Spectrum

Content Warning:

This novel contains sensitive themes, including self-harm — not involving the main character, non-graphic, and mostly off-page (the MC reads about it).

There’s also some sexual content not suitable for readers under 18 — it's not frequent and not the focus of the story, but it’s there.

And one last thing: the guys are mostly nice, but every now and then they might drop an f-bomb when things get tense (again, not often — let’s forgive them).

Any chapters with explicit or sensitive content will come with a heads-up.

Take care and enjoy the read! ✨

Chapter 1

How weird is it to get a ride to school from your friend’s boyfriend?

I’ll admit it—it’s weird. And awkward. And I never know what to say to him. But every morning, Angie appears at my window like the sun: his blue Chevy screeches to a stop, I peek out, he waves, and we drive to school in silence.

Today is no exception.

Sometimes, I want to break this vicious cycle of morning awkwardness—like not looking out the window. Or bike to school. Or take Mom’s Toyota.

But then I imagine Angel sitting in his car, waiting for me, confused. Maybe he’d eventually knock (he’s painfully shy), but more likely, he’d just be ignored (we don’t knock here—people walk in unannounced and yell for whoever they need).

So, like the good boy I am, I keep looking out the window every morning, watching him grin and wave, then climbing into his awkward car.

Angie is too timid, and I’m too introverted. We just can’t talk! Someone has to drive the conversation, but it’s not him, and it’s not me.

Usually, it’s Mona.

She set this whole thing up, decided for both of us like we’re toddlers. So this torturous silence repeats daily.

Honestly, Mona’s the real winner here. She’s definitely proud of herself. On one hand, she “solved” my problem of getting from the farm to school. On the other—Angie finally has a friend! Well, no, we’re not friends. You can’t call awkward silence friendship, but Mona doesn’t know that. We spend about half an hour in the car together, and she thinks we have deep discussions about teenage struggles, society, and existence—just like we do with her between classes.

Mona’s cute. For years, I worried she’d date some jock, I’d fade into the background, and she’d forget me. Imagine my shock when she latched onto Angie. Don’t girls like bad boys who break their hearts? Nope. Mona picked a wallflower. Good for her, I guess.

And now she drags him into everything she does—and Simona Santos is a very active girl.

So now I’m his “friend.”

As for my problems and why I don’t drive—it’s complicated. On one hand, Mom gave me her unused Toyota. On the other—she also gave me a whole bunch of hang-ups along with it. She handed me the keys with a speech:

“You think you need a car because it’s the norm. Because you’re in high school, and everyone drives their own cars, blah blah blah...”

“Mom, you’re a writer,” I reminded her. “You shouldn’t say ‘blah blah blah.’”

“What was I saying?” She ignored my remark. “Oh, right. You’re following the herd. You’re living in the matrix. But think about it! Is it natural for humans to move at 50-70 mph? Are our senses and reflexes even built for that speed? No, it’s unnatural! We can’t and shouldn’t move that fast! Maybe when cars are fully autonomous...” She paused, then shook her head. “No, even then, it’s wrong. Robots should deliver everything to us.”

“Mom,” I groaned, “how am I supposed to get to school?!”

And since I’ve heard these rants since childhood and absorbed them with my mother’s milk, I ended up genuinely afraid of cars, speed, and, honestly, robots too.

My older siblings didn’t have this phobia and gave me rides in previous years, but this year, none of them go my way.

Except Angie.

Twenty-five minutes of bloody silence, and finally—the school parking lot, where Mona greets us with excited squeals. Usually, she throws me a quick “hey” before wrapping herself around Angie and making out with him until the bell rings. Not that I stand there watching—I bolt inside—but we often share first period, so I know she’s late, reapplying lipstick.

But today is different. First thing she grabbed me, and dragged me toward the building.

“Jupi, you won’t believe this, you just won’t! Wait till you hear!”

I glanced back at Angie—he looked pitiful. I doubt he’ll say anything to Mona himself, so I decided to stand up for my “friend”:

“I’m flattered, but Angie was looking forward to seeing you and wouldn’t stop talking about you. You can’t just ignore him.”

“Oh, my angel!” Mona cooed, turning to him. “I’m just so excited! Don’t take it personally, sweetie, okay? You know I love you.”

She showered him with kisses, leaving bright lipstick marks all over his cheeks. And in the end, she left him in the hallway—covered in kisses, disheveled, with his glasses crooked on his nose.

But he didn’t look pitiful anymore. He looked pleased.

Oh god, he’s gonna get roasted.

But I didn’t have time to worry about Angie for long because Mona had me in her grip. She planted me at my desk and loomed over me like doom itself.

“Alright, listen!”

And right at that moment, the bell rang.

Simona cursed loudly in Spanish, and Mr. Holland, who had just walked in, remarked:

“I hope that means ‘good health to all,’ Miss Santos?”

“I can tell you what it really means,” Alex offered.

“I’ll keep that enthusiasm in mind when I call on you to answer for Miss Santos, Mr. Cruz.”

Now it was Alex’s turn to swear in Spanish. And it was a word even I didn’t know.

Simona actually had to answer Mr. Holland’s question, and no matter how hard she tried to rush through it, the teacher wouldn’t let her off easy.

The second Cruz started answering, Mona hissed:

“Okay, now listen!”

I struggled to understand what she was trying to say, using whispers, gestures, and even drawings, but couldn’t make sense of it. Finally, she slammed her desk and gritted out:

“Good health to you, Jupi!”

After the bell, Angie was already waiting for Simona by the door with two cups of coffee.

“Mimi, I got your favorite latte,” the dork said. “Sorry, Peter, I only have two hands. Couldn’t carry a third cup.”

“All good, man,” I said, like we were buddies. I don’t know why I did it, so I quickly added, “I don’t even drink coffee, anyway.”

We settled in our usual spot—on the concrete block behind the gym, where I could smoke in peace and they could make out.

But Mona was ignoring Angie again.

“Jupi, you are so dense!” she said, waving smoke away.

“Hey, hey,” I protested. “Remind me why you sit with me in math?”

She made a face.

“You’re such a jerk. I sit with you because you’re my friend, dumbass!”

“No. You sat with me because I’m good at math, and then we became friends.”

“Ugh, whatever,” she huffed. “That’s not the point. You’re famous!”

She clapped her hands, and I frowned.

“What?”

I didn’t want to be famous. Everyone who’s famous at school usually ends up in some embarrassing scandal. People like me and Angie try to stay as unfamous as possible.

“You’re in a book!” Mona shrieked. “And not just any book—The Spectrum!”

“What?!”

I was so nervous I took a drag way too fast.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes! Peter Evindel aka Jupiter. That’s you! How did you manage to befriend Shine?!”

Desperate, I looked at Angie.

“This is just a bunch of random words. I don’t get any of it.”

Angie shrugged in solidarity. I stubbed out my cigarette.

“Start from the beginning, Mon.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Explaining for the dumb ones. Remember The Spectrum? The novel I’ve been reading for almost a year?” I shook my head. “That Spectrum I got hooked on mid-summer? The insanely cool web novel?”

“And?” I said, vaguely recalling something.

Mona’s always getting obsessed with some nonsense—I stopped paying attention ages ago. She reads my stories, and that’s all I ask for.

“Well, this web novel is published on your platform by an author named Shine. God, Jupi, are you messing with me? The Spectrum has been in Magic’s top rankings for а year now, how do you not know this?”

“I publish my own stories! I don’t read there!”

“Too bad,” Mona said with disapproval. “Shine’s good. You have to know them, since they made you a character!”

“What? How? What do you mean?”

“You’re in their book!! How many times do I have to say it?!”

I shook my head again.

“No way.”

“Here, look.”

She started digging through her phone, but the bell cut her off again.

“I’ll send you the link,” Mona said, dragging Angie off to class.

I stared after her, baffled. I’m in someone’s book? What kind of joke is this?!

By the time I got to class, the message had come through. I hid my phone under the desk and read the title:

Goddess. The Third Book of The Spectrum. By Shine.

Goddess? What schlock is this? A romance? Not that I’d expect anything else from Mona. But why am I involved in some trashy love story? Ugh.

Mona must’ve gotten it wrong. Some glitch or something.

She’d sent Chapter 8. Web serials love stretching stories over hundreds of chapters, releasing crumbs weekly. Readers wait forever for a paragraph about the MC’s breakfast.

I started reading, skeptical.

Author’s notes:

Hey!

Thanks for joining me at the very start — Chapter 1 may look like just another awkward high school morning, but this is where Peter’s “ordinary” begins to bend toward something strange, bright, and dangerous.

Can’t wait to share what’s waiting.

Bonus:

The first volume of SPECTRUM is titled “Wish”, and its cover is here for you. The meaning of the title and why Venus and a perfume bottle are depicted will become clear quite soon.