𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 ༊*·˚ 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫.

|ғᴏᴜʀ| ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴs & ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴏɴɢs

The next day...

  Perched lazily in my throne of a lawn chair beside the flashy neon sign of Bill's Surf Shop, I was the queen of my little world, entertaining myself with the ridiculous antics of the not-so-fabulous foursome. Kicking back in a lawn chair, I snagged from beside Bill's Surf Shop; I watched the scene before me with the sort of fascination usually reserved for car crashes or reality TV meltdowns. The mall lights created a disco ball effect on my shades, creating a fitting atmosphere for the day's absurd drama.

  Austin, with his ego inflated to the size of a hot air balloon, believed Ally harbored a secret crush on him. The poor sap seems so wrapped up in his narrative that he couldn't see the mess he'd made. I'd tried to knock some sense into him and told him outright that swiping Ally's songbook wasn't exactly prince-charming behavior. From my sideline sanctuary, I watched, shaking my head with irritation and amusement. The boy was like a Rubik's cube—twist him one way, and he'd turn back the other, leaving you none the wiser. The spectacle escalated when Austin bolted from the practice room like he had just seen a ghost—or worse, caught feelings. "If I don't hear it, it's not true!" he chanted like a mantra, covering his ears as if that would shield him from the horror of a potential love song about him.

  But the main event was kicking off. Ally and Trish were playing good cop, bad cop with Dez, who was dangling on the hook like a gingerbread man in a shark tank. I was too happy to sit back, popcorn in hand, and watch the interrogation unfold under the golden mall lighting.

"We can do this the easy way or the Trish way," Trish threatens, her voice chilling like the ice cream freezer beside us. Dez, the gingerbread guardian, was torn between loyalty and the threat of a cookie apocalypse.

  "I can't betray Austin's trust," he whimpered, the irony of his statement thicker than the icing on his edible confidence.

  Trish, the ruthless, bit off a gingerbread limb without flinching. Ally, the voice of reason, tried to play the angel, but Trish was a gingerbread grim reaper in a mallrat's clothing.

  The food court was a pressure cooker of suspense, sugar, and spice. I reveled in the delicious disaster, my chuckles hidden behind a handful of popcorn. "Oh, the sweet irony," I whispered with glee, watching Dez's confectionery castle crumble.

  When Dez's confession spilled out, it was as shocking as a plot twist in a daytime soap. Trish had concocted the most harebrained scheme of revenge, and Ally was all too eager to play along. Their plan to get back at Austin for his nosy transgressions was as twisted as a pretzel.

  Ally's songbook, The Eye of the Storm, became their weapon of choice. She hugged it tight, her resolve shaky as a fiddler on a roof. The heist of her songbook met her with a side-eyed gaze, but the real kicker was when they turned to me, Vesper, the casual observer with no dog in this fight.

  They flashed those devilish grins, thinking they could recruit me into their web of vengeance. I'm no hero in this story—I'm the one in the back row, eating popcorn and waiting for the credits. They knew I wouldn't take sides, but the idea of watching Austin's ego take a nosedive? Now, that was something I could get behind.

  "Come on, Vesper, don't you want to see Mr. Perfect's face when he realizes he's not the center of the universe?" Trish coaxed, her grin sharp as a tack.

  Ally said, "We could use someone with your unique perspective."

  I leaned back, considering the offer. "Well, it's not every day I get to play puppeteer to Miami's teen heartthrob. Count me in—but for the record, I'm doing this for the shits and giggles, not for your high school musical melodrama."