Monday, December 17th
"It's Saturday at Harry's."
The date for the party had only been finalized this afternoon, but it had been the trending topic for nearly a month. Harry Osborn was throwing a Christmas party. Harry's parties were legendary around Empire State University, and everyone in the school was invited. Normally, when the "popular" people around ESU have parties, they're restricted to those within the inner circle. Even Harry's parties, historically, have had an exclusive invite list. Not this time. It was clear that Harry wanted everyone there - The nerds, the jocks, the stoners, the geeks, the preps... everyone.
If everyone enrolled in ESU attended, there would be plenty of room empty in the Osborne Mansion. Harry lived in one of the biggest towers in New York - a building with "Oscorp" text embossed in gold at the top to represent Oscorp Industries.
"This Saturday?" Walking her normal route home down a busy street, Emelyn "Em" Janine Watson was holding her phone in one hand and her bag in the other. She was talking to Gwen Stacy, her friend of the last seven years and roommate in a small apartment on the North side of the city.
"He likes to make his announcements memorable." Gwen was at the apartment, sorting through clothes that had been sitting in a "to-be-washed" bin. She was sorting them between two categories, as previously described to Em. "Shit, that's gross," and "It's winter, so it's probably wearable under a jacket."
"We knew it was coming soon, Christmas is next week. I did some digging, Harry's always had his party with fewer than ten days until the 25th. That's eight parties, from the ninth grade to now, since he's in our year." Em, Gwen, and Harry are all in their senior year of post-secondary education. Gwen is a theatre major, which, when she decided it, surprised nobody around her. Her dream has always been to act or sing in major stage productions.
"Makes sense." There was silence on Em's phone for a few seconds, and then a "thud" noise. "Em, gotta go. I've gotta find clothes for tonight. I have a useless class."
"That's fine, I have a subway to catch. Later." Em's headphone audio changed automatically changed to the song she had been listening to before the conversation, and she walked down the stairs, into the station.
Twenty-five minutes later, when Em got back to her dorm room, Gwen had left.
Good. I need quiet.
She dropped the bag from her shoulder and sat at her desk. Sitting at her desk was a full computer tower and monitor.
Em is the first in her family's history to study journalism. Her mother, Carroll, is a medical doctor, and her father, Michael, is a scientist working for Oscorp Industries. She was pushed to study journalism and media when her Aunt Anna read a piece she wrote for her High School newspaper. Really, though, she would have studied it without any input from her Aunt.
Routine is a habit that Em has been trying to achieve for several months. She wanted to prepare her mind for a deadline-oriented job at a newspaper or media company. Her current goal was to write a 500-700 word news article every weekday at 6 PM, except for on Thursday, a day in which she had a class until 8 PM. Seeing as this day was a Monday, She spent two hours, beginning at 5:58 PM, writing a piece about the local political situation. The Mayoral elections were in late January, and New York City incumbent Norman Osborne was facing pressure from opponents Wilson Fisk and Kainoa Amoaʻi.
ESU does one-on-one sessions twice a year, and during the last one Em got praise from her news journalism professor, Mr. Leland Owlsley, of whom his students refer to as "The Owl" behind his back. The Owl had told Em that she possessed a "journalistic touch," to which she politely responded "thank you," trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice. "Whatever the fuck that means," she muttered to herself after she left his office.
What Owlsley had meant was that she possessed an instinct that only great journalists have. That he could feel that she would do almost anything to get a story as long as it was ethical. Unbeknownst to Em, Owlsley considered her to have the most potential of the whole upcoming graduating class.
Not that Em would have agreed. There's a sense of self-doubt that's usually on her mind, specifically about the quality of her writing. She felt it often fell flat or took too long to get to the point.
Tonight, however, was different. It wasn't a heavy news day so she decided to add some more spice to her article. She would later describe it as "voice." It didn't matter to her either way, as after her stories were complete, she'd print them on 8.5x11 paper, put them in a drawer, and shred them at the end of the month. If she really liked something she wrote, she put it in a folder on a USB memory stick marked "SAMPLES." She keeps the flash drive on her keychain, of which she always keeps in her pocket.
Shortly after the eight o'clock hour began, the dorm room door swung open, loudly hitting the wall and causing a loud crash. "Guess who's back!" She elongated the word back so that the word had at least four syllables by the end.
"You? Christ, Gwen, it's eight at night, we'll get complaints." Em still hadn't looked up from her computer; she was trying to proofread the second half of her article.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Pfft, no. I come back every night. Well, most nights."
"I hope you're referring to the nights you stay at your Mom's." Em still didn't look behind her, or she would have seen that a plate had fallen from the counter as a side effect from the door slam. It was, obviously, a plate that Gwen had left next to the edge of the counter.
Gwen walked over to the closet to grab the broom. "Well, I am single and ready to mingle." She smiled quickly in an artificial way. "Yikes. Cringing at myself." She looked over for a reaction and got nothing. "Damn, Em. I'm in the greatest of moods and you're just a killer buzzjoy." She made a detour to the fridge, and grabbed a ginger ale. "No, I'm talking about Pete. He's back from London."
Just finishing her paper, Em started up the printer. "Didn't you two have a thing back in the twelfth grade or something?"
"Well, almost. Kind of? It's hard to describe. I'm pretty sure we were just friends or-" Gwen stopped talking when she caught a glimpse of Em's expression. She took a sip of ginger ale. "Guess you saw the plate."
With the printed paper in the drawer, Em walked into her bedroom and stuck her head out the door into the shared area in which the plate was still shattered on the floor. "Gwen, never change. But, please. For the love of God, change." She shut the door.
Gwen raised an eyebrow and raised her voice so she could be heard through the door. "That means you're not going to help me with the plate?"
