A/N: Sorry for the wait! ^^ It's a long chapter so hope you like it. I'm flying in a couple of days so I don't know how the update schedule will be like but I'll be sure to update everyone on my Instagram! Ah I'm so tired ;-; so so tired

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[Vanilla]

Clearly, Leroy was flattering himself. Not once did thoughts revolving around him surface while we were in the air, let alone anything close to missing that awfully attractive face I absolutely could not stand looking at for more than three seconds. This feat, however, was mostly achieved with the help of a trusty friend—and what else but an amazingly written, detailed travel guide that provided the best of company? Nothing. After all, books were more famously known as man's best friend. Or mine, at least.

"Why does your book say 'Brazil' at the top?" Si Yin had somehow convinced the student seated beside me to swap seats with her within five minutes and, amidst her attempt to concentrate on the X-Men movie on the screen in front of her, looked towards me for apparent inspiration. "I thought we were heading to this cool town somewhere along Rio Negro. I heard it's part of the Amazon river thing. It's called a depository."

"I think you mean tributary," I'd laughed at the snake hands she was making. "And Rio Negro is a river in the State of Amazonas, which is part of Brazil. So there you have your answer."

Her lips had shaped into an 'o' before peering over to catch a glimpse of the page I'd flipped to. "Cool. But... how'd you know that was the right book to bring along?" She frowned, glancing at the tote bag under my seat that, apart from my laptop, was stuffed with varying guidebooks of four other countries. "Those don't look like the ones you and Emily 'predicted' on Instagram."

"Well," I'd sighed, lowering my voice after glancing around and noting that everyone else seemed fast asleep. "I had my doubts. Do you really think I'd choose to bring along an outdoor camping bag—absolutely hideous in terms of colour and overall appearance—over a handy suitcase? I had a feeling it wasn't going to be the luxurious sort they had last year."

Si Yin had nearly burst into laughter in an otherwise quiet plane full of students behind eye masks, still and unmoving. Some, snoring.

"I wasn't going to tell you but," she had shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. "I saw Leroy's bags when he checked them in? And you guys literally have the exact same camping bag so I hope you put a tag or something on it or, like, you could end up with his underwear."

She'd paused right then, as though a completely nonsensical but amazingly attractive idea had hit her in the head and there was no way she could un-see it. "So that was your plan all along," she breathed and I had to stop her there.

*

The remaining time till our arrival I'd spent watching Si Yin's downloaded Korean dramas after realizing that my language capabilities had yet returned to a decent level of understanding from the barely-functioning state Leroy had left me in at the departure gate. With working on my article out of the window, I had hence resorted to other means of entertainment.

At present, I was dragging my already-weary self out of the plane and down the stairs onto a runway with the most biting morning wind that we had to endure for the walk down to the São Gabriel da Cachoeira airport. Thankfully, everyone looked just as bothered, tired, and antsy as myself despite having slept more than I did. Sleeping on planes was simply a feat I could never achieve no matter the time and level of comfort I was in and it unfortunately messed with my eyes that weren't the best without my glasses, just saying.

Immigration was daunting and, as expected, much longer than our wait at the last airport for baggage check-in. Several counters were closed that morning and because the airport was, already, a small one in the first place, hundreds of students remained jammed before the funnel despite the school's arrangement of different arrival times.

Noon approached by the time we headed to collect our bags and while everyone had thought that nothing could possibly go wrong with a task of such simple nature, we noticed that every two planes happened to share a baggage carousel.

"Okay, I know that this airport doesn't have scheduled commercial airlines operating here but I thought the school had this under control," I heard one of the seniors say as they waited at the same baggage carousel Si Yin and I stood in front of. Apparently, the airport wasn't even in constant operation unless private arrangements were made with the management.

Though I was so sure that I'd read otherwise in that guidebook—

"Isn't that your ugly bag?" Si Yin pointed at something in the distance, making its way towards us on the carousel.

In my defence, Chip's husband wasn't nearly as good at choosing bags and clothes than he was at choosing a lifelong partner. Straps dangling around and strings crossing from one side to another trying to contain what looked like a gigantic mound of 'things' to fit on the back of a human being wasn't my idea of what bags should look like.

Admittedly, it was a necessary evil in which I did not regret; having had my own predictions proven correct was either the best or the worst thing that could happen and the least I could do was be the most prepared I could have been. After all, dragging a suitcase around during our four-day camp out here was only going to make someone look awfully pampered.

"Good god," I nearly felt my back snap into half the moment I picked up my distasteful-looking camping bag from the carousel and transferred it to a shared trolley. Apparently, I'd brought more things than I thought I did and the flight had somehow messed with my sense of weight and gravity till I couldn't even tell if my bag had been that heavy from the start. That was before I remembered to check the tag.

"I have yours." Speak of the devil; here was the owner of said ugly camping bag. He held out the one he was holding onto, which I couldn't help but take brief offense of since all he required was one hand to do so.

I nodded quietly, taking the strap (nearly dropping it again) before gesturing to the one behind me on the trolley. "Sorry, I... by accident. Also, it's awfully heavy, that bag of yours." I watched him pick it up and prop it onto his back without any unnecessary movements. Or struggling.

He laughed shortly. "Didn't think you'd own something like this."

"Well, you're unfortunately correct and um, it's not a gift or anything—just a hand-me-down from my godfather's husband. Clearly, he has terrible taste and since you seem to own the exact same design, I might just be inclined to think that about yourself as well," was all I managed to say before Leroy reached over to flick my forehead in a teasing manner.

"Lovebirds," Si Yin whispered in the middle of our conversation and both Leroy and I turned to her in surprise. "Time to go. They've got the bus waiting outside and this is like the first time I'm actually telling you what to do, Vanilla. Are you proud?"

*

Tour bus after tour bus lined the pick-up point outside the airport, to which we realized—only after boarding—had differing destinations according to the 'privileged' and the 'non-privileged.' Even then, the privileged were split into those who got to head to the town by an ordinary river cruise and those who actually get to stay in one over the next four days of our camp. And knowing the school, us first-years were delivered the worst possible scenario.

"Sophomores get the hotel, Third-years get the resort, seniors get the better resort and top thirty-five sleep in this Rio Negro Queen thing that is basically a yacht slash river cruise thing floating hotel whatever?" Si Yin waved her hands around in incomprehension, amidst Chef Palmer announcing the ten people bunking at lodge number two of the town's Socio-Ambiental Institute. "The levels of unfair is unreal."

I sighed, returning to my guidebook that was getting increasingly hard to read as the bus bumped about uneven roads. "At least it's not a tent. We should be happy that we're at least given beds and showers."

"Yeah but your man would totally let you borrow his shower in that river cruise thing or maybe even let you sleep in his bed if you ask," my companion fired back with a hint of salt. "Take some pictures if you do, okay."

"That is not what I will be doing," I said at once, glancing up from the page with a glare. "I have better things to do and I'm sure whoever it is you're referring to does, as well. And just in case you haven't read the itinerary in that booklet they gave out before we boarded the bus, we have a busy day ahead."

Already, Si Yin wasn't buying what I had to say. She fished out the booklet that was clearly in a terrible shape from the pocket of her jacket and unfolded it. "Noon. Arrive at respective lodging. One. Lunch at respective lodging. Two. Ice breakers. Three. Cultural activities around town slash town tour. Six. Dinner at respective lodging. Seven to nine. Free time. Yeah soo busy," she rolled her eyes, proving her point. "Unless you're so far behind on writing that article of yours, I'm sure you can head down to that pier where all the river cruises stop at."

"Oh I'm far behind alright," was all I had to say without sparing the screen of my laptop a single glance. It was most definitely a blank word document unless some magical word fairy decided to lend a helping hand. "The contacts Emily and I were intending to use went from ten to two and without interviews, we don't have content and no content means no story."

It was then that Si Yin went out of her way to suggest the most unexpectedly effective and workable solution to my woes.

"Listen here you sexually-confused radish," she said out of nowhere. "You take your laptop and interview questions down to that pier and work those cute little lashes in front of that yacht full of honor roll students and you'll be getting those connections you want sooner than you know it." She paused after the long sentence. "Or on second thoughts just have Leroy get you in there and maybe hang out at the common room or something and then get your casual interviews done after some good nosing around."

This was too well-thought out a suggestion not to consider and with Emily sitting a couple of seats away from ours, I was seriously thinking of pitching this to her.

"But... but wouldn't I be using him as a means to, well, an end that is favourable to myself?" I couldn't help but ensure that I had everything fully panned out. "Sure, I'd like to have good contacts to good interviews and write a fair and interesting story, but using Leroy as a connecting bit to other well-known profiles just doesn't seem very right."

My companion sighed. "Yeah well I'm sure Leroy used your tongue on several occasions to taste-test whatever it is he makes if you insist on insisting that he doesn't use you for other night-time activities but yeah I digress. It's up to you," she squared her shoulders, flipping through the rest of the booklet that included 'did-you-know' sections about the Amazon Rainforest. I let her be.

Nevertheless, the idea—once having squeezed its way into my mind—remained in the forefront of my conscious thinking and if not for the fairly short bus ride to the city, I would have had considered all options for the next couple of hours until finally making my decision.

"It's not too bad," claimed a classmate of mine whose name I did not know. "It kinda looks like a beach resort if you, you know, ignore the uh, roof with holes."

"You mean a straw roof," I squinted against the sunlight. "Or thatching of the dried leaves of palm trees but actually, it's rather stable and does well against the rain too."

My classmate blinked twice before turning to get his bags from the bottom compartment of the tour bus. I had the gall to blush in embarrassment. Oh Vanilla. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut sometimes...

A trait of mine that Miss Julie was certain I'd adopted from Uncle Al in my childhood years and never got around to restraining. It wasn't the most intuitive or easiest thing for me to do—withhold the facts or the truth from someone else whom it may affect. Consciously, it was a task that required a certain extent of effort. Subconsciously, however, it never seemed to happen.

"Boys' rooms are on the first floor and girls are on the second. You have a little less than an hour to straighten things out before gathering at the dining hall on the third floor," Chef Palmer briefed us amidst the chatter of other first-years who'd arrived in buses before ours. In the distance, doors were open and students peering in and out of their rooms.

"See you later then," said Si Yin to me with a wave, joining the girls from our class as they headed for the stairs on the right of the building.

My opinion was that it looked like a mountain lodge that could house at least two-hundred people; which meant that it really wasn't as bad as everyone else had made it out to be.

"Dibs on this one!" The inevitable process of choosing beds seemed to occur almost naturally for everyone else except me. "Hey... there's actually a view." "The window one's mine." And by the time I registered the need to reserve a decent place for myself, all the bottom bunks were taken.

"I hate sleeping on top." I turned, noting that it was the classmate who'd complained about the straw roof. "The frames look like they're going to collapse any minute."

"Well. Maybe you could ask nicely if anyone's willing to swap," I suggested, watching as the rest of us made for the remaining top bunks.

He laughed. "Come on. No one's that much of a saint," he had on his face a cross between a frown and a smile. "You're funny. And weird. My name's Ariq. Ariq bin Mohammed Al Thani and I hate it when instructors call me Mohammed or anything after that so you don't have to follow the rule and go by last name."

I paused in surprise, not quite expecting an introduction after a rather poor first interaction. "Oh. Hello Ariq. I'm fine with two names: Julian or White. It's up to you which one you'd like to use and, sorry, but I wasn't really expecting you to... um, well I just wanted to apologize for my rudeness earlier on. I hope you didn't take it too seriously."

Ariq squared his shoulders, flinging his duffel bag onto one of the top bunks. I placed mine on the bunk beside his. "I don't even remember what you said anymore but okay. You know, I thought the school would arrange something special for you and I also imagined that you would be a little more show-offy and stuck up like Birchwood but," he shrugged once more. "You're kinda harmless."

Harmless. What a word; I simply didn't know what to make of it.

"Um. Thank you?" I responded stiffly. "I guess."

And while the rest of the room checked out the view, the pantry, shower room and other amenities, I decided to retreat into a corner with my travel guidebook and continue where I left off. That was after I re-packed my day bag (a smaller, lighter tote that I'd brought along for day trips) with the necessary items for later on.

*

Lunch was by far the most surprising event. I'd expected a traditional meal at the very least. Not too extravagant or anything luxurious but dishes that had some form of cultural value to the people in this town. Everyday food that they could find or local delicacies that would've made the trip worthwhile. I even had my brand-new, pocket-sized notebook ready to note down every single ingredient I could taste. After all, learning was a life-long—

"Chicken burger or mushroom wrap?"

I did a double take. One; burgers and wraps? Two; Violet Birchwood standing in front of me, a seated bean, with what looked like a heavy box of food in her arms asking for my choice of lunch? Three; with a smile on her face?

"That box looks like a lot to handle. Do you need any—"

"No I'm good," she cut in with a wider grin, handing out a couple of burgers to the rest of my class.

"Something's wrong with her," Ariq muttered under his breath after Birchwood left our table with two mushroom wraps. "Did you see that smile on her face?"

I nodded vaguely, wondering what the cause of her sudden change in her behaviour could be. "Maybe someone nice asked her to do it."

"Or maybe she's trying to suck up to the instructors and locals so that she can get voted in for the cross-segment," Ariq rolled his eyes. "You don't know her. She was in my gym class in the middle school division and faked an injury to get someone out of the court. Two years ago!"

"Oh," was all I had to say, unwrapping my meal and nibbling. The mushrooms... they don't taste like the ones I've ever had. "I wasn't aware that you were part of the middle school division."

"I keep a low profile," my new friend (I hope) shrugged. "Attention is the last thing I need. By the way, you're so unsuspecting of everyone that it physically hurts to hear what you have to say."

I had been penning down my thoughts about the mushroom wrap and making mental notes to find out the type of mushrooms that grew in these areas when he said this. Clearing my throat, I'd intended to say something in my defense but the sight of Si Yin alternating between a chicken burger and mushroom wrap was far too amusing not to be distracted by.

=================

Should high school orientation camps have an objective, one would think that it would mostly be related to, well, student bonding and getting acquainted with one another or working in teams to build and establish a decent start to good and long-lasting friendships and I'd want to say that this was the case for our school too, but. But it wasn't.

Yes, the facilitators (volunteer alumni from the school's college division and several graduates who apparently had so much free time on their hands) had ice breaker games organized for each class and even 'sister-classes' which were really A-B, C-D, brainless grouping, so that we could get ourselves acquainted with students from neighbouring classes that often had our joint lessons together but everyone seemed to stay within their circles. In fact, students from the middle school division travelled in packs—their already-established group of friends whom they were understandably more familiar with—leaving those not from the same middle school to flock elsewhere.

This phenomenon, as I have observed, repeated itself over teatime and during the three-hour town tour headed by local tour guides. Each class was given a separate schedule of landmarks across the town so that we didn't end up crowding an entire market or souvenir shop with four hundred students aged fifteen to eighteen and receive more stares than we already had.

"So on your right you can see the Rio Negro in English its called the black river as you can see the water is black and a little bit of orangey and look like tea. It's humic acid but don't worry you can swim but just maybe don't drink," said our guide with a beam. "Yeah we can stop by the Feirinha do Mercado later you will see artisans. Very nice for souvenir, for memento... handmade and cheap and you can also see food cart. Our street food—the best."

The town seemed to have a personality of its own; nothing too tall and outstanding but painted with vibrant colours over large umbrellas over food stalls and carts; the smell of grilled chicken in the air and an intense, almost spicy flavour of peppers somehow wafting in every street.

"Everything looks so shabby," I could hear Miss Violet Birchwood say, seated behind me and Si Yin on the tour bus. "Did you see that sign? It said hotel. Wonder if that's where the sophomores are spending their nights—beds filled with bugs."

"At least there are beds," called Si Yin over the chair before immediately pretending as though she hadn't said anything by returning to the screen of her phone. I hid behind my travel guidebook.

Moments later, we alighted at our third destination of the tour: _____. It reminded me of a flea market. Mats rolled out across the street; produce and products alike displayed over vibrant colours and under heavy-handed umbrellas and some, makeshift tents that provided sufficient shade against the scorching sun. They lined the entire street on both sides and the noise was indeed something out of a documentary I'd once seen—calling out for sales and to catch the attention of tourists and locals alike. Laughter and smiles. I snapped a decent photo for the cover of today's blog post and decided against being a photojournalist at once. It was too hard.

"Okay so now is four p.m. About four-thirty, we meet back here after you done shopping," announced our tour guide as he attempted to battle the market noise with his own. "Thirty minutes, walk down the street. We got nice fruits, nice pineapple, nice coconut... you try Brazil nut it's good too... but you must try the cod fritter. We call them Bacalhau, they are very good. The best. If you look for souvenir, can see the wood carving, Baniwa ceramic, handmade bag—designer—is very nice and earring? If you like big and colourful?" He turned to me for some reason and flashed a smile. "Okay? Okay go. See you at four-thirty."

I marked down the time and turned to Si Yin with the question of what first. Already, she had her eyes fixed on a nearby street artist positioned at the very first lot down the street, surrounded by life-sized canvases and portraits of who I assumed were his commissioners. Tourists. "Oh. You want to get your portrait done?"

"I like his art style," she gave her chin a rub. "And I've never had something like this done before, so... but like do you think he can do it in thirty minutes? Is that a crazy challenge?"

"Maybe not a painting but a sketch, I suppose he could," I looked around. "You should ask him and see if he's busy with another commission first."

She gave my idea an appreciative nod and headed right over to the artist's lot, pointing and gesturing before somehow conveying her need to leave by four-thirty. The man was all smiles and gave her a thumbs up before pointing at a stool in front of him. She sat down and turned over her shoulder, flashing me the exact same sign before I decided to go off on my own.

Well, not much of a surprise I must say. There wasn't much getting used to, this 'being alone' thing. I vaguely remember asking Chip's husband a question of similar intent, back when I was four or five. Something along the lines of 'would anyone want to marry someone like myself.' And as expected from someone like him, he'd nearly put me in a state of tears. "If you're lucky, you find them. Sometimes, you never do."

I was window-shopping down the street, passing lots and mats filled with handmade quilts, statues, wood carvings and ornamental statues on display when a particular stall caught my eye.

The woman had around her tiny little carvings of different animals in varying sizes. At once, I recognized it as soapstone—a metamorphic rock largely composed of talc that comes in a limited palette of colours: grey, somewhat blu-ish, green and black. Miss Julie had a collection of soapstone crockery back home which she would use on special occasions. Here, however, they were made into what seemed like paperweights, display ornaments and even candlestick holders. The ornament that caught my eye was in the shape of a bunny that came in two different styles. Geometric, and, um... cute.

Immediately, I thought of getting it for Chip. I wasn't too sure if he liked ornaments or had any use for them as a paperweight or some sort, but the unique shade of pale grey was simply too pleasant to miss out on. After all, it stood out from the other colours that were slightly darker-toned.

"Like?" The craftswoman looked up from her work with a smile. She had an interesting device on her right eye—something that looked like a magnifier. I returned her smile with a tentative nod, pointing at the palm-sized ornament by her feet. She picked it up and handed it to me.

While I could see myself preferring the geometric carving style to the rounded, adorable features of the other bunny, I was almost certain that Chip would think otherwise. Oh. And Giselle's recent obsession with cats might... and if I were to compose an entire family... two tiny bunnies or two tiny wolf cubs? I wasn't exactly that familiar with their adopted children but—

"That's cute."

"Okay why do you always have to sneak up on me?" I ended up blurting upon the surprise that was completely uncalled for. It was by this point that I had somehow become so accustomed to Leroy's new voice (that was far from the one in my head when he was five) that turning around wasn't even required to identify him. That, and he honestly did not sound like any other sixteen-year-old teenaged male I knew.

He laughed. "You getting that?"

"Well, um," my gaze returned to the bunny in my palm. "It's for someone else. This is a really nice place for souvenirs, so I was thinking of getting stuff for everyone back home."

At this, Leroy dropped the corners of his lips and snorted. "Really."

"Yes. My godfather and his family," I added, confused by his reaction. "So if you have nothing better to do than just standing there, maybe you can help me pick out something else since you apparently seem to show some disapproval at my taste in souvenirs."

He clicked his tongue, the semblance of a smile resurfacing before he turned to the display mat. "Who's it for?"

"My godfather's sister-in-law who's about thirteen years older than me. Paints a lot and has recently been obsessed with cats and kittens. I don't know which one I should be getting her," I bent over the mat for a closer look at the smaller ornaments. "Wow, they even have eagles and sparrows carved out."

Leroy was watching the craftswoman chip away at what looked like a half-finished koi fish paperweight, not quite carrying out the task I'd set him out to do. Seconds later, I decided upon two bunnies—one in a size larger than the other—two wolves, and a sparrow since Giselle, too, had recently had the time to read this book series I've been recommending to her since five years ago. I hope she likes it.

Briefly remembering the useful phrases in the travel guide I'd been reading all day, I asked the craftswoman how much they were in total. She held up several fingers and I got the message, pulling out my pouch of change. From the corner of my eye, I understood that Leroy, too, seemed rather interested in the vendor's candlestick holders and appeared to be asking her about its details.

By the time I was able to bring together the exact amount to pay for the soapstone carvings, the craftswoman had wrapped them individual newspaper packages and placed them in a paper bag. And before she handed it to me, she held up an additional carving—a candlestick holder in the shape of an owl—wrapped it in the blink of an eye and placed it in the bag along with the rest.

"O-oh, what? But I can't accept that," I waved, thinking that she'd given it to me free of charge.

"He buy." She flashed a grin, pointing to my companion before resting her finger on me. "For you."

I turned to Leroy with a blink. "That's not true is it?"

"Dumbass," he flicked my forehead for the second time of the day and I was too stunned, too confused to actually respond. "I paid for it."

Not quite knowing what to say but also not wanting to disappoint the nice lady smiling at us, I nodded in her direction and told her that it was a very beautiful candlestick holder. I also felt the need to apologize for the confusion we'd caused and the apparent strange relationship both of us seemed to have. It was difficult to convey.

"Rio Negro? See?" She gestured, pointing in the general direction of the river.

"Yes." "Not really, not yet but I'm..."

I paused, taking a moment to register that Leroy would have seen it since he'd travelled by river cruise instead of the bus that the rest of us had to take. The journalistic part of me was dying to ask how it looked like.

The craftswoman laughed. "See! Very good," she gave us a thumbs-up and gestured the universal sign for eat. "Food? Bacalhau." I nodded, indicating that I was about to head down the street for the cod fritters eventually since the tour guide had recommended it as well and what kind of food writer would I be to not at least try the delicacies recommended by the locals themselves?

Feeling oddly adventurous after clearing my throat, I turned to my companion. "If you have the time, we could... try that together." Oh no. That sounded vague. I wonder if it sounded like a question or a statement to him and if it's the latter, would he—

"I told you to stop running off like that!" A familiar face came into view, panting and grabbing Leroy by his arm. "The bus is leaving in five minutes and the class wants a picture of everyone eating something. Said it'd give them extra points or something, like one of the secret missions. Oh and do you have any change? I wanna get something for my mom."

My companion had to give his friend an indecent finger and I was, once again, startled by this rather unique form of greeting. "I'm busy." He flung his wallet into the arms of his lodge mate regardless.

"Oh! It's playmate-boy," his friend waved. "I actually forgot your name so that's why I've been calling you that but maybe get this guy to introduce me when there's time since you guys hang out so often. Okay gotta go bye." He flitted off into the crowd, calling over the shouts of vendors and the chatter of market-goers.

Leroy returned his attention to me. "There's a problem I can't solve on page eleven," he said. I paused.

"The first chapter of your textbook doesn't start until page twenty-three, Leroy. I'm sure you had trouble reading the content page or introductory preface."

He gave me the indecent finger with the corners of his lips turned up. "Fuck you. You coming or not?"

This made me freeze, having understood that Leroy had just very casually given me the gesture that I'd feared for the most but one that seemed to also signify a closer relationship to a certain extent or perhaps I was simply confused. After all, the Leroy I'd known was a five-year-old boy with a liking for video games and cooking and an immense hatred for his father. The second layer that deserved additional consideration was that he seemed to be inviting me to somewhere.

"Oh. Oh, is that a...? Are you... um. Where to?"

He seemed almost amused that I needed everything laid out. "My room. Tonight. After dinner."

It was either my imagination or the market noise; there was simply to way I could imagine Leroy inviting me into a luxurious room on the river cruise only the top thirty-five had access to. "U-um... I... are you sure—"

"Playdate's over Leroy! Hurry the fuck up or we're leaving you behind," someone called over the buzz and automatically, I knew it was one of his lodge mates. He seemed closer to them than he was with the rest of his class.

I shouldn't have been surprised that he had to go so quickly. After all, they'd probably had a different schedule from the ones we were given and even bumping into him was considered an incredible chance of fortune. He started in the direction of his class, turning over his shoulder with a smirk. "See you at the pier."

===========

Leroy was the kind of person who would often forget about involving others in his decision-making regardless of the extent to which they would be affected by it. Having mostly invited me to his room in a luxurious river cruise yacht and simply assumed that I was going to agree, I wasn't given much of a choice with the way he put his words. Factoring in my personality and knowledge that standing someone up wasn't the most polite thing to do, Leroy basically had himself a win.

This, I'd attempted to convey to Si Yin over dinner and explain how much of a dilemma I was in but she couldn't seem to see eye to eye with me regarding the matter. According to her, 'everything' was going 'as planned.' I considered dropping Leroy a text; which I eventually did, stating that I would be occupied with conducting interviews and drafting my next story due in three days. This, however, remained unread and according to the chat application, unreceived. To think Leroy still had his phone on airplane mode was almost frustrating.

"Emily, um. I might have to cancel our meeting tonight as I've decided to make my rounds to search for potential interviewees instead of waiting for those you've contacted to get back to us."

Eventually, I'd given up and given in to the forces of plot, apologizing to my fellow journalist for the last-minute cancellation and watching as she proceeded to give me the strangest look.

"I can tell you're lying," Emily pointed out at once, glancing down at my half-finished meal. "Not gonna finish that?"

I shook my head. "The street food from before has me full. Also, I'm thinking of using the shower before everyone else is done with dinner."

"You trying to impress someone?" Emily raised a well-practiced brow and I was left to answer with an awkward laugh.

"Potential interviewees, yes."

How she decided to let me off the hook with nearly nothing to justify my position was almost a miracle. Dropping by our room of bunk beds and collecting the set of gym clothes I was supposed to be wearing the next day, I hastily made for the shower rooms before anyone else was back from dinner. There, I was in and out of the mercilessly cold shower within a minute of entering and after packing my worn clothes, made my way down to the pier with writing materials in hand.

How I had come to muster that sort of courage to be walking around in the foreign space alone in the evening was indeed questionable. Apart from the sound of rushing waters not far away and knowing that the pier was about a five to seven minute walk from the institute, I had no other indication of direction of where I was going. Google Maps had stopped functioning the moment I left the premises of our accommodation and was telling me to head west into what seemed to a bunch of forest trees.

And to top it all off, the night breeze in my face was chilled and harsh; the kind of temperature I wasn't quite expecting in the middle of a tropical rainforest. I had the jacket of my tracksuit on, but it didn't seem to be doing very much in the biting wind that was exacerbated by the town being right beside rushing river waters.

At once, I thought of turning back. Leroy wasn't going to be waiting for me at the pier (which had zero to nothing blocking the wind) under such circumstances. By this point, it was a streak of stubborn will that kept me going and I honestly didn't know whether I was going to end up at the pier or not.

I followed a trail of streetlamps and soon felt the crunch of sand dusting the pavement. Looking up, I'd intended to search the horizon but arriving at the pier couldn't have been any more brainless. Walking straight down from the institute to the Rio Negro literally did the trick and there he was—leaning against the railings and turned towards the river, wind in his hair and jacket, unzipped, flowing in the same direction.

And as though he possessed the uncanny ability of sensing eyes on him, he met my gaze.

"Bet you thought you were lost," he said, the edges of his lips turned up upon observing the look on my face.

I sunk deeper into my jacket, calling back over the wind. "Not at all. It was an easy find."

He met me halfway and led the rest of it, nodding towards a yacht docked at the very end of the pier. "I'll send you back after."

"Oh there's no need," I turned him down as politely as I could, not wanting to seem like a clueless, directionless idiot wandering about. "I remember the way back and it really isn't so hard. I can't believe you waited outside, though... it's freezing."

Leroy nearly removed the jacket of his tracksuit for me but I stopped him in time by pointing out that it was completely unnecessary. He'd flicked my forehead then, and told me to make up my mind.

"There's a round-a-clock drink station at the salon," he told me as we crossed gap between the yacht and the pier. "They serve coffee and tea. And a chocolate fountain."

Immediately, I was appalled. A chocolate fountain? What unnecessary luxurious these people were enjoying and first years couldn't even dream of having hot showers. The sheer extent of school favouritism was practically illegal; bearing a strange resemblance to a school in the skies I'd once read about.

"I'll get the texts. You coming?" Leroy said over his shoulder as we stepped into teak-lined decks and immediately, a bar was in sight. How ironic, I couldn't help but think. They weren't even of age.

Past the bar was what appeared to be an open-concept communal kitchen big enough to house at least twenty people, stocked with what looked like an amazing ingredient pantry, two super refrigerators and eight stoves, complete with a grey soapstone counter that complimented the shade of teak flooring.

"So... thirty-five people on a yacht this big?" I posed to Leroy as we passed a group of students hanging out at the dining area near the kitchen. They seemed to be waving him over but he, as usual, ignored them without batting a lash.

"Around forty. Some instructors on board," he said, pointing upwards. "They have a couple of single rooms but mostly double. I'm sharing one."

"Oh," was all I managed to say, curious. "And I assume you're sharing a room with that lodge mate of yours?"

He started up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder. "Raul? Yeah." So that's his name.

The second floor—or the upper deck, according to a sign by the bannister—consisted mostly of rooms and other featured entertainment systems like a games room, a study, and a movie room. All of which were unnecessary additions to boost the luxury of an already-luxurious 'floating hotel'.

"Come in." Leroy unlocked the door to his room with a key card and stuck it into the card slot for lights. He held the door open.

"I could wait outside," I suggested tentatively, to which he snorted and let me have my way while he gathered his texts and papers.

Truth to be told, I, an ordinary student of the school, did not belong in a luxurious yacht that the top thirty-five students were enjoying. Needless to say, I received some curious from people emerging from their rooms, wandering down the hallway to the games room where occasional bursts of laughter or noise escaped.

Thankfully, my companion didn't take very long. "Study? Or the solarium. Or salon."

"I am aware of the countless options, Leroy," I made my point stiffly. "You don't need to lay them out or underhandedly toy with my perspective so that I'd become wrought with envy and feel terrible about the cold shower I just took ten minutes ago."

He smirked, seemingly amused before reaching over—

My eyes closed shut on instinct, expecting the usual flick on the forehead but knowing that it was too late for me to duck. But bracing myself soon proved unnecessary because what I was waiting for never really came; and so I uncurled (very slowly), and felt an intense heat barring down the back of my neck.

It was like a flame. The way he was looking at me—face inches away and a lock of my hair between his thumb and index—resembled the core of a bonfire. So much so that I could almost hear the crackle and spit of flames and embers rising up into the night sky and it was then that I made up my mind at once. I need to cut my hair.

"You could use mine," he mused, referring to the complaint I'd made about the showers in the institute that I somehow no longer recalled myself saying. Good god, what is happening?

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A/N: So for anyone who cares, I'll be interning in a company in Tokyo for 2 months! And that's why I'm flying off in two days. If you're interested in my adventures, head on to my Instagram hehe but I mostly post weird stuff about updates so if you don't follow it's fine too. Find me at hisangelchip!

Also, I'm thinking of having another Q&A but that's only if you guys have any questions to ask me. If you do, comment here and I'll look through! ^^

-Cuppie