Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11- Festival Date

Zatariel pov

I should've stayed home.

Seriously. I finally regret coming here.

The sun was loud. The crowd was louder. 

Somehow, I've ended up stranded in the middle of Wayne Academy's football field, knee-deep in green uniforms, streaks of face paint, dumbbell water bottles, and school spirit so violently enthusiastic it should come with a warning label.

"Zatariel, join the cheer relay!" someone I don't know waved at me.

No.

"Zatariel, want a free hot dog from the student council booth?" another chimed in.

Hard pass.

"Zatariel, can you hold this banner?" What do you take me for?!

I ignored them all and kept on walking.

Why do I exist?

I retreated to the nearest bench under the bleachers, pulled my hoodie over my head like a socially-anxious cryptid, and opened my phone to play Candy Crush.

Then she passed by.

Miexha.

An actual apparition in a green Wayne hoodie two sizes too big, strings pulled so tight only her eyes peeked out.

She looked like the most adorable fugitive I'd ever seen.

She darted behind a booth, peeked around it, then tiptoed across the track like a spy escaping a gala.

I squinted.

And then I saw them.

Two suited guards and a maid with a parasol, sweeping the field like they'd lost a crown jewel. They murmured into earpieces with the urgency of a political scandal.

I smirked.

Then, without any permission from my common sense, I stood up. Walked. Approached her like I had a plan. 

She nearly collided with me when I stepped in front of her. Her hoodie bounced, and she gasped softly.

"Z-Zatariel? Riel?"

She looked like she was bracing for impact, cheeks flushed—either from the heat or the horror of being caught mid-escape.

"Hey, Mimi," I said, pretending I was cool and not dying inside. "Nice hoodie. You planning a heist or just evading your royal babysitters?"

She giggled.

"I just wanted to watch games like a normal student," she said, voice muffled in hoodie layers.
"But they won't let me. My maid brought sunscreen in a briefcase."

I snorted. "Sounds serious."

There was a pause. Her eyes flicked up to mine.

And then—ugh—said it.

"Wanna... uhm—be my date?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "Your... what?"

"Festival date," I croaked.
"Not like a real date... I mean—it's real... it should be real... but not romantic...? Unless you want it to be? I mean... It's just for the sports fest, because it's sports... we should date and have photos together. As, like, a buddy buddy... Or decoy? your pet? Or whatever you want it to be."

What even are words? What am I even saying? this is too embarrassing.

But then... she smiled.

"Okay," she said simply.