WE WERE basically procrastination experts.

Harumi had wanted to talk to Curtis and me about what we were going to do for St. John’s Annual Founding Festival, which was this huge event our homeroom teacher had been discussing with us for the past few days.

You see, once every year at St. John’s, the school grounds would be jam-packed with visitors from neighboring schools. On top of that, there would be an international food buffet, stalls, games, an interschool Battle of the Bands concert, and fireworks for the grand finale. (Whew, I need to catch my breath!)

The festival was in three days, and Harumi was particularly troubled by our class’s inability to decide what kind of stand to put up. Every high school class at St. John’s was supposed to come up with one, and the application form was due the previous week. Whoops.

Our homeroom teacher was just as distressed, so at the expression of his concern, the last period of class was lost in a sea of mini business suggestions that deserved credit for being utterly bizarre and totally ridiculous.

At the end of the day, our class settled with a burger stand because it was probably the most realistic idea anyone had come up with. And besides, who doesn’t love burgers?

When class was dismissed, Harumi, Curtis, and I worked briefly on the application form for our burger stand, coming up with crazy business names and hurriedly listing down the equipment we needed to borrow from the school. Then, we were well on our way to the student council room to submit it.

We were like the class’s magic trio; we were usually the only ones who cared about getting things done.

Honestly, though, I didn’t mind. I liked working on school activities. It helped me get my mind busy and off of Cassandra’s little horror shows. In fact, for the rest of the day, I didn’t think about her at all. Instead, I thought about how it would be my first time to experience a grand school event such as the Founding Festival.

I was new to St. John’s, and something so big had definitely gotten me stoked. I knew that it was going to be one of the best days of my high school life.

However, little did I know that preparations for the festival would lead to the start of something dangerous—and it was all because of something really, really stupid.

Harumi, Curtis, and I were just a flight of stairs away from the student council room when a voice sounded at the end of the hall.

 “Hey, Curtis! There you are…”

A stocky guy with unruly black hair came running toward us. Trailing behind him was a tall and lean girl with bouncy, curly brown hair. Both of them had guitar cases strapped to their shoulders.

Curtis turned to the guy. “Hey, Philip. What’s up?”

“Oh man, you’re so dead.”

The girl finally caught up, and I didn’t like how she greeted Curtis. She charged toward him and kicked him anime-style—I had no better way to describe it, okay—sending him skidding across the hall. She then knelt beside him, grabbing his collar and bringing his face dangerously close to hers.

“Battle of the Bands is in three days, Stevenson,” the girl scowled. “We lack practice, and you won’t even answer my calls!”

“W—what?” Curtis’ voice shook as he reached into his pocket for his phone. “But I didn’t receive—”

I knew this situation way too well. Curtis had told me that whenever he listened to music—which was often—he would put his phone on airplane mode because he didn’t like how incoming texts and calls disrupted his vibe. So unless he was physically present, it was hard to get a hold of him.

Curtis was already pale enough to begin with, so when he got scared, his face would turn into a ghastly shade of white, making the freckles across his nose look like fresh burn marks.

He smiled sheepishly at the girl, whose face was now inches apart from his. “Sorry?”

The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

He smirked. “And that’s why you love me.”

Then, they kissed.

If that wasn’t enough to show that she was Curtis’ girlfriend, then you need some common sense.

Her name was Rachael—yes, with the extra A. She always made sure her name was spelled correctly. In fact, that was how her introductions would often go, and people around her started calling it her thing.

She was the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of St. John’s very own rock band, Deus Ex Machina—as in the narrative device used to conveniently solve hopeless situations. (Well, it is Latin for god from the machinery, so I guess that context makes it more of a suitable name for a band.)

Speaking of hopeless situations, do you know how awkward it was to just stand there while your friend starts a mini make-out session with his girlfriend? I glanced at Harumi, and she also didn’t seem to know what to do. Meanwhile, Philip had an expression on his face that read, “Yeah, I’m used it.”

Well, being band members with Curtis and Rachael, I guess it was no surprise.

Meanwhile, someone in particular wasn’t all that pleased by the sight of two lovebirds in the hallway. She had a voice that sounded off the walls and echoed against the tile floor.

“Now just what the hell are you two up to?”

Standing tall at the end of the hall was a true deus ex machina. I didn’t know who she was, but she radiated with authority, the afternoon sun intensifying her presence.

She had her arms across her chest and her reddish hair (obviously dyed) tied into a high ponytail. She was tan and had an athletic build; anyone who saw her might think she was a cheerleader or the captain of an elite high school volleyball team. (Then again, St. John’s sports program wasn’t exactly the best, so I brushed off the thought immediately.)

I gently nudged Harumi in the arm. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Bree Leonard,” she whispered back. “Our student council president.”

“Oh,” I said.

As you can see, I was still suffering from some sort of new student syndrome. It was quite sad.

Bree Leonard, our student council president, looked genuinely peeved. The glint in her green, cat-like eyes made her appear like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. She approached Curtis and Rachael and looked down at them disdainfully.

“Don’t you realize that public display of affection is not tolerable in St. John’s?” she said in a silvery tone. “I could very well disqualify your precious band from the concert on Friday.”

Rachael’s eyes flared. “And you know that I won’t allow that, Leonard,” she spat.

Bree then eyed Rachael like she was a bug on her windshield, waiting to be flicked off.

“Why not?” she asked. “As student council president, it is my duty to maintain order among my fellow students, and unfortunately for you, your behavior is something I wouldn’t categorize as orderly.”

“Orderly?” Rachael snapped. She marched toward Bree with such vigor that the hall felt like it was going to shake and collapse. “Well, excuse me, miss. I wasn’t the one who—”

“Rachael!” Curtis grabbed her by the arm. I had never seen him look at anyone so sternly before. “Cmon. Let’s just go.”

For some reason, though reluctantly, Rachael complied. She didn’t argue or kick her boyfriend down the hall again. Instead, she picked up her guitar with a huff.

“Fine,” she chided. She shot one last glare at Bree before storming out the hall. “Let’s go practice before Little Miss Perfect here ruins everything.”

Curtis followed, but not before gazing apologetically at the student council president. Unfortunately for him, Bree didn’t meet his eyes. Looking rather upset by that, he waved at Harumi and me.

“See ya, guys,” he said.

Philip, the band’s third wheel—uh, member—approached Bree as he hung his head low and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry about all that,” he began. “I just—”

Bree sighed. “She’s relentless, isn’t she?”

There was some kind of wistfulness in her voice, which was something I found strange. Just earlier, she looked like she was about to fry someone, but now, she seemed all burned out.

Harumi chuckled nervously. “Didn’t know Curtis had that in him.”

Philip grumbled. “You should hang out with us some time and see for yourself.”

As for me, I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t in the mood to.
I knew about Curtis and Rachael; they’d been dating since the last school year, before I came to St. John’s, but seeing them together made me feel all… weird. And angry. I was mad at Curtis for always being there for me in the nurse’s office, joking around and making me listen to indie music even though it wasn’t my favorite genre. I hated his kindness.

Bree gazed at the direction where the happy band couple had left. “I’ll let them off the hook—this time,” she said. “See ya around, Philip.”

Philip made a little salute. “You got it, Bree. See ya.”

Then the two went on opposite paths.