𝒞ℋℰℛℛ𝒴 𝒦ℐ𝒮𝒮ℰ𝒮, 𝒞𝒪ℒℬ𝒴 ℳ𝒜𝒟𝒟ℰ𝒩

|33| 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨

☡

𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 on the edge of the couch, legs crossed and Vogue magazines spread around her like a small, colorful halo. She flipped through the glossy pages with an air of detached fascination, running her fingers over the covers as if memorizing the shapes and patterns of the latest fashion spreads. The soft light from the window glinted off the metallic lettering on the covers, and she hummed quietly to herself, lost in the world of high fashion while the others talked around her.

"Battle of the Bands is only three days away," Amy said, pacing back and forth, a notebook clutched tightly in her hands. "I can't believe how fast this snuck up on us."

Hartley leaned against the table, tapping a pencil against his chin. "Did you finish writing our new song yet?"

Aveline glanced up briefly from her magazines, raising one brow without interrupting. "Maybe you should let inspiration hit naturally," she said casually, voice calm and smooth like velvet.

"No," Amy sighed, plopping down onto the couch next to Aveline. "I think I'll just wait for inspiration to strike while I nap in Geometry. Honestly, sometimes I think the universe is conspiring to make me fail at everything at the most inconvenient times."

Aveline flipped a page, letting a soft, knowing smile play across her lips. "You always make it sound so dramatic. Like the world personally wants to ruin your chords and lyrics."

Amy huffed. "I mean... kinda. Look, as last year's champions, we need back-to-back wins to prove our band isn't a fluke. Five years ago, the Monobrows didn't win a second time. Now they're stuck playing nursing homes."

"Well," Aveline said lightly, tucking her legs under her, "I do like an audience that can't just get up and leave."

Amy shot her a sideways glare. "You're supposed to be helping, not making snide remarks about my stress levels."

Aveline smirked faintly but returned to her magazines. "Look, I want you to win as much as you do. But the song? It'll come to you when it's ready. You can't force it, Amy."

Hartley shook his head, sighing. "Well, then let me help you. Two heads are better than one, right?"

"No. I need to prove to myself—and to you—that I can do this alone," Amy insisted. "Just be patient. I'm going to write us a great song. I promise."

A faint rustle from the doorway made all three of them glance up. Gemma appeared, her presence like a sudden breeze, soft yet commanding. The "nice" version of Gemma gave them a small wave, and her usual intimidating energy was replaced with a serene, almost whimsical charm.

"Hey, girls," she said warmly, her voice like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Ready for the Battle of the Bands?"

Amy blinked, startled, and Hartley froze mid-pencil-tap. "I really think you have a shot at beating us again," Gemma added, her tone gentle, yet there was a weight to her words that made both girls perk up.