Chapter 3

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It took two weeks—two painfully long weeks—to finally get transferred to Midtown High. In that time, I said goodbye to my 'friends' at Norbrich, explaining that my parents wanted me to move and I couldn't argue with them.

Surprisingly, the investment conversation with my parents was successful. I walked them through the basics of e-currency, explaining what Bitcoin was and how it worked. I argued that as technology advanced, digital currencies would likely become more integral to both social and professional life. After hours of discussion, they finally agreed.

Securing that investment wasn't just about making money. I figured it would ease my parents' concerns about my future, especially regarding athletics and the need for a university education. Wealth would provide us all with a bit of breathing room.

In the meantime, I also started attending Krav Maga classes at a nearby studio. The instructor was former Israeli special forces—a real hardass who didn't tolerate any bullshit. The training was intense, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't beginning to doubt my superhero master plan. I'd run out of superpowers to test, and my last hope—that my X-Gene would suddenly activate—was fading as puberty continued its relentless march.

So why keep going to these classes? Because of hope. I was in the Marvel universe, for crying out loud. Unlike everyone else around me, I knew what was really out there: superpowers, aliens, infinity stones, and magic. I wanted to be part of it, to stand among Earth's mightiest heroes, to be on the front lines as humanity ventured into the cosmos.

In my previous life, I'd wasted time sitting around, getting high, and talking crap with friends about which superhero was the coolest and what we'd do if we had powers. Now, I had a chance—a real chance—to be part of that world. I just had to find my powers, my purpose for being here. And when I did, I was determined to be the first in line to protect this planet.

My thoughts were abruptly cut off as my head snapped back from a punch. My distraction had cost me, and the older, more experienced student I was sparring with took full advantage.

"Take a few minutes, Davis," the instructor barked. "Everyone else, partner up and get to the punching bags."

As the class continued, I sat on the sidelines with an icepack on my face. I didn't care that I hadn't discovered my powers yet. I refused to sit back and watch this world—no, this universe—burn at the hands of Thanos. That was why I was here, why I cared. Even without powers, I had foresight, and that was a powerful thing.

After class, my dad picked me up in his cop car. He took one look at my bruised face before opening his door, his expression darkening as he glared at the studio, clearly ready to give the instructor an earful.

"Dad!" I grabbed his arm. "Dad, stop! It's just a bruise!"

"Just a bruise!? We agreed to let you learn to fight as long as it didn't interfere with your track training. How are you supposed to run competitively on the weekends if you're covered in bruises?"

"It was just an accident. My attention slipped, and I got hit. It's not a big deal!"

As much as I loved having caring parents again—parents who would stand up for me no matter what—sometimes it could get pretty damn tedious. How was I supposed to train to be a superhero if they freaked out every time I got a bruise?

Dad got back in the car and drove us home. "Your mum will hear about this," he muttered.

The next morning, my eye was swollen beautifully. There was no way to hide it. I was going to my first day at Midtown High looking like I'd been in a fight. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, still trying to get used to this new body. In my previous life, I'd been Caucasian, a bit flabby, with a crooked nose from a schoolyard fight I'd never gotten fixed.

Now, I was a mixed-race teenager with an athletic build. I had so little body fat that even my jawline was chiseled. Stubble was starting to appear on my chin, and I could tell I'd be able to grow an afro like my dad if I let my hair grow out.

Jordan—the original Jordan—had always kept his hair closely cropped, partly for athletics and partly for style. I saw no reason to change that. My hazel eyes stared back at me as I sighed, wondering how my parents would react to my swollen eye.

I pulled on a pair of grey slim-fit jeans and a plain black t-shirt, the most neutral outfit I could find. It was perfect for a first day at a new school where I had no idea about the social dynamics.

When I got downstairs, Mum gasped as soon as she saw my face.

"Hey, hey, hey," I said quickly, "it's not as bad as it looks." But my words were useless as she rushed over, immediately prodding at the bruise.

"Does it hurt? Dear God, Jordan, you can't go to school looking like that!"

"Mum, it's my first day. I can't miss it. Besides, it really isn't as bad as it looks."

That was a lie—it hurt like hell—but if I complained, I knew she'd insist I stay home. Oh, the joys of being a teenager again.

"Anyway, I've got to go or I'll miss the bus!" I grabbed an orange and an apple from the kitchen counter and bolted out the door before she could protest further. A healthy body and a healthy mind, after all.

After a half-hour bus ride, I arrived at Midtown High. It was surreal being at a place I'd seen portrayed in movies and comics my whole life. And honestly, it was underwhelming. It was just a high school, not the epicenter of superhero activity that I'd imagined.

Looking at my schedule, I saw that my day started with Geography in Room B.04 with Mr. Jones. I sighed. Let's hope this day goes by quickly.

But it didn't. Every class was a grind. I'd done it all before—literally. I'd been a teenager once already, taken these classes, and passed the exams. My parents were confused when I asked to change some of my subjects, but there was no way I was going to sit through hours of chemistry, a subject I'd never understood, just because Jordan had chosen it before.

Sure, his memories gave me a decent grasp of the subject, but I had no desire to pursue it. I wanted to be a superhero, not a lab technician. I mean, yeah, there were stories about nerds gaining powers through experiments gone wrong, but I was a realist. I hadn't been a genius in my last life, and I sure as hell wasn't one in this life either. I'd already checked and crossed that off my superpower checklist.

So, I swapped out the sciences for social sciences—the subjects I'd done in my past life. I figured with a little effort, I could ace them with minimal work.

Lunch came, and I grabbed a tray from the canteen. Beef stew with mashed potatoes—not bad, much better than what Norbrich served up. I ended up eating alone, having deliberately ignored most people in my classes based on my previous experiences with 15-year-olds.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the group of older students sitting down around me until one of them spoke.

"You the new kid, Jordan?"

I looked up, surprised. They didn't seem hostile, just curious.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

It wasn't the strongest reply, but I'd been caught off guard. What else could I say?

"Heard you ran an 11.36-second 100m. That's pretty good for your age. You up for running for us at the Friday meet?"

"Sure, I guess. Sorry, who are you?" I asked, trying to be polite.

This was the most straightforward and mature conversation I'd had since becoming Jordan. For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope that I might actually make some friends here.

"I'm Trevor, student head of track and field here at Midtown High. Nice to meet you, Jordan." He smiled and extended his hand, which I shook.

"And if you don't mind me asking, what the hell happened to your eye?" Trevor asked, glancing at it with a wince.

So, I told them the story, and as I did, I found myself smiling. Maybe school here wouldn't be so bad after all. If I could make friends with the older students, those who wouldn't judge me by my age but by my maturity, this might just work out.

With introductions done and my agreement to run in the relay at Friday's meet, Trevor turned to his friends, a grin spreading across his face.

"So, who's seen Hannah's tits? It's not just me, right? They've definitely gotten bigger."

Oh, for fuck's sake.