Chapter 9: The Suspension Olympics

If you've ever had your name called over the school intercom while halfway through a spicy meat pie, then you know true fear.

"Manuel Coksmall. Report to the principal's office. Immediately."

Immediately? They always say "immediately" like I'm going to finish my meat pie, wipe my mouth, and do a cartwheel down the hallway. I froze mid-bite, meat still in my mouth, and turned to see the entire cafeteria looking at me like I just got drafted into prison.

Javier winced. "Bro, it was nice knowing you."

Zoey, who had somehow snuck into the cafeteria without being in my class, raised both eyebrows like she was witnessing a public execution. "Don't cry. I hear boarding school food is worse than this."

My legs went on autopilot. Each step to the principal's office felt like a countdown to doom. The door creaked open like something out of a horror movie.

And there sat Principal Diksakins. Tall. Stern. Wrinkles folding like origami. Behind him, a trophy shelf that had more dust than glory.

Next to him? Miss Dicshard. Still traumatized from the Great Wig Incident.

"Sit, Mr. Coksmall," he said, steepling his fingers.

I sat. Quietly. Like someone who deeply regretted building a gambling app in a school setting.

"We are aware," he began, his voice as dry as toast, "of a certain app making the rounds in this institution."

I blinked. Tried to play dumb. "An app?"

Miss Dicshard shot forward like a hawk. "Don't act smart. We know it's you. The students are betting money. Real money! Over cartoon fights! One student lost their lunch money and their dignity!"

"To be fair," I mumbled, "that dignity was already gone after the worm dance incident."

"Enough!" barked the principal.

I gulped.

He sighed, then did something unexpected: he turned his monitor around.

On the screen? A game of Challenge Club. Teachers were logged in.

"Mr. Kovac from the science department just beat the math teacher for fifteen dollars ," the principal said. "We are aware."

I blinked. "You're... playing it?"

"Strictly to understand the threat," Miss Dicshard said quickly.

"It has decent graphics," Principal Diksakins muttered, before catching himself. "But that's beside the point. We have two options."

Oh no.

"Option one: We suspend you. Shut this whole thing down. Call your parents. Possibly alert the Ministry of Education."

Yikes.

"Option two..."

He leaned in.

"You pitch this app to the school board. Next Friday. As an educational project in digital entrepreneurship."

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You think you're clever? Then prove it. If your app can be rebranded as something educational, something that benefits the school, then you can keep it running under school supervision."

My jaw dropped.

"You have one week to prepare. If you mess this up..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. I could already see the expulsion letter dancing in the air.

Miss Dicshard nodded like this was a fair deal. "Clean it up. Make it presentable. Or it's gone."

"Dismissed."

I stumbled out of the office like I'd just survived a near-death experience. Which, to be fair, I had.

Javier tackled me outside the door. "Well?! Are you suspended?! Do I need to start a GoFundMe for your bail?"

"We're not dead," I said slowly. "But we're going corporate."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we have a week to convince the entire school board that our gambling app is educational."

Kwame appeared out of nowhere. "I'm sorry. Did you say we?"

"Yep," I said. "We're a startup now. You, me, Javier, and Zoey."

"I didn't sign up for this," Kwame muttered.

Zoey appeared behind him, arms crossed. "Too late. I already named our company."

"What company?"

"Operation Brain Hustle."

Javier clapped. "I love it."

Kwame sighed. "This is going to crash and burn."

"Probably," I said. "But if we're going down, we're going down like legends."

That night, we cleared out the garage.

My dad peeked in once, saw a whiteboard with the words "LEGALIZE GAMBLING??" and walked out without a word.

We set up camp. Laptops. Energy drinks. A sketchy projector Zoey stole from the AV room. And a marker that only wrote in red.

We had seven days to turn Fight Club 2.0 into something that sounded like education.

Something that could survive a school board presentation.

Something that wouldn't get me expelled.

"All right," I said, pacing in front of our makeshift table. "Here's the plan. We turn the app into a skills-based challenge platform. No more pure luck battles. We add trivia. Educational minigames. Leaderboards for learning."

"Can we still keep the frying pan avatar?" Zoey asked.

"Absolutely."

Kwame raised his hand. "And what if someone hacks us or steals the idea?"

I paused.

ChatGPT: You should add encryption. Also, set up a basic firewall.

I showed them the message. "We build security. Zoey, you're our head of defense."

She grinned. "I accept this honor."

"What about the pitch?" Javier asked. "We can't just walk in with a game and say 'Trust us, it's totally legal now.'"

"We make a pitch deck," I said. "Sarah can help. She's good with words and doesn't sweat when public speaking."

"Unlike some people," Kwame muttered.

I ignored him.

This was it.

Our first big mission.

We were a startup now.

And the school board had no idea what was coming.