A/N: And here we are, yet another 7.5k-word chapter for you Beans even though I'm drOwNinG in internship work but hu cares when I'm living in the middle of Ikebukuro, the home of bOyS lOvE hooray hehe. Enjoy the chapter. Very tension. Very sexual. Very the quality. Ehe.

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[Vanilla]

"Oh, you guys were holding hands?"

Startled, I'd pulled back and nearly fell backwards from the momentum had Leroy not held his grip on my hand. He turned to Raul with some form of an explanation, along the lines of preventing either one of us from getting lost in the rain, but his lodge mate didn't seem to buy it.

"Don't fret. Playmates hold hands all the time, don't they?" He threw a wink in my general direction and I looked away, running the back of my hand under my chin to stop the water droplets sliding down my jaw from dripping all over the porch.

Our main concern at present remained; each and every one of us were soaked regardless and there was simply no way we would prevent Doña Brazi's front porch from becoming an outdoor pool. Towels were passed around and because there weren't enough for separate use, sharing was necessary and I'd ended up with the obvious one out of the seven, who'd finally let go of my hand to receive the towel and wipe down his face before chucking it in mine.

I gave him a look, removing my glasses and placing them on a bench before wiping my face with the other side of the towel. This, I handed back to him once I was done and noticed that he was looking at me rather strangely. I followed his gaze; then I realized that I was still wearing his jacket.

"Oh, um—right. Your jacket," I shrugged it off, shivering a little when the wind hit my skin. "Here." I held it out to him, using my other hand to fix my gym shirt that was unfortunately soaked as well.

He pushed it back into my arms. "No. Wear it." I blinked, squinting because I couldn't quite see the expression on his face.

"I don't understand."

Leroy clicked his tongue, taking the jacket and sliding the right sleeve up my arm before doing the left, and then fastening the zipper and zipping me all the way up to the collar. I stood still, completely lost. "I still don't understand," my voice was slightly muffled by the collar that nearly covered half my face. I took the towel and reached under his jacket and my shirt to dry my stomach area. "It's alright, I'm fine. We're not in the rain anymore. And wiping your upper body dry is very important because you'd catch a cold if—"

"Your shirt's white," he hissed, pulling on the ends of his jacket and preventing me from reaching my stomach. "Do it later."

"Your shirt's white too," I pointed out, experiencing a severe bout of confusion. "And what does the colour of one's shirt have to do with this?"

Leroy's face was a cross between amusement and exasperation. "It's see-through, dumbass."

"Well yes I know that but I'm not a girl," I reasoned again, still not quite understanding his logic since I'd already considered the possibility of whatever it was he'd mentioned. "I'm not wearing anything underneath that would need, um, privacy. You should direct your concerns to the other two female students in our activity and group but thankfully, they brought their own jackets and didn't leave it in their rooms like I foolishly did without checking the weather forecast. Which can be rather unpredictable in these areas, by the way."

I watched him reach over to retrieve my glasses from the bench and wipe them clean before handing them back to me.

"Just leave the jacket on," he said in a lowered voice, giving me a look that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

*

Fortunately for the lot of us, Doña Brazi's place wasn't too far from our supposed point of contact with the rest of the groups who'd, for some reason, managed to return much faster than we did and with a greater haul of fish, fruits and vegetables than our measly cone of saúva ants. Word about Violet Birchwood having single-handedly caught three whole bodós, a prized prehistoric fish with no internal skeleton, got around and before we knew it, she was getting herself involved with lunch prep faster than anyone else was.

"Talk about boot-licking," Ariq, who'd received the first-year groups as soon as they arrived, hadn't taken his eyes off Birchwood all morning. "I wish I had the opportunity to impress them before we were assigned roles... all we did was clean the place and got a tour. And now it's rained and the grounds all muddy and the river currents are too strong for hand-fishing."

"I doubt we have enough ingredients to feed the entire school either," I put forth, remembering that all four batches of students were supposed to gather at the village's town hall. Whether or not they could fit about four hundred people, too, was a mystery. Already, students dressed in ponchos and with jackets over their heads were flooding into the hall and split into tables according to their year.

There remained a table up front, however, that had six chairs lined up on each long end and one at the head of the table—the perfect set up for thirteen. This table, unlike the rest, was filled with ingredients. Baskets of Amazonian fruits; a display of freshly-caught fish over a bed of ice; a range of herbs and spices; shrooms and leaves, there was an abundance of produce to cook up a storm.

Whether these were caught, foraged or harvested by the top thirteen students of the school however, remained a mystery. It wasn't as though I could see our cone of ants somewhere on the table, so.

"Listen up kids," an instructor took to the front of the hall, clapping to get our attention. "We know you're all worried about starving to death thanks to the rain but weather is weather and there's nothing we can do about it.

"But you have your seniors—and juniors—to thank for topping up our haul for the day. Some of these were bought off floating markets and others caught live. Our greatest contributors would be Miss Tenner and Miss Birchwood, who each rang up contacts and roped in most of the wonderful fish you see up front so show the two ladies some appreciation."

A resounding cheer had erupted in the room long before the instructor was finished and gone were the concerns of sad, empty tummies. Violet, seated at a table not far from ours, waved with a radiant smile on her face and nothing seemed quite out of the ordinary until the instructor, drowned out by the buzz of excitement and relief, announced that these precious ingredients would only be going to a select few people.

Naturally, this called for quite the controversy.

"He's got to be kidding," Ariq was one of the first to roll his eyes. "No wonder they had everything piled up on that table. What's the point if it's only for the top few to enjoy?"

The instructor up front called for attention once more, appearing increasingly frustrated. "For god's sake, keep it down. You guys need to show some discipline or else we're seriously going to reserve this entire table for the top thirteen only.

"Clearly, I wasn't finished and you guys were busy jumping to conclusions so stop doing that like eight-year-olds. Ranked members will choose a class. That class will receive a basket—" he gestured to the table of ingredients, "—of sufficient fresh ingredients to cook their own meals as a team."

Beside me, Si Yin's eyes widen. "Hold up. Does that mean we have a chance of getting one 'cuz your man's up there?" She rubbed her hands in glee, eyes fixed on the huge display of tambaqui fishes on the table.

Layla Tenner, ranked at the top of the school, was first to pick. "4A."

"I'm sure this was meant to put first-years at a disadvantage, Si Yin," I laid out crystal clear. "Not even Miss Birchwood is up there and I'd be offended if they didn't choose the class of the very person who supplied the fish. It would be politically incorrect. Also, the probability of choosing one's own class so that they themselves would be able to enjoy the fresh ingredients is very high. Not choosing their own class might even equate to betraying them. It's almost a given by this point."

And with that, my hopes of a sumptuous lunch filled with local delicacies were dashed and my mind automatically refocused on finding out what our total haul for the day was. One fish. One basket of acai, two whole coconuts, a bag of cocoa fruits, some wild onions, a sprig of...

"1B."

...what seemed like a wild herb that had a sharp, minty—why was everyone cheering all of a sudden? I looked up from my calculations, puzzled and confused but also slightly miffed by all the noise. Si Yin took me by the shoulders and had me shaking in seconds before her expression turned fairly dark all of a sudden.

"That's it then? You're cheating on number three because number two's better?" She whispered out of nowhere and I could not understand a word she said. This, I pointed out.

"That number two guy just picked our class for ingredients! A-and, there's no way any one of us first-years could have had some connection with him and, ohmygod, he's looking at you," Si Yin had glanced over my shoulder before lowering her voice even further, gradually turning into a snake with a hiss. "I do not approve."

"There must be some kind of mistake," I reasoned, struggling to turn and follow her gaze while having my shoulders in a vice-like grip. "There's no way Chen would pick my class over his—they'd be furious! Unless someone else was going to pick their class eventually but..."

I wasn't the only one surprised. Leroy, standing beside the number two who had tried to have me recruited into his cross-year team the night before, had his eyes fixed on the latter—gaze hard and ablaze. He wasn't frowning. But neither was he looking all-too-happy, especially when Chen decided to wave in my general direction.

My first instinct was to look behind me.

*

We had before us a steaming crock of moqueca: fish simmering in a tart, spicy stew, cilantro lime, and wild cubiu tomatoes cutting through the richness of the fish, a tambaqui, packed with natural oils and cooked to perfection; soft white flesh breaking apart but staying moist as we piled it, stew, tomatoes, onions and all, soft from the hours of preparation, onto a plate of fluffy rice. That, and a side of watercress sautéed with garlic and white oyster mushrooms, complete with wild Baniwa chillies. And then there was fruit after fruit, glass after glass of freshly squeezed juice and all of a sudden, I was well-fed enough to feel suspicious about this being our last meal.

The luxury was evident. Clearly, we were having the best meal we've ever had since our first day of school—that, and possibly the best meal of our entire first year in culinary school. Which was ironic, really. And so I couldn't stop thinking about what exactly it was that the school wanted us to do in exchange for such a glorious meal or, even if they hadn't what they'd request upon finding out that another freshmen class apart from Miss Birchwood's was enjoying a decent meal.

"Good?"

Doña Brazi placed a dish of mysterious black sauce in the middle of our table, dropping by for the fourth time having given our class some advice regarding the making of the moqueca and cooking of the watercress. She'd also been the one who helped crack open the cocoa fruits and told us that the flesh was often better than the seed itself, known to the world as the prized maker of all things chocolate.

I had my suspicions of what the dark sauce was, exactly, but before I could voice a question of confirmation or at least some form of warning, my classmates made a dive for the sauce, which was something they'd learn to do ever since we touched down here in the Amazonas. Sauces were divine.

They had it drizzled over chunks of fish or mixed with the mushrooms and watercress but the highlight of it all was tasting it just as it is: an explosion of lemongrass and the smoky aroma of cardamom, the world's third most expensive spice after vanilla and saffron.

I watched, waiting to see if anyone around had the curiosity and culinary instinct to ask Miss Doña Brazi what she'd put in the sauce apart from whatever else was visible: scallions, a mix of Baniwa chillies and something with a crunch.

Unfortunately, that did not happen.

"It's the ants, isn't it?" I went up to her as soon as she left the table, taking a couple of empty plates with her. I offered to help.

Doña Brazi laughed, quiet otherwise. She beckoned upon passing through the kitchen doors on the other side of the town hall, about a hundred feet away under yet another straw roof. There, she revealed the cone of saúva ants we'd collected from before, strained and dried in a woven basket and a quarter of it pounded together with scallions and peppers using a mortar and pestle.

"Sauce."

"Almost like a vinaigrette," I said to myself, gesturing to the mortar for a taste. Surely, the burst of what seemed like lemongrass and ginger had something to do with a strong presence of isomers... aroma-analysis. I haven't quite gotten into that just yet but I must be looking at something citrusy and another, sweet. Or maybe this had to do with flavour molecules—

"Friend?"

I blinked, following her gaze. Oh. Si Yin was standing in the doorframe of the kitchen entrance, waving. Oh. Taking a moment to re-orientate myself from lost thoughts and a flurry of ideas that I had to write down at once, I thanked Doña Brazi before my classmate out the door, waiting for her to speak.

"So, number two's at our table looking for you and I swear, if he does anything cheeky you're going to have to report that to me okay?" This was all whispered in my ear as she walked me back to the town hall where everyone else was in the middle of lunch. I, on the other hand, was more than surprised that Si Yin had left the table of delicious food to fetch me from the kitchen. By the time we were back, a third of everything was gone.

"You're saying... Chen's looking for me?" I frowned, confused. "Why?"

"Oh I don't know, to talk to you or something? I mean, that's what people do with the person they like, right? Talk? Flirt?"

I cleared my throat. "I think you're mistaken. My guess is that he's here to recruit me again for the cross-year... but I'd already declined his offer last night."

The highest-ranking patisserie in school waved as soon as we were in view, flashing one of his blinding, brilliant smiles in our direction. He called my name in an embarrassing fashion and all at once, heads turned and all eyes were on me and Si Yin. Discomfort was an understatement.

"Hey Julian. How was lunch?"

I smiled, stiff and awkward as my entire class continued to observe our exchange. "Wonderful. And I guess we have you to thank."

"Yeah!" A smart idiot from my class had to add with his mouth full, along with several others seated around him who nodded in agreement. "You saved us. We'd be starving like everyone else if you hadn't."

"Thank god though." "Didn't think you'd pick us, honestly." And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse— "Hey but was it luck or...? Why'd you choose us?"

Brilliant. The dreaded question; uttered in such a casual and harmless fashion that I could almost feel the oncoming storm behind fluffy white clouds. Someone else had the intelligence to shush the person who'd posed the question, most likely afraid that we were chosen by some sort of mistake.

Chen laughed at this, raising a hand in response to all the gratitude but not exactly saying anything about his supposed altruistic act. He did one thing only (which was really the worst thing he could have done): pointed a finger in my direction and asked for a minute.

At once, the entire table had their eyes and heads turned towards me and already, I could see the gears turning and invisible dots hovering around in the air connecting at every passing second. This, I refused to sit and witness.

"I'll... be there in a moment."

Unfortunately, Chen wasn't all too keen on buying into my plan and a mere moment's wait turned out nearly impossible for this seemingly impatient man. All it took was a single glance at the rest of my class to garner looks of pity and prompts by everyone else to give the school's number two the moment he wanted. Albeit altogether very fishy, they didn't quite seem to mind sending me into the lion's den as long as the lion kept them fed.

"If this is about the cross-year—"

"Great! I hate beating around the bush," he laughed, seemingly pleased that I was the one leading the conversation away from the town hall and towards a private space behind it. "I'm sure I just did your class a huge favour, Vanilla."

I froze; eyes wide, chest tight.

"That's... I don't believe I ever—"

"Lots are drawn tomorrow morning after captains are announced," said Chen, appearing to enjoy the contrasting emotions displayed on our faces.

I, however, was quick to dismiss his statement with a nervous laugh. "Well, um. I'm afraid I've made myself quite clear last night and don't be mistaken, the class and myself appreciate your kind gesture but if this is you trying to buy me over... I don't do things like that."

"Oh," was all he managed. The guilt hit me at once; after all, this must have dealt quite the blow to his ego and for the best baker in the school to be turned down by some measly first-year like myself was nothing short of humiliating. For that, I apologized and watched him brush my words aside with a wave.

"It's fine. I mean, what's the point if you're the kind of person easily bought by favours?" Chen shrugged, producing a marker-pen-like writing tool from the back of his pocket and taking my hand. "If you change your mind or at least feel like giving me a second chance to convince you or something, come down to the cruise after dinner. Give me a call if you do."

He returned my hand that now had his number scribbled on the back of it—large and clearly visible even ten feet away. I responded with yet another nervous laugh.

"Actually, um. I have plans to head over every night because Le... um, Cox...? He needs help with accounting basics, so. I even promised he'd be ready for the test that's on the day after SOY."

This, Chen sort of registered with a blink. His eyes betrayed some form of surprise that I couldn't quite put my finger on, and because neither of us had anything else to say, I was about to excuse myself and return to the lunch table before I missed anything important when he stopped me again.

"If I draw a blue tomorrow, I'm calling on you," Chen laid out with half a smile, honest despite my constant refusals. "You can turn me down if you want to, but I'm hoping you won't."

Ah, making it hard for me to refuse in front of a crowd, huh. I responded with a stiff nod before making my escape, returning to the lunch table where everyone else had a sudden interest in my private conversation with Chen En. Naturally, I had no intention to send scandalous rumours spreading like wildfire to the rest of the school when I already had my reputation seemingly ruined by bitten tongues and Leroy Cox feeding me chicken over lunch. So I, very honestly, told them that he wished to recruit me for his cross-year team.

While this was apparently less exciting that being brought to the infirmary on someone else's back or chicken-feeding, it was news. News in which I've come to learn had similarly flammable characteristics when compared to scandalous rumours.

"That his?"

Leroy's first reaction upon seeing the set of numbers scribbled on the back of my hand was a condescending snort, as though he knew it wasn't enough to win me over. Then, the question. I'd averted my gaze whilst responding to this and so couldn't quite read the expression on his face towards the general idea of Chen wanting me on his team. It was also an attempt to direct his attention back to the accounting textbook; opened to a set of practice questions. To my surprise, not once did he tell me to wash it off although it was clearly in his field of vision for the next two hours of tutoring.

"I see that you have quite the level of self-restraint when it comes down to it," was all I noted at the pier after he insisted on sending me back to the institute again. "You can be patient as long as you put some effort into thinking about it."

He turned to me with a look of amusement in his eyes, as though he didn't need much processing to understand what it was I had been referring to. "Yeah? He's not the one who got a certain someone to confess considering himself reserved till I pick him, so." Leroy shrugged.

I turned away—speechless and embarrassed and wishing I hadn't the habit of running my mouth whenever there was an opportunity to do so. Clearly, I'd been revealing far too much whenever it came to a certain number three.

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The next morning had begun pleasantly late for the most of us, featuring the mass gathering of students across all four years at the institute's hall which meant that first-years didn't have to travel very far to get to the first destination of the day and therefore called upon the luxury of additional sleep.

Still, the noise and fervent buzz that filled the air at seven in the morning wasn't going to keep us in the land of dreams for long since second and third years started filtering in sooner than we'd expected; some going as far to fill up the space in front of an elevated stage that had been the institute's space for traditional dances. Apparently, front-row seats during the cross-segment team selection were well sought-after.

Unfortunately for the lot of us from 1B, additional sleep turned out to be a double-edged sword, leaving the majority of first-years to be slightly later than early; landing us the cramped and unpleasant space sandwiched between the front and the back of the school. This, we had to bear with for at least half an hour, standing through rules and regulations, general explanations of what the cross-year segment was, and the changes they'd made for this year's event.

Also, someone made the mistake of appointing Keith Tang as overall emcee.

"As you all know, the school press has been making accurate predictions of SOY locations since nine years ago, and for once in nearly a decade, the school has made the smart decision of surprising us with a 'São Gabriel da Cachoeira' on our list of places visited and so, to compliment this amazing breakthrough, the press will also be covering the full twenty-four hours of prep and cooking time given to all four participating teams."

A whole day! It didn't take a genius to observe that everyone else, too, had not expected the abnormally long and luxurious time extension that the board had decided to give the chosen teams of this year's cross-year. Naturally, there had to be a catch.

"I mean, obviously you'd need more than three hours to gather ingredients and everything, right? Common sense will tell you that the school can get you all sorts of raw produce when you're in Sicily but no one's gonna get you much when you're in the middle of the Amazonas and even so, what's the use of learning how to forage when we're just going to give you the ingredients so lo and behold... this year's theme is very naturally: outdoor cooking.

"Teams will have from four o'clock in the afternoon to dinner time the next day where six select judges will make their rounds across the locations you've been assigned to grade whatever it is you made—and don't worry. The press has got all this covered and updated live so follow us on Instagram and Facebook at—"

An instructor had the brains to stop Keith right there and then by whispering something into his ear while the rest of the hall waited in quiet anticipation; bated breath.

"Yeah and so just follow us on social media if you want the latest updates including interviews of this year's four captains which I will now announce," Keith shot the instructor a pointed look and admittedly, I would've backed down from that gaze on instinct. "So as you all know, instructors and facilitators, along with our friendly guides, have been watching you guys for the past two days and these people, along with the board, will choose a team captain from each year to choose and lead a team of eight.

"Okay yes I'm getting to it people," snapped our emcee as soon as the semblance of an exasperated sigh came from somewhere near the back of the hall. How he managed to pick that apart from a total of four-hundred people was almost demonic.

"The best performers of each year—freshman to senior—are: Violet Birchwood. Leroy Cox. Chen En. And Layla Tenner respectively."

There was an explosion of cheers erupting at every name that increased in volume as Keith announced the names, deliberately pausing between each one for added suspense. Naturally, Tenner received the bulk of the attention, waving charismatically and throwing kisses as soon as she headed up on stage to join the other three who'd gone up with an equally enthusiastic response from the crowd. After all, they basically consisted of the school's top three students.

"Boring," said Ariq with a sigh, and everyone in the vicinity turned towards him with curious eyes. "That's such an easy prediction. Everyone's been expecting this line up..."

I entertained his remark with a laugh, amidst Si Yin tugging at my sleeve and squealing something about 'my man' being on stage. It wasn't exactly audible over the noise. "I guess the school likes to play it safe. After all, I'm sure they have sponsors looking out for quality students... they might want to reduce their chances of failing to impress them."

Ariq wasn't the only one with much to say. Everyone else soon deviated from cheering to talking among themselves and guessing at whoever else the captains were going to pick. That, and hoping they were picked themselves.

Meanwhile, all I was trying to do was avoid eye contact with Leroy, fearing that I'd somehow confirm my suspicions of him staring at me the whole time he was on stage. W-well, not to flatter myself, of course. He might not be, for all I knew.

"For those unfamiliar with the rules and regulations of our annual cross-year, you're in luck. These can be found on the Culinary Chronicles' website, Facebook page and Instagram account but for the sake of convenience, I have been asked to drone over the boring list, so," Keith cleared his throat, whipping a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket that seemed almost like an act. "As you all know, captains are allowed to pick anyone across all levels. I mean, it's not called a cross-year­ for no reason."

According to archives and various sources of information I'd gathered over the past week at school however, I'd learned that captains often picked friends or classmates, at the very least, instead of gunning for random talents across levels.

"Captains draw a colour card and according to the colour drawn, call on their chosen team member from that specific major. No questions asked. However, the chosen member is given a choice to accept or decline the offer... which, if you've read the Chronicle's most recent article, has never happened since the start of time."

Inside, I was silently applauding whoever had come up with such an exciting system. Drawing a colour card would restrict each captain's picking of their next team member and since that went in rounds (from captain A to B to C and so on), it guaranteed, in some sense, an extent of equality. Captains couldn't just be forming teams they'd come up with a long time ago or an ideal, familiar one within their comfort zones.

"So. Layla Tenner," Keith strayed from his supposed emceeing duties to conduct a somewhat live interview with the school's number one. "Care to give some insight into your ideal first pick?"

Once, there was even a team full of critics; which, of course, made for some juicy failure. In other words, a history of blue cards ruining a team eventually leading to its ill-reputation and hence, it's status of being the colour that captains wished to—

"I'm sure we've all heard about this cute little critic with a very special tongue," said Tenner with a laugh, throwing off the emcee with a wink.

Avoid.

Keith wasn't the only one who did a double take. Whether he was fazed by the wink or the content of her response or just feigning it all for the sake of added drama, I, together with the rest of the hall, shared his sentiments. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to mirror everyone else by turning to look at myself since, um, that was apparently what the people around me were doing. Good god. She can't possibly be talking about me, can she?

On instinct, my gaze had found itself on Leroy, standing a captain away and visibly displeased. He'd looked up at her response and frowned, turning towards her just like the rest of his companions on stage who looked equally, if not more, stunned than the rest of the school. Naturally, Violet Birchwood was furious.

"W-well," was all Keith had to say. Leave it to Layla Tenner to make anyone speechless—even the vice-president of the school press who never really had an 'off' button. "I see. That was... unfortunately not predicted by the Chronicle and, yes, we were expecting Miss Birchwood over here to be the only first-year participating in the cross-year but, so it seems, the tides have turned."

Si Yin had other thoughts. "You're like the number one hoe that everyone wants to spend time with tonight," she concluded upon assessing the situation; completely off. "All three of them want a piece of you."

"I'm quite sure that's not how it works, Si Yin," I whispered back, nervous. "This is getting out of hand. I wouldn't like for this to come down to luck but... he'd better be the first to draw a blue."

It was near impossible that Leroy could hear me then—at least a hundred feet away and amidst the noise—but he turned nevertheless, and our eyes met.

"Right, so," Keith cleared his throat and scrambled to get everyone's attention back on him. "We have the lottery box and... Tenner. Would you like to start first?"

The final year student laughed, shaking her head and leaning back to catch a glimpse of the captain on the other end. "I'm feeling generous today. Let Violet start."

Birchwood seemed pleasantly surprised by this, blinking as the emcee's assistant ran up to her with a box that contained the colour cards. She nodded in thanks before reaching in, pulling out a mini envelope and hurrying to open it.

There was something in that air that made our breaths short and bated; waiting for her to reveal the colour of her card by observing, perhaps, the expression on her face. Birchwood frowned.

"There's nothing on it."

Keith, along with three-quarters of the hall, seemed to erupt in a buzz. All at once, there was whispering and cheering and laughing and chattering. The first-years appeared as confused as the captain on stage.

"That card allows you to pick any colour. It's a wild card," explained the emcee, taking the card from Birchwood and handing it over to another stage assistant. "There are two in the box of two-hundred and I've honestly only seen it get drawn like, twice in the last three years, so. Right—you get to choose a member from any major."

Christmas morning was here for Violet and she was more than pleased. In fact, she appeared to revel in the looks of envy that the other captains had in their eyes. Well-hidden, but still. Apparent. Yet, I couldn't help but feel that their concerns were wrongly placed; since none of them were aware of Miss Birchwood's dislike for critics like myself. Simply put: she wasn't going to pick me.

And indeed, without another moment to waste, she picked the school's number four—Jean Mercier, who came up to the stage to join her with a smile. At once, the hall's focus shifted to rest on Leroy, who was already reaching in for his draw and in a second, he had the envelope open and then the card: yellow.

He seemed to sigh. "Rosi."

The girl, whom I recognized as one of the sophomores part of the group he'd usually hang out with, rolled her eyes as she got on the stage, taking the spot behind Leroy as he tossed the envelope and card in the assistant's box.

This went on for quite some time; the bated breath, the long silences and terribly impatient waits for each captain to reveal the colour of the card in their drawn envelopes; their faces; the desire to hear their names being called. By the fifth round, Violet had scored a wild, a yellow, a red, and two blues. Of which she was visibly displeased by, of course. Meanwhile, those who had been wishing for blues had landed reds, greens and yellows—anything but that which they appeared to be aiming for. And if this wasn't Leroy's day (who'd just drawn his fourth red), it certainly wasn't Chen and Tenner's either.

"Aaand it's a green again. Tenner's third green, apart from her two other reds." Even Keith was losing his energy from the boring repetition of results, groaning as he announced the results of Tenner's fifth draw. And now, it was on to the sixth round and Violet's second-last draw.

"What?" The entire hall heard her hiss as she drew her third blue card. "This is rigged."

Already, I could see this becoming a running joke. Birchwood was drawing all the blues that everyone else couldn't draw and most importantly, she didn't want it.

She ended up picking another critic from the top-thirteen, adding to her team that already consisted of two other blues.

"Come on, someone land it already." Beside me, Ariq was getting more restless than myself, who would, supposedly, be most affected by the outcome of whatever this draw was. Keeping my eyes fixed on Leroy's as he drew his second-last, I honestly thought he'd done it—drawn a blue.

I was, unfortunately, mistaken.

"Xu Si Yin," he said, tossing the envelope into the box behind him and everyone stared at him like 'who's that again?' but no one could beat the look on Si Yin's face. She herself looked completely floored and lacked reaction overall. I had to give her a nudge.

"He... he called your name."

Si Yin turned to me with a tilt of her head and her eyebrows going absolutely haywire, question marks growing right out of her scalp. "Wait. He said something that's not your name again."

"Yes, and it's yours," I had to repeat as the rest of my mind processed the meaning behind all this; that Leroy, an animal who made decisions entirely based on instincts, had chosen to bet the collaborative aspect of his team on his final card being a blue. Which, according to probability, was honestly the silliest thing to do. Adding Si Yin to the roster—who hadn't much experience working in teams—was basically him saying that he was going to land a blue at any cost. Good god was he an idiot.

Even Si Yin couldn't bring herself to agree with his decision. "Your man really wants you bad," was all she said before making her way to the stage, slower than the others since us first-years were squished in the middle of the audience.

And while she was heading up the stairs in the most tentative manner I've seen her behave, the next captain's turn to draw left a huge smile on the latter's face. And before I knew it, Chen was looking in my direction, the envelope and the card inside, half removed, turned towards the audience and there it was—the colour blue.

Behind him, his team seemed fairly excited despite the fact that they barely knew who I was or if I could actually work well in a foreign environment and with strangers. He grabbed Keith's mic while he was in the middle of asking the important question and straight out said my name. It was nearly terrifying.

"Julian White."

Good god. I tried to hide, avoiding the stares turned my way but also knowing that this was only going to delay the process for a good bit. There was no describing the extent to which I was in disbelief of his insistence. After all, I'd turned down his invitation not once but twice, and he was going to make me do it a third time, in front of an audience.

"Aand there it is! The first first-year student to ever get picked as a team member," said Keith who hadn't given me a chance to voice my decision to accept or decline the offer. "Come on up."

Already, Chen's team members were cheering while Layla Tenner looked a tad bit miffed and of course, I hadn't the courage to look at Leroy's face. Let alone raise my hand and shout over a crowd of four-hundred students that I wasn't going to accept the offer. First off, no one seemed to hear me over the noise. I settled this by raising my hand.

And then came the actual declining. God, how was I going to word this?

"Um, I... excuse me," the people around me quietened down a little, stopping to watch. "Hi. Yes, can you hear me? I, um. I'm flattered. And grateful for the opportunity," I cleared my throat. "But I'd like to decline the offer."

*

At this, the student body shut down with a click—as though someone (in this case, me) had pulled the plug on its entire system. Keith was speechless for the second time of the day and the instructors, including Chef Palmer and Lindy standing at the side of the stage, were looking at my raised hand as though it was some unidentifiable ingredient.

"Wait, but," the emcee could not register. Chen's lips were drawn thin. "But you're... you know it's... I mean," Keith laughed nervously. "I know you might be thinking of joining another team or something but you do understand that they might end up not drawing a blue, right...?"

If there are two hundred cards split among the four majors according to the overall ratio that would mean there are about twenty blue cards in that but considering the two wild cards that would mean there's less than twenty so the approximate should be eighteen at most but Birchwood has drawn—

A stranger in front of me nodded, turning to reinforce this with vigour. "You've got to take the chance. Isn't this good enough? No first-year has ever been picked for the cross segment."

—three and Chen has drawn one so that would mean there are fourteen left and that would have to be out of two-hundred minus round six times four and that's approximately an eight percent chance that I'd get picked again by someone else but I have yet to consider Tenner's turn which could also be a blue and then Birchwood, which could also be another blue but she'd never pick me and so this would further reduce the probability to about six or even five but what if the question is—

"He's right," said Ariq, nudging me in the side. "I don't think you're stupid enough to get this wrong. You wouldn't risk an opportunity like this—either you guarantee being in the cross-year, or you risk not being in it at all. The choice is obvious..."

—whether or not I should be in this segment at all but what it was that I had been truly considering all along so the question had never really been to be or not to be in this competition but

"Thank you. But I stand by my decision."

Him or nothing at all.

The answer sounded oddly clear in my head, almost like the clinking of glasses during a toast or the creak of the teeterboard and the sound of company. It was perhaps this note of finality in my voice that somehow made them turn away from me and accept this near ridiculous, foolish decision of mine to risk an opportune moment that anyone else would have grabbed at in a heartbeat. There it was; the problem at hand. The thing in my chest—not quite functioning as it should.

"Okay, so, um... I guess, captain," Keith returned to Chen with an awkward gesture. "Maybe choose someone else?" The latter sighed, but did so nevertheless and right then and there, I knew the guilt would come and it did. Someone else took their position with his team and Chen looked at me once; then never again.

Layla Tenner, next to pick, was about to give me another headache. "Oh!" She held up her card, turned towards the audience. Blue. "So, do I get a yes?"

Of course, she had to be looking at me and good god as if I hadn't attracted enough attention for the day than my entire life put together. The disaster wasn't about to end. They were going to make me turn down the second offer of the day. More specifically, from the top student of the school. To others, this was a dream come true.

"Yeah I mean duh you get a yes," Keith was laughing and frowning at the same time, glaring my way. "Isn't that right Mr. White? You can't get any luckier than this."

Well, he's not wrong, I couldn't help but think. Probability wise, he certainly wasn't and all that was left for me to do was blame my increasing lack of intelligence and rationality on a certain barbarian's influence. Clearly, spending time with him meant breathing in the toxic cloud of instinct he'd have permanently around him.

I shook my head and stood my ground.

Tenner seemed to have expected this for some reason, and showed little disappointment despite her earlier signs of envy. She'd given me a smile before picking someone else and while the temptation to glance at Leroy to see his reaction up till this point was hard to resist, I somehow managed.

"And it's a green for Birchwood! Her first green." Violet Birchwood had walked away with her final card, visibly pleased with her team of selected elites all ranked in the top thirty-five. The first eight to form were handed out what seemed like numbered shirts for identification while the stage assistants scrambled retrieve Birchwood's final card and move on to Leroy's last pick.

To say 'this was it' seemed almost like an understatement at this point. I'd long given up on calculating the probability of him picking a blue or thinking about anything rationally or logically related to calm my nerves. There was waiting. Only waiting and nothing else.

He picked out an envelope and flipped it open.

Keith, standing on the opposite side of the stage having had a brief conversation with one of the instructors, was trying to read his expression. He wasn't the only one. "And team number two, your final member is...?" Waiting. Waiting and more waiting and then just general frustration of doing so. For some reason, the colour on his card wasn't obvious despite the angle.

Clearly, everyone was confused by Leroy taking a single glance—less than a second's worth of looking—at the card in the envelope before handing it over to the assistant who scrambled to look at it before doing a double take.

And then all this idiot does is meet my gaze with a smirk, and raise a finger.

Beckoning.