She felt a lump form in her throat. She hoped so badly that the thunderous noise she just heard wasn't from "IT." Slowly, she turned around. The moonlight shone like a spotlight on her worst nightmare. She had awoken the Dragon of Fire. She bolted as fast as she could from the Cave of Eternal Treasure as the dragon chased her through a tunnel. She was trying so hard to navigate the caves and tunnels correctly. "Go right, left, straight, no back where you came, dead end, left." She felt her legs wobble and her heart burst, but she forced herself onward. She could feel herself slowing. "No, keep going, must move." She could feel the boiling breath of the dragon as he chased her. Only a little while longer and she would be dead....

"Miss Mia! It is time to go!"

My head snapped up to see Alana my maid wringing her hands.

"Already?" I asked.

Alana nodded a series of jolts. "It's already six."

I felt like I had just been smacked in the face. I was late again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked as I placed my bookmark inside of The Curse of the Fire Dragon. Alana searched for words, trying to figure out a way to make it up to me. As frustrated as I was, it was more at myself than her. She always blamed herself for my carelessness. It was impossible to be mad at her.

"I-I thought you knew," Alana stammered. "You said that you were going to set a timer, and then Margret needed help with the clothes washing, and—"

"Alright, alright. It's fine," I reassured her. It will have to be fine, I added silently.

I made a break for the door and was about to exit the room when I felt Alana tap my shoulder.

"Wait!"

I sighed. "What is it now?"

Alana held up my newest pair of white-lace heels. A smile stretched across my lips.

"You're a life-saver, Alana," I said before grabbing them.

"Now you're ready," Alana declared. I hiked up my floor length skirt and dashed out the door.

"Have fun!" I heard her call after me. I scoffed internally. The chances of me having fun at this party were as high as raising someone from the dead.

Running was hard to do considering all of the flights of stairs I needed to climb in order to reach the teleport. Running in a poofy, white ball gown made the task even harder. By the time I reached the fourth floor, I was panting like I'd been holding my breath for a year. A rounded a sharp corner to find my parents waiting in front of the teleport. My dad looked up from his watch, his face tensing.

"Hello, Mia," he greeted.

He did not look happy. I felt a twinge of guilt, but shoved it aside. What did they expect? They were the ones who forced me to come to this stupid party.

"Hey," I replied. I turned to my mom, watching her adjust her hair in a small mirror. I raised an eyebrow. Well, it's not like she's in a hurry.

Mom stashed her mirror into her silk, black clutch. "Well, it's certainly nice to see that you're ready after three hours of getting ready. I hope during that time you've also decided to throw on a positive disposition. You certainly had enough time to."

"Mom—"

"Come on Walter," Mom huffed. "We're late enough as is." She turned stiffly and marched into the teleport.

I chewed my lip, looking at my dad. He heaved a huge sigh.

"Come on Mia," he said. He placed a bow neatly wrapped in blue paper into my hands. Mom drew a card from her purse and added it to the top. She gave me a stern look before entering the teleport as if to say "you'd better not lose any part of this gift, or else."

I followed after her, and the metal doors closed behind, barring my escape. I stood a few paces away from mom. She wanted me to have a positive attitude, but it's not like hers was any better. Doesn't she know that negativity is contagious? I gaffed.

Dad punched a few commands into the teleport. The teleport hummed loudly as it came to life. Dad stepped back to Mom.

"It's going to be fine, Diane," he murmured.

"Half an hour late can be a big deal!" Mom snapped. My dad was about to say something more, but refrained. When mom wasn't happy, no one was happy.

I glanced at the countdown clock. T-minus thirty seconds remained until we reached four hours of torture. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom smoothing her tight, black evening gown. I glanced at my own dress. Even after all of the running I'd done, there wasn't a wrinkle in sight.

"You have arrived at your destination. Please watch your step while exiting the teleport."

The voice of the teleport was mechanical, lifeless. It served its only purpose and nothing more. I once asked my mom why we always had to travel on such a monotonous device. Why couldn't we drive, it would be far more scenic than staring at the inside of a metal box. My mom, of course, replied that it made travel faster. It was the only "logical" thing to do.

The metal doors opened, revealing a corridor with diamond floors. I blinked, the synthetic, fluorescent lighting reflecting off the floor and blinding to my eyes. I followed my parents blindly out of the teleport. As my vision cleared, I saw that a series of servants dressed in black suits lined the walls.

"Your name, sir," a stuffy voice asked. I turned to see a man holding an Acso 500, the newest Acso tablet released.

"Linstey," my dad told the butler. "Walter and Diane Linstey."

The man punched the name into the tablet. A bright blue profile lit up the screen. That can't be good for his eyes.

"Ahh, right this way sir and madams," he said. He turned sharply and headed down the hall.

My heels clacked loudly on the diamond floor. I wished I could take them off, they were really starting to hurt. It didn't matter how many heel-walking lessons I took, I doubted I'd ever get used to the torture devices.

The sound of music grew louder as we marched down the hall. I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. The closer we got, the more I dreaded the idea of going.

We stopped in front of a grand set of French doors. The Butler placed his hands on the shiny, gold handles and flung open the doors.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Linstey!" he announced.

The hall was enormous, comfortably hosting at least two hundred people. Fifty tables dotted the room, most containing guests chit-chatting with each other. No one paid us any mind, too busy with their own conversations.

It wasn't hard to figure out who Alonzo and his parents were. Their tables were placed in the front center of the room, making them the center of attention. Alonzo chatted with six guys while five girls sat around fawning over him. His parents stood at a neighboring table, laughing and sipping on tea.

The Butler beckoned us to follow him to the Bels. Mom glanced at dad like a schoolgirl being sent to the principal's office. Then, she straightened her posture and plastered a warm smile across her face.

The butler stood patiently by the patrons, waiting for their conversation to break. It didn't. We stood there for a few awkward minutes before the butler finally decided to clear his throat. Mr. Bel's gaze flickered to the servant before finally, reluctantly, turning towards us.

"What is it, Jason?"

"Sir, Mr. Walter and Mrs. Diane Linstey are here," the butler informed

"Ah, thank you Jason." Mr. Bel dismissed him with a fick of his wrist, though the butler took his post only a few feet away.

Mr. Bel put on the fakest smile I've ever seen in my entire life. "I'm so glad you were able to make it. I like to personally greet all of my guests."

"Thank you so much," Dad replied. "We're so glad we could come."

Mr. Bel's gaze dropped to the gift in my hands. I handed it to him, glad to not have to balance a clutch and a box.

"Thank you for the gift," he said rather flatly before nudging his wife. "Darling, the Linsteys have arrived."

Mrs. Bel whirled around. A smug grin stretched across her lips as she peered down at me.

"Hello there," she said. "And who is this."

"This is our daughter Mia," Mom said.

"My, isn't she precious. What a lovely sixteen-year-old you have," Mrs. Bel said, her voice coated in sugar.

"Actually, she's fifteen," Mom corrected.

"Really," Mrs. Bel remarked, quite distractedly. Her eyes zeroed in on something across the room. I turned to see a group of ladies waving to Mrs. Bel. I kept a smile on my face, but internally I wanted to laugh. They looked ridiculous in their knee-length, sparkly dresses and feather hats. I would never understand how gem-stone dresses were considered stylish among older women. They looked like they were trying to relive their twenties, but were failing miserably.

"Well, I hope to speak to you again later," Mrs. Bel said. She glided over to her friends from the High Tea Society. We all knew that she had no intentions of speaking to us again. Why she invited us to this party in the first place was beyond me.

Mom stared longing after Mrs. Bel. She'd applied to the society four times, but had been rejected every time. Even though we were one of the richest families in the world, and dad was the CEO of the legendary electronics company Acso, she still wasn't quite what the society was looking for. Somehow, she wasn't conceited enough, if that was even possible, to be considered one of them. In many ways I was glad that she had been rejected. My life was miserable enough as is. Who knew what other sorts of activities I'd have to go through simply because "the rest of the women in the society do it."

"Well, nice talking with you," Mr. Bel said, taking this opportunity to make his escape.

"You too," my dad said. Mr. Bel quickly walked away to talk with more "important" people. We all just stared after him, a bit lost as to what to do.

"Your table is right this way," the butler said. We followed him to the very back of the room to a quiet table all by itself.

"Thank you," Dad said. The butler nodded before walking away.

I shrank into a chair. Even though mom kept a decent expression on her face, I could tell that she was upset.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, Mia," Mom murmured through clenched teeth. "This is the very reason why we don't want to be late."

I sighed. Now was not the time to pick a fight with my mom. Instead, I turned my attention to the bouquet of flowers in the center of the table. Ah, how refreshing it was to see something was natural, not processed in a...

The flowers were fake. I closed my eyes upon the realization, trying not to show my frustration. Why did everything have to be fake? Fake flowers, fake smiles, fake pleasure in our company.

"Why are we here?" I muttered to dad.

Dad took in a sharp breath, glancing to make sure mom wasn't listening. Fortunately, she was intently fixing her tea, using her calorie camera app to calculate how much cream and sugar she was allowed to have.

"We met last week at the banquet celebrating Acso's fifty year anniversary. I overheard Mr. Bel complaining about how the musician he had hired for the party had cancelled at the last moment. He was unsure if he could get a new one on such short notice so I..."

His voice trailed off. I knew the rest of the story. After the banquet, Dad and Mom had asked me to brush up on the Hungarian Dances by Brahms. They also had informed me that I would be attending this party. I guess the only reason why I was here was because Mom and Dad had volunteered me as a piano player. Good grief! They don't even want us here!

If it were up to me, I would have just played the darned pieces and left. But of course, my parents had to see this as the "golden opportunity" to get in with the Bels. I'd known for years that their dream was for me to marry Alonzo Bel.

Perhaps all would be well so long as the Bels didn't notice us. What was I so concerned about? I'll just play some background music, then be done. All I have to do is just not draw any attention to myself.

Yes, I resolved as I sipped on a cup of tea. Just don't draw attention to yourself.

***

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat tonight. In honor of Alonzo's sixteenth birthday, there will be a live piano performance."

Live performance, I scoffed. You'd think they'd find a fake performance more special.

But nowadays, live performances were far superior to recordings as the number of musicians had diminished exponentially. That's why mom forced me to practice the piano for four hours everyday, and paid for hour long private lessons every week. It was impressive to the high-falutin rich people mom liked to socialize with.

"Please welcome Miss Mia Linstey," the announcer said. Light applause dotted the room. I pulled my phone out my purse and headed to the stage. I refused to meet anyone's gaze. I was going to run through the two selections for the night as quickly as possible. It'd be like ripping off a bandaid.

Slowly, I ascended the stairs leading to the grand piano. I pulled up the music on my phone and placed it on the stand. Luckily, my phone was able to listen while I performed, and automatically turned pages when needed. The only twenty-third century convenience that was actually useful.

My hands settled on the keys. The room went still, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. My eyes scanned the music. I took in a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Just play like you have been for the past five years.

My hands pressed on the keys, and the music began to flow forth from muscle memory. My hands stretched to reach all of the cords, my foot tapping and releasing the pedal in sync. The notes began to come to life as my fingers danced across the keys. The pace accelerated. I drew hands in the air with flair just as my private lessons teacher had taught me, leaning into the crescendos and decrescendos like a pulsing river. And then came the dramatic finish. My hands pounded the final cord, the piece complete.

The sound radiated through the room. No one dared to move, no one dared disturb the moment. My music flipped to the final selection for the night, Hungarian Dance no 5. Once again, I began playing. My fingers moved with precision, though they lacked any sort of imagination or joy. What I played was mechanical, repertoire that had been drilled into me until I could play it flawlessly. But there was no heart or passion in the piece.

My hand reached for the quickly changing cords, trying to keep up the rapid pace. Then, the rhythm slowed, like a lullaby. I reached for the sudden, blaring cord. The moment seemed to pass in slow motion as I stretched my fingers. But they couldn't move. They wouldn't move. My fingers seized up, refusing to play any longer. My hand came down on the piano, striking a shrill, dissident cord. My eyes popped open as I tried to save the piece. My hand faltered as I grasped for the next keys. In that split second, I decided that it was time to end the piece. There was no way that I could continue. My hand hurt too much. I played the final, triumphant notes of the piece, exuding as much confidence as possible. Shoulders back, chin up, big smile. Yeah, I totally meant to do that.

I released the note, letting it hang in the air for a moment. Slow, cautious clapping commenced throughout the room. I was lucky that Brahms wasn't popular anymore. The chances of anyone knowing about my error was highly unlikely.

I stood from the stool to take a bow. My eyes flicked to where my parents were seated. My heart sank as I remembered one problem: my parents would certainly know of my error. Mom applauded politely, trying to shake the horror from her face. I could see her accusations in her eyes. You meant to mess everything! You deliberately wanted to embarrass us because you don't want to be here.

I stole a glance at my right hand. My fingers were curled tightly in a ball, unable to move. My wrist ached profusely. I must have been working them far too hard over the past few years.

"Thank you, Miss Linstey," the announcer said. "That was some performance."

I could hear the reserve in his voice. Yeah, that was some performance—a terrible one.

I hurried back to my seat as the electronic music returned. Dad was at a loss for words, and mom sipped her tea angrily. I picked at a few cookie crumbs on my plate. I just wanted to go home.

"Miss Mia," a voice said. My head whipped around to see a boy with shaggy brown hair.

"Yes," I answered. What did he want?

"I'm Jesse," he told me. "I'm a friend of Alonzo's." I cringed internally as his eyes looked me up and down. Go away! I commanded. I didn't like socializing with wealthy people, especially teenagers, especially teenage boys. They were all so obnoxious! They acted like they were the most handsome, perfect people to ever exist. Teenage girls weren't much better. What weaklings! Their hormones seemed to cause them to melt at the mere presence of a boy.

"Alonzo has specially requested that you join him at his table," Jesse continued.

Oh dear. I did not like the sound of that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom's eyes light up.

"Oh! Go on, Mia!" she exclaimed.

"I think I'd rather—"

"Mia," Dad said sternly. I held his gaze for a minute, a stand-off. I was adamant that I didn't want to go, but he was even more adamant. My eyes shut. I couldn't believe that I was agreeing to this.

"Fine." I stood, ignoring Jesses' arm to escort me over. He led me past many tables before finally reaching the table, Alonzo's table.

"Here's your guest, Alonzo," Jesse announced.

"Ah, thank you Jesse," Alonzo praised, and Jesse took his seat as Alonzo's right hand at the table. Proudly, Alonzo stood up and took my poor, curled-up hand. I winced in pain.

"Mia Linstey, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," he cooed, then lightly kissed my hand. I forced a smile.

"Sure," was all I could get out.

"Please, sit," he said, motioning to the seat next to him. The girl who currently occupied the seat frowned.

"But, but, but," her flirty voice whined.

"Leave Sar!" he commanded. The girl pouted before sulking to another table.

"As I said, please sit," Alonzo continued as if nothing had happened. I rolled my eyes internally. My, was he annoying. He acted like he was God's gift to all females.

"So, ladies and gentleman, we have a new addition to the table. Mia Linstey!" A sprinkling of applause went around the table. Why am I here? I wondered. What did I ever do to the fates to deserve this?

I sat on the very edge of my seat, as far away from Alonzo as humanly possible. He shifted closer to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. Um, excuse me! I am not your pet that you can just touch whenever you please!

But of course, the privileged lad was probably so used to get what he wanted, that the word "permission" was not in his vocabulary.

My eyes rested on the lemonade pitched across the table. I reached for it, dislodging his arm in the process. I didn't care that it was considered "improper behavior for a young lady." It was more important for Alonzo to get the hint that I was not interested in him.

"How many years have you been playing the piano?" Jesse asked. I glanced up from my glass of lemonade to a sea of expectant faces.

"Nine years," I stated. Gasps sounded around the table.

"How often do you practice?" another called out.

"Everyday," I replied. Murmurs of awe broke out around the table. I rolled my eyes internally. I didn't see what was so great about piano playing.

But, of course they did. Musicians were in short supply. To them, I was a rare gift to the world. I just saw it as a burden.

"For how...." the boy started before being cut off by Alonzo.

"Only one question per person," he rebuked.

A boy all the way across the table stood up. "How long do you practice everyday?"

"Four hours." There was another gasp followed by thunderous applause. Oh, please! Enough of this nonsense! What do these children do all day? Drink tea and eat cookies? Get a life!

When raucous finally died down, a girl stood up.

"What's your favorite hobby and why?"

"Once again, one question per person. Which one would you like her to answer?" Alonzo fumed, clearly annoyed that the people were "breaking his rule."

"Oh, um I'll do, What's your favorite pastime?" I sighed. She should have done "why" because then I would have to answer both questions.

"Reading," I replied. Another gasp sounded around the table.

"Like...books?" someone asked.

"Yes?" I answered. What else do people read nowadays?

Whispers broke out amidst the crowd. Every wealthy family possessed some sort of book collection, but mainly to show off the fact that they could afford such outdated items. The reading of literature was almost extinct, replaced by the growth of "live your own movies."

Another girl opened her mouth to ask another question when Mr. Bel jumped to the stage.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, we will open the presents." All the girls flocked to where the presents were. Alonzo took his place on a throne in the center of the craziness.

"Here you are, Alonzo," his mother said, handing him a giant box. He unwrapped several large presents, such as new suiting and cars. Finally, it was my turn. The blue box looked small and unassuming next to its larger counterparts. Alonzo opened the card and read it silently. He looked up at me, a question in his eyes. I realized that I didn't actually know what was written in the card. What did mom cook up this time? I brooded.

The look disappeared quickly as he went to tear open the wrapping paper. He froze for a moment as he blinked at the contents of the box. Then, with careful hands, he lifted up the gift: the Acso watch ++. The foundation of the watch was made from pure gold. On top sat 5,000 tiny, perfectly circular diamonds. Inside the watch was 10,000 intricate parts, making it possible for it to light up in a two feet square holograph. The watch didn't just tell the date and time, it was able to provide any information from the nerve signals sent through the brain, enabling the watch to provide any information a person thought of. It's no wonder why there's only five of them created in the whole world, considering that the total value was nearly ten billion dollars.

There was a stunned silence as Alonzo stared down at his incredible present, at a loss for words for the first time since I met him. Finding his voice, Alonzo looked at me and said,

"Thank you very much Mia. Your present is immensely appreciated," in his usual tone.

The party continued. Finally, after about an hour of presents, it was all over. I rushed back to my seat, hoping I could get away from everyone. Then Alonzo took the microphone, and announced,

"It's time for the dancing," and of course all the girls went crazy. Jesse strolled casually to the stage to stand by his friend. They exchanged words for a moment, then Alonzo continued.

"My partner will be," he declared dramatically, and all the girls gazed at him, hoping he would choose one of them. Alonzo scanned the crowd.

"My partner will be..." Alonzo paused for effect, "Mia." I cringed. Why me? Why me?! Why not Sar? Why couldn't I just go home and sleep?! It was nearly ten o'clock already.

As everyone found their partners and walked to the dance floor, Alonzo came toward me.

"Ready, my dear?" It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Before I could reply, he pulled me to the center of the room and began swaying to the music. I kept a good distance, grateful that it was considered proper for women to wear gloves.

"So," he began, "Did you write that card to me?" I paused a moment, then shook my head. What on earth did my parents write?

"Do you want to know what it said?" he asked with a mischievous grin. I thought for a moment. By the look on his face, it must have been pretty bad. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know, but my curiosity got the better of me. I nodded my head.

"It said, My Dear Alonzo, I have admired your family for a long time, especially you. You are such a handsome, wonderful young man. Thank you so much for inviting me to your party and please accept this present as a token of my affection. Cordially yours, Mia Linstey." I felt myself turn bright red. I'm sure Alonzo interpreted it as a blush, but in actuality it was anger. Seriously? Mom just had to make it romantic.

Fortunately, the song ended soon after, and I made a break for my seat. I pushed my way through the crowd back to the table. But when I reached it, I found that it was empty. I scanned the room for my parents. Where on Earth could they be?

My eyes zeroed in on them across the room. My jaw clenched. They were speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Bel. I plopped down with an exasperated sigh, resting my head on my hands. Why did I have to have such a pushy, matchmaker mom?