As the large, streaky and blurred cloud starts to cover the sun, hope springs in me that I might not have to be here much longer. But a strong wind with a muffled whistle blows away the cloud and with it any hope of having this event rained over.

It's sunny again. Whatever few patches of clouds I saw before, they all have been swept away, leaving behind a white sky with a tinge of blue. Everything appears clearer and brighter again. I even see a flock of birds flying towards East.

Disappointed, I take my mind off the weather and pay attention to what my friend, Leslie, is saying. She squats down beside me. Her faded voice starts to sound crystal clear now, along with the rustles of her red dress, caused by the humid wind.

"That's your mate?" she asks, pointing towards a group of kids my age down at the left.

"Yeah."

"And that's your other mate?" she says, still pointing at the same group.

" Yeah."

"And the girl beside them is the other girl they're mated with?"

"Yeah."

"You're fucked," she says in her unmistakeable southern accent. Sometimes she swears and sounds normal; Sometimes she speaks normal and sounds like she's swearing.

"Yeah," I repeat.

"Your mates are smokin' hot."

"Hmm."

"And she's sexy as hell."

"I get it. You can stop now."

She remains silent for a second. And for that second, my ears adjust to the inflow of voices from the ground around us. But soon Leslie gains back my attention with, "They're probably talking about having a threesome, leaving you out."

I sigh.

"What do you think?" she says, not giving me a break.

"I think I should find a way to bring you back from dead and kill you."

Leslie's dimpled cheeks puff up like a resting dough as she laughs. The sunshine glistens on top of her golden blonde hair that the strong wind fails to mess up. I've always wondered about it — how light can fall and create shadows on spirits, too. It's one of the many questions, along with why I can see ghosts, that I haven't found an answer to yet, and probably never will.

"Belle, come down. They are serving," mom says from somewhere inside the building. I don't know how she can just shout into the space thinking her voice will reach me somehow — but it always work.

I turn to Leslie to say I'm leaving. But she's gone first. I press my lips tighter in irritation. She loves to be the first one to leave. Probably that's why she left this world first among us friends, too. Not that she had a say in when she could get sick with cancer.

I stand up and dust my pants, while also trying not be blown away by the gale, and carefully vacate the terrace to get down.

Back on the yard, I quickly find the buffet and fill up my plate with a couple of buttered toasted buns, a steaming cup of gravy, a slice of rhubarb pudding, a scoop of risotto, and two big chunks of broccoli for show so mom doesn't catch sight of my plate and say in front of everyone to include my veggies. Once I'm done eating, those broccolis will be responsibly disposed.

With my nutritionally balanced assortment of food I search among the crowd for Khloe and Sandy. I thought only middle-aged and senior women, along with their kids who are forced to accompany them, would ever attend an event like this, but much to my chagrin everyone is here.

While searching for my friends, I'm caught by two women around my mom's age. I don't know who they are, but I'm not supposed to tell them that. They know who I am, but they'll still ask; "Belle, right? We heard about it honey. We're so sorry," one of them says.

I can think of a few reasonable responses to give but I go with a smile. I don't mind snapping at a couple of nosey ladies, but they might know my mom. And I would never do anything to embarrass my mother — for my own wellbeing.

"It must be hard to compete against a girl like her," says the lady in pink. She has a strong flowery scent on her, a scent that probably doesn't exist on a real flower anywhere.

"Looks aren't everything," the other one says, "I'm sure the boys will like your personality, even if they are very handsome themselves."

I bite my cheeks and smile again. "Thank you," I say and start to leave when the one in pink places her hand over my arm. "You're not so bad yourself. You've a good smile. But you should also try dressing up a bit."

Instinctively, I look down at my jeans, hoodie, and Converse outfit. Coming here with my mom was a last minute thing, and totally against my will. I didn't have the time or inclination to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. "I'll keep that in mind," I say, looking up at her, before leaving them both, hopefully once and for all.

On my way, I notice a few glances thrown at me from those around. It could've purely been coincidental, but I'm beginning to think that everyone's looking at and pitying me in their own twisted way.

Who my mates are or aren't wouldn't have been any of their business if my mates weren't those two boys, and adding the bee sting to the burn wound, there's the other girl, too. And more importantly, everyone was there when we found out; Every fucking one.

From one of the tables at the back, almost curtained off by the wisterias hanging from above, my friends wave at me. As I near their table, I see that the tables at the back are looking more and more ornate, but not in a good way. The subdued flower arrangements of pale blossoms at the front transition rather ungracefully to bursts of bright-colored flower bouquets at the back.

"Where the hell were you?" Sandy says, tucking away a strand of her pin-straight red hair behind her ear, as I skid out one of the skimpy chairs from under the table to sit.

"Was talking to Leslie. Showed her my mates, and their other mate."

They both nod understandingly. While Khloe pulls back to tie her exuberant black curls, which would make anyone who's interested in astrology guess she's a Leo (and that she is,) she asks what Leslie told me.

"She said they might be talking about having a threesome," I say.

Khloe and Sandy break into a hysterical laugh. Groaning, I pick out the velvety petals withered into my plate from the centerpiece of our table. This event looks less like a baby shower and more like a wedding in midst of a colorful flower garden.

"Damn, I miss her so much," Khloe says, wiping the tears off of the corners of her eyes, "I wish I could talk to her, too."

"Oh look," Sandy says, looking past us and nodding, causing her large and heavy ear hoops to wobble, "They are on the same table."

I turn around and see the group of people I was showing to Leslie before.

It's the cool kids' table, at the heart of which are the dark-haired heartthrob bad boy, Chris; sexy prince charming with the most voted kissable lips, Joe; and the ravishing damsel in designer clothes, Jennifer. Their similar cool teen appearance is in juxtaposition with their flamboyant individual styles. It's like they can blend in together and shine as a group, while also can stand out on their own. They are the kind of people who lets you witness what natural selection looks like.

And like peas of the same pod, life seems to always keep them together.

"They can at least fucking ask you to join them," Sandy says.

"They were friends even before this shit," I remind her.

They go to the same school. They are in the same social circle and hierarchy. They click. I don't. I see Joe pass ketchup or something to Chris across the table. "I wonder about one thing, though," I say.

"Only one thing?" Khloe asks in a double-meaning kinda way.

I ignore her question, and ask mine. "How is that Chris and Joe are still friendly with each other? Shouldn't they be fighting over Jennifer?"

We suddenly hear the sound of someone getting slapped. It's like the air was split by a whip. Wincing, we turn to the pair near the front of the crowd. A tall guy in a powder blue shirt stands with his hand over his cheek while a very upset looking girl, half his height, is glaring up at him. She then turns on her heels and walks away, letting her pitch black hair blow behind her like it happens in Pantene commercials.

Another guy approaches the crime scene and hands a champagne glass to the guy who got slapped, and then they both leave the scene, too.

I look around at everyone, and everyone's back to doing whatever they were doing before the slap. I guess we're going to pretend nothing just happened now.

This event is definitely on the level of a wedding and not a baby shower no matter how I look at it.

My friends and I turn back to our discussion, too.

Sandy answers me, "They are not gonna go for each other's throat. That's so old school and is such an overkill. But, yeah, they'll probably try to woo her when they get her alone. The final decision is hers anyway."

"And whoever she rejects will be yours," Khloe says, raising a glass of chilled orange juice for cheers.

I glare at her smugly face.

Not long ago I was a happy unmated girl. Now I've two mate prospects, both of whom want someone else.

Some boys of Alpha lineage don't get mates, they get mate prospects instead. It's like fate tells these special kids, "Hey, you still don't get to have a say in who's gonna be your mate, but I'mma gonna give you some options, okay? Take a pick."

It doesn't happen very often, but isn't unheard of either. Now I'm living in one such stranger-than-fiction story myself. Sometimes I feel like I'm a visiting supporting character, thrown into a few random episodes here and there for drama, of Teen Wolf, or at least The Vampire Diaries.

And that's not fair. When will I get my own series where I play the leading part?

As all teen dramas, it started in a party — a birthday party to be specific.

Chris, son of Jonah Field's Alpha; and Joe, son of Kroway's Alpha, have the same birthday. Because of their pack's close ties and prominency, their families decided to combine the celebration of their future leaders' most important birthday — their eighteenth birthday.

Invites were sent anywhere they could be delivered. My dad, also an Alpha, is a work acquaintance of the boys' fathers and so our family got the invite, too. The invite didn't come with a cap on how many plus ones we could bring, so I invited my friends. It was supposed to be a great night out.

And it was, for a while.

Everything was infectiously lively, extravagant, and upbeat, as expected, in the event. My friends and I were having a great time, genuinely thanking in our minds the boys we've never met before, but heard plenty of, for being born so we could come to this party.

And the awe reached a peak when it was time for the cake cutting at midnight. Both of the birthday boys pulled off their insanely stylish outfits. They looked so sexy it would've been criminal to call them kids even though there was still a few minutes left till they were eighteen. Every other young man at the party was no match for the charisma of those two. Chris was wearing black from head to toe — a combination that suited Chris' hardcore yet playful personality. Joe wore a lavender shirt with dark brown coat and trousers — adorably cheeky but still seriously flirtatious.

On top of that, they both had a sort of synergy between them. Rather than two boys born on the same day, they looked more like brothers by blood or comrades of war. It was refreshing to see two Alpha heirs get along with each other for a change, rather than stepping on each others' toes, trying to prove the other who's the most dominant. Seeing them side by side in front of the table with the cake, and seeing the glow from the candles beautifully blanketing the boys' face, the excitement in the room was palpable. Right in front of us, we were going to see two unmistakably handsome boys, who, with no doubt, will one day grow to become legendary Alphas like their fathers, reach their adulthood. Not everyone would get a chance to see an event like that. The countdown was shouted out by a few random voices from the crowd, and not long after, everyone joined in and were in sync. The clock struck twelve.

And with that stroke, I was doomed for eternity.

The whole crowd was eagerly looking at the boys of the hour to blow the lit candles, flames of which were dancing on top of a very tall six tier cake with black icing, that I'm not sure how anyone managed to bring to the venue without toppling it.

But the boys were taken aback at what they'd just realized, the same way Jennifer and I had. Putting out the candles was the last thing on their minds. Their faces gave away their shock.

My own shock was no less. In the blink of an eye, I was feeling a feeling that I'd last felt when I was a child, watching the prince slip the glass slipper around cinderella's foot on the big TV in the living room, while snacking on warm popcorns. My feeling was cliche. It was magical. It was romantic. It was confusing as fuck because I felt that way towards two boys. Even though Cinderella was scamming the prince, she wasn't two-timing him at the ball! Then how could I? And I also felt the disruptor of my feelings: Jennifer. Just confirming who was feeling what towards who at that point, without losing our minds, was a feat in itself for the four of us. The abrupt onslaught of a cocktail of love, hate, guilt, lust, desire, and jealousy that we were feeling was paralyzing.

Their parents knew the boys had found their mates, and... for some reason, their kids weren't jumping up and down in joy about it, and there was confusion laced in their eyes. Whispers passed between the boys and their dads, between me and my dad, and Jennifer and hers. Everyone else at the party were stretching their necks to see what was happening and wanted to know what all the whispers were about — whose mate was who?

But the audience's curiosities were not entertained, not yet. Things had to be confirmed and dealt with privately first.

Along with the birthday boys, Jennifer and I were herded by our families to one of the rooms at the back that I didn't knew existed at the venue, not that it surprised me. I wouldn't be surprised if there was even a basketball court tucked away in a corner somewhere in that big party location.

The silence that loomed over the guests while we were walking towards the room was almost laughable. The swift mood change of the ceremony was like the plot turn in a low-rated teen horror movie. You know, the kind where a bunch of drunk, half-naked, smutty teenagers party in a yacht that I've no idea how they afforded, and suddenly extinct underwater monster marine life starts killing them and everyone's running for their life in still half-naked clothes.

Inside the room, the adults took turn explaining the term mate prospects to me and the other three like we were six years old. We kids knew what it was, just couldn't digest we were one ourselves. I didn't dare look at the guys or Jennifer. It was hard enough we were now in the same tightly packed room. I was mentally bracing myself for the humiliation of rejection by not one, but two guys, then. There was no doubt in anyone's mind who the guys would want to be their mate. From what I'd heard, they all had known each other since forever. I was the outsider.

But because of some good karma I did in my life — probably for this one time when I went and picked up the chocolate wrapper I threw at a trashcan and missed, and faithfully dropped it into the can like any responsible member of the community should — the boys' fathers gave their sons a month's time to think about it before giving us their decision.

Which meant I could now leisurely prepare myself for the rejections. I've always hated being hurried.

And today is the day I'm seeing the guys and Jennifer again. It's been a few days since then. I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to feel about this whole thing, although the involuntary jealousy I feel hasn't escaped my attention. I guess I'm not as unaffected by it as I thought I was. My emotions are too scrambled for me to make head or tail of them. So, like any sensible teenager, I'm dealing with this issue by pretending it doesn't exist.

Choosing to ignore their presence in the same space as me, I turn my attention to my plate of food. It's now buried under a pile of thick purple petals.

I slam the table, startling my friends. "Who's gonna tell the hosts this is too much flowers for a baby shower?!" 

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Hey guys! :) 

Welcome back to another ML story. Will try to write longer chapters this time round and see how it goes ✌️

As we progress, please take a second to vote and comment on the chapters. It helps out the story 🪁

— xx, Auctorsam