeah," Mikey sighed. "I'd trade my soul for a ride in that."
Brad's Porsche 718 suddenly felt like a tricycle. "Gotta be a prof or some rich teacher," he muttered, grasping for a lifeline. "No way a student's rolling in that kind of cash."
Ethan, who'd been chilling in the corner, perked up at "SF90." My SF90? he wondered, strolling over. "Sucks we can't test-drive it," Jake lamented.
"For real," Tim agreed. "Dreams stay dreams, I guess."
Then Ethan dropped the bomb. "Oh, that Ferrari? It's mine."
The room froze like someone hit pause on a movie. Crickets. Then all eyes snapped to Ethan, jaws dangling. "You—what?!" Brad sputtered, voice cracking. "The SF90's yours?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, shrugging like he'd just admitted to owning a used skateboard. He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them onto the bed. "Pocket's too tight for these."
The Ferrari logo glinted under the dorm's cheap lights. Jake's hands shook as he snatched them up. "Holy—guys, it's legit!"
"Dude!" Mikey yelped, practically bowing. "You're a freakin' god, Ethan!"
"King of the freshmen!" Tim cheered, clutching his chest.
Brad's eyes bulged, his face a mix of shock and shame. He'd been crushed twice today—first by Sophia's water delivery, now this. "No student could—" he'd bragged, only for Ethan to stroll in and dunk on him again. Morning: girlfriend flex, flattened. Afternoon: Porsche flex, obliterated. He slunk out the door while the guys fawned, tail between his legs, dignity in tatters.
"Please, oh wise one," Jake begged, "take us lowly peasants to see your chariot!"
Ethan smirked. "Fine, let's roll."
Minutes later, they hit the parking lot. The SF90 sat there, a red rocket among rusty clunkers. "Sweet baby Jesus," Mikey gasped. "It's prettier than my prom date!"
"Ethan, you're unreal," Tim said, circling it like a pilgrim at a shrine.
They didn't know the half of it. While the guys geeked out, word of Sophia Winters' water delivery had exploded across campus. Forums, group chats, and socials were on fire:
"My goddess served a freshman?! I'm crying into my ramen!" "Who's this Ethan Black punk stealing my Ice Queen?!" "Group chat forming—gonna hunt this kid down. Who's in?"
Sophia's fanboys—frat dudes, tech bros, and rich heirs—were raging. Ethan was now public enemy #1, and a few were already plotting to "meet" him.
Back on the dorm trek, Ethan's phone rang. Caller ID: Cousin Abby. Abigail "Abby" Carter, his sophomore cousin and honorary big sis, was at Westfield too. She'd pushed him to enroll here—decent school, family nearby. They were tight, like peanut butter and jelly.
"Yo, Ethan!" Abby's voice burst through. "How's it feel getting the Ice Queen to play waterboy? Spill the tea!"
"Uh, fine?" Ethan said, sensing a trap. "Why do I hear a smirk in your voice?"
"'Fine'?" Abby huffed. "Bro, I pulled strings to make that happen! You owe me big."
"Wait, what?" Ethan blinked. "Explain."
Abby spilled it. She and Sophia were BFFs, same class, thick as thieves. Sophia was perpetually single, so Abby—ever the meddler—decided to play Cupid. "You're a catch, Ethan," she'd reasoned. "Handsome, chill, and family. Sophia's a queen, sure, but you're no slouch. Plus, imagine her calling me 'cuz' one day—total power move!"
So Abby roped Sophia into a dumb dorm game—loser does a dare. Abby won (suspiciously easy), and her dare? "Go bring my cousin Ethan water at training." Sophia grumbled but complied.
Ethan connected the dots. His Campus Queen Water Delivery Service didn't just summon Sophia out of thin air—it warped reality to fit. Abby's "game" was the cover, a legit excuse for the Ice Queen to show up. The app's magic wasn't random—it was sneaky, legal, and brilliant. "Guess the game's got my back," he thought, grinning.
"Thanks, sis," he said, playing along. "You're the real MVP."
"Damn right," Abby laughed. "We're meeting up later—gotta keep this train rolling. I'm shipping you two hard!" She hung up, already scheming.
Before Ethan could process, another call buzzed in—unknown number. "Hello, Mr. Black?" a polished voice said. "This is SkyHigh Estates. You've purchased Villa #8, fully paid. When can we drop off the contract?"
Ethan's pulse spiked. "Now works. Swing by."
"Of course, sir," the guy replied, borderline bowing through the phone. "We'll be there ASAP with the paperwork." He took Ethan's dorm address and clicked off.
Ethan headed to the meet-up spot with Abby. When he arrived, she was already there—and not alone. Sophia Winters stood beside her, arms crossed, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. Abby waved like a hype man. "Surprise, lover boy! Time to charm the Ice Queen!"
Ethan froze. His cousin was relentless—and the game? It was weaving a web he couldn't escape.
Meanwhile, his phone buzzed:
[Auto-Purchase Detected: Private Security Team, $1.00]
[Next Suggested Item: Corporate Jet, $3.00]
[Warning: Reality's Heating Up. Stay Sharp.]
A black SUV rolled into view across the lot, tinted windows screaming "trouble." Ethan gulped. "Security team? Now?" Things were getting wild—and fast.