I scored a vintage iPod on Depop. Plugging in my cheap wired earbuds, I expected to hear some nostalgic Lana Del Rey. Instead, a low, husky male voice filled my ears: “Avery forgot her umbrella today. So stupid.” I flipped through the photo gallery. It was entirely filled with candid shots of me from high school. Turning my head, I saw the top trending topic on Twitter: #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft. Two minutes later, the Depop seller sent me a private message: [That belongs to me. Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I sneered and let my fingers fly across the keyboard: [Meet me in person, or I’m turning this over to the cops.] The next afternoon at a coffee shop, I stared at the fully disguised Jude Sinclair sitting across from me and hit the send button right in front of his face. “Ding.” The crisp notification sound erupted from his pocket. 1 Opening that package was a heart-stopping experience. Here is what happened. I had recently gotten into the retro aesthetic and spent thirty bucks on Depop for a vintage iPod Classic. The seller’s description read: “Battle-scarred condition. Powers on. No returns.” I figured thirty bucks for a piece of nostalgia was a steal. The second I got it, I plugged it into the charger and shoved in my two-dollar bargain bin wired earbuds. The screen lit up, lagging for three seconds before loading the main menu. There was no Coldplay. No Taylor Swift. There was only a single hidden folder named “A”. Curious, I clicked on it. It contained a few abrupt audio files and dozens of blurry photos. I casually tapped the first audio track. A crackling static noise hissed through the earbuds, followed instantly by a deeply low, slightly youthful male voice. “Avery wore her hair in a ponytail today. Kinda want to tug it.” My scalp tingled. I nearly dropped the iPod on the floor. What the hell? I swallowed hard and with a trembling finger, tapped the second track. “Avery got a C on her Calculus mid-term. Idiot. I explained that exact equation to her three times.” “It is pouring. Avery forgot her umbrella again. Dummy.” Fuck. I would recognize that voice anywhere. I hastily backed out to the main menu and opened the photo folder. A grid of photos flooded the screen. The pixel quality was laughably bad, but the subject of every single picture was me. There was a side profile of me drooling on my desk during study hall. A shot of my back as I sprinted across the track field in an oversized hoodie. There was even a candid of me hiding in the stairwell, secretly stuffing a breakfast burrito into my mouth. It was a total creepy-secret-admirer POV. My coworker Zoe walked by with her coffee, caught a glimpse of my screen from the corner of her eye, and immediately leaned in. “Whoa, Avery, who took these crusty photos? From high school? The quality looks deep-fried.” My brain was buzzing. I brushed her off with a random excuse. “No idea. Probably just bought some creep’s secondhand junk.” Zoe did not pay much attention. She pulled out her phone to slack off, but a second later, she slapped my thigh hard. “Oh my god! Huge drama!” “Look at the number one trending topic!” I gasped from the stinging slap and leaned over to look at her screen. The top hashtag had a dark red “Trending” icon next to it. #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft The timeline was in absolute chaos. “Holy shit, Jude actually snapped! Called the cops on his own assistant?” “Word is the assistant listed a super personal, beat-up item he has carried for years on a secondhand app. Jude literally smashed a glass on set!” “What kind of item is that precious? Bypassing PR to call the cops directly? That assistant is dancing on a minefield.” Zoe scrolled through the comments, clicking her tongue in amazement. “Assistants these days are wild. Jude is famous for being an untouchable, arrogant ice king. He never even has dating rumors. For him to blow up like this is insane. Avery, what do you think he lost? A love token from his secret girlfriend?” I said nothing. Because my phone just buzzed. A new notification popped up from Depop. It was a message from the seller who sold me the iPod. [That belongs to me.] [I did not sell it willingly.] [Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I stared at the words on the screen, a massive question mark forming in my head. Fifteen grand? I paid thirty bucks for a piece of junk, and it costs fifteen grand to ransom it back? Are scammers getting this brazen nowadays? I scoffed, my fingers flying across the screen. [Nice scam. I am the Queen of England. Send cash.] He replied instantly: [I am not joking. That item is extremely important to me.] [As long as you return it, name your price.] I raised an eyebrow. Judging by his tone, the guy was anxious enough to crawl through the internet connection. I wanted to see exactly what kind of trick this scammer was trying to pull. [Fine. Meet in person. Tomorrow at 3 PM, Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall.] [If you do not show up, I am calling the cops and handing this over as stolen property.] After sending that, I closed the app and locked the burning-hot iPod in the bottom drawer of my desk. His reply came quickly. Just one brief word. [Okay.] Right after lunch, my department manager Valerie stormed into the office, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor. “Everyone, drop what you are doing!” “We just landed the promotional campaign for Jude Sinclair’s new album. His team will be downstairs in ten minutes. Avery, print three copies of this brief and come with me to Meeting Room One!” I was mid-sip of my water and nearly choked to death on my keyboard. “Cough… Valerie, me? Am I not just the administrative assistant?” “I told you to go, so go! Stop whining, look sharp, and do not embarrass the company!” I reluctantly gathered the stack of documents and followed Valerie toward the meeting room. Truth be told, Jude Sinclair and I were not complete strangers. We had shared a homeroom for two years in high school. The Jude Sinclair back then was a completely different person from the dazzling superstar on today’s billboards. He was dirt poor. His father was a deadbeat gambler. Jude always wore a washed-out, oversized hoodie, kept to himself, and had the gloomy aura of a lone wolf ready to bite anyone who got too close. Nobody in class dared to mess with him, and nobody wanted to talk to him either. I was the class president. The thankless job of collecting homework always fell on me. Every time I stood at his desk, tapping on the wood to ask for his assignment, he would not even lift his eyes. He would just spit out two cold words: “Didn’t do it.” How did we end up getting familiar? It was probably that one day after school. I was cutting through the alley behind the gym and saw him cornered by a group of loan sharks. He was bleeding from his lip, yet he did not make a sound, fiercely protecting a broken Walkman in his arms. My brain short-circuited. I screamed “Cops are here!” and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away as fast as I could run. Since then, I would occasionally find a strawberry Starburst sitting in my desk drawer. And I made a habit of conveniently leaving an extra umbrella on his desk on rainy days. But right after our senior year started, he abruptly cut all ties with me. With a frozen expression, he threw the umbrella back into my arms and told me to mind my own business. A few days later, he vanished from school completely. He did not even show up for graduation. The next time I heard his name was years later. He exploded in popularity after an indie film and became the globally adored Jude Sinclair. A click of the meeting room door snapped me out of my memories. I followed Valerie inside and immediately spotted the man sitting at the head of the table. Jude wore a minimalist black windbreaker and a baseball cap. The brim was pulled low, but it still could not hide his immaculate bone structure. He leaned back in his chair, radiating a chilling, do-not-approach aura. His manager was pacing beside him, aggressively barking into his phone. “Find it! You know how many years he has carried that thing? If that leaks, you and I are both finished!” My footsteps faltered, and I guiltily tightened my grip on the folders. “Mr. Sinclair, it is a pleasure.” Valerie instantly plastered on a bright smile and approached. “I am the director for this campaign. Here is the preliminary proposal we prepared.” She turned and shot me a look. I quickly took two steps forward and offered the documents. “Mr. Sinclair, your files.” Jude had been looking down, twisting a plain silver ring on his thumb. Hearing my voice, his movements abruptly stopped. He slowly looked up. Our eyes met. The air in the room seemed to freeze for a split second. His dark pupils shrank sharply. A flash of extreme shock and poorly concealed panic crossed his eyes. But in the span of a breath, he forced it down, replacing it with a perfectly calm, unreadable facade. “Thank you,” he said, without looking at me. His voice was freezing cold. I cursed his arrogance in my head. Pretending we do not know each other? Fine. “You are welcome, Mr. Superstar.” I deliberately emphasized the last two words. Jude’s back noticeably stiffened. As he reached out to take the files, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of my hand. They were freezing. And they were trembling slightly. With my sharp eyes, I noticed the tips of his pale ears turning a violent shade of red right in front of me. The meeting lasted thirty minutes. Jude barely spoke the entire time, leaving his manager to do all the talking. His gaze seemed locked on the projector screen, but I constantly felt a heavy stare sweeping over the top of my head. When the meeting ended, I escorted them downstairs. Reaching the lobby, I realized a torrential downpour had started. Sheets of rain crashed against the glass doors with a deafening rattle. I did not have an umbrella. The manager’s car was already waiting at the entrance. Jude put on his black mask and prepared to step out into the storm. Suddenly, he stopped, turned around, and cast a deep look at me. It was such an intense look I almost thought he was going to say something. But ultimately, he stayed silent and ducked into the SUV. I stood by the lobby doors, sighing, preparing to wait out the rain before making a run for the subway. Two minutes later, the building’s security guard walked over with a massive black golf umbrella, handing me a brand-new clear umbrella. “Miss, the gentleman who just left asked me to give this to you,” the guard said with a warm chuckle. “He also told me to remind you not to stand around looking dumb when it rains.” I gripped the handle of the clear umbrella, slightly stunned. The handle still held a faint trace of body heat. That bastard. So much for playing it cool. That evening, I went to a high school reunion. Mr. Harrison, our old homeroom teacher, was retiring this year, and everyone got together for a farewell dinner. The private room was loud and smoky. After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation inevitably drifted to the most successful person from our class: Jude Sinclair. “Who would have thought the poorest, quietest kid in our class would end up as an A-list celebrity?” The old sports captain yelled, letting out a drunken burp. “Yeah, remember when he got publicly shamed at assembly because he could not pay his tuition?” A girl sitting nearby lowered her voice, looking secretive. “Do you guys remember why he actually dropped out senior year?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, listening closely. “I heard his deadbeat dad borrowed from a loan shark and ran off. The debt collectors came and trashed his apartment. His grandma already had a bad heart, and the shock killed her that very night.” “Holy shit, that is awful.” “Right? He could not even afford a proper burial. He went to work at a construction site hauling cement for half a month straight just to survive. How could he possibly take his final exams?” The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavy. Mr. Harrison sighed, lifting his glass for a small sip. “That kid had a hard life. He was bright. It was a damn shame.” Sitting in the corner, my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cotton. I could not swallow, and I could not speak. The sports captain turned to look at me, slurring his words. “Avery, you did not know? The night before he dropped out, it was pouring rain. I saw him standing outside your apartment building for half the night with my own eyes. He was soaked like a drowned rat, just staring up at your window.” “I asked him why he did not just go up and knock. His eyes were red, and he told me his life was pure garbage now, and he could not drag you down into the mud with him.” With a loud clatter, my glass hit the table. Water spilled everywhere. My brain was buzzing. So, his sudden coldness back then. Throwing the umbrella back at me. Telling me to mind my own business… It was all an act? He thought he was not good enough for me, so he chose to shoulder his ruined life alone and quietly roll out of my world? I bit my lower lip hard, taking a deep breath to force myself to calm down. Jude Sinclair, you self-righteous bastard. The next day, at 2:50 PM. I arrived exactly on time at the Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall. The weekend crowd was massive, and the coffee shop was nearly packed. I ordered an iced Americano and found a secluded booth near the window. My mind was still replaying the words I heard at the reunion last night. A fire was burning in my chest. Just then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted someone strange. Sitting in the furthest booth of the cafe was a man in a black hoodie. Not only did he have the hood pulled up over his head, but he was also wearing oversized thick-rimmed glasses and a black medical mask. He was bundled up tightly, only his eyes visible, looking around nervously. Dressed like that in the middle of the summer, he was either a celebrity or an armed robber. And that posture. That build. I would recognize him anywhere. I squeezed my iced coffee cup tightly, condensation dripping through my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and marched straight toward that corner. The man seemed to sense someone approaching. His body tensed, and he instinctively pulled the brim of his hood lower. I stopped at his table, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down without hesitation. He jumped, his head snapping up. Through his glasses, I locked eyes with those familiar, deep pupils. “Excuse me, miss, this seat is taken,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice, trying to play it off. I ignored him. Expressionless, I pulled out my phone, opened the Depop app, and navigated to the chat with the seller who thought he could scam me. I typed. [I am here.] [Where are you?] [Look up.] Staring dead into the man’s eyes, I pressed my thumb down hard on the send button. “Ding.” The extremely crisp system notification sound erupted from the phone sitting on the table in front of him. The noisy chatter of the coffee shop seemed to fade away completely in that instant. The man’s pupils violently trembled. Those eyes that were always so calm and unbothered finally revealed a stark, unmistakable panic.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459947”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply