|ғᴏᴜʀ| ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛɪᴏɴs & ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴏɴɢs

The next day...

  Perched lazily in my throne of a lawn chair beside the flashy neon sign of Bill's Surf Shop, I was the queen of my little world, entertaining myself with the ridiculous antics of the not-so-fabulous foursome. Kicking back in a lawn chair, I snagged from beside Bill's Surf Shop; I watched the scene before me with the sort of fascination usually reserved for car crashes or reality TV meltdowns. The mall lights created a disco ball effect on my shades, creating a fitting atmosphere for the day's absurd drama.

  Austin, with his ego inflated to the size of a hot air balloon, believed Ally harbored a secret crush on him. The poor sap seems so wrapped up in his narrative that he couldn't see the mess he'd made. I'd tried to knock some sense into him and told him outright that swiping Ally's songbook wasn't exactly prince-charming behavior. From my sideline sanctuary, I watched, shaking my head with irritation and amusement. The boy was like a Rubik's cube—twist him one way, and he'd turn back the other, leaving you none the wiser. The spectacle escalated when Austin bolted from the practice room like he had just seen a ghost—or worse, caught feelings. "If I don't hear it, it's not true!" he chanted like a mantra, covering his ears as if that would shield him from the horror of a potential love song about him.

  But the main event was kicking off. Ally and Trish were playing good cop, bad cop with Dez, who was dangling on the hook like a gingerbread man in a shark tank. I was too happy to sit back, popcorn in hand, and watch the interrogation unfold under the golden mall lighting.

"We can do this the easy way or the Trish way," Trish threatens, her voice chilling like the ice cream freezer beside us. Dez, the gingerbread guardian, was torn between loyalty and the threat of a cookie apocalypse.

  "I can't betray Austin's trust," he whimpered, the irony of his statement thicker than the icing on his edible confidence.

  Trish, the ruthless, bit off a gingerbread limb without flinching. Ally, the voice of reason, tried to play the angel, but Trish was a gingerbread grim reaper in a mallrat's clothing.

  The food court was a pressure cooker of suspense, sugar, and spice. I reveled in the delicious disaster, my chuckles hidden behind a handful of popcorn. "Oh, the sweet irony," I whispered with glee, watching Dez's confectionery castle crumble.

  When Dez's confession spilled out, it was as shocking as a plot twist in a daytime soap. Trish had concocted the most harebrained scheme of revenge, and Ally was all too eager to play along. Their plan to get back at Austin for his nosy transgressions was as twisted as a pretzel.

  Ally's songbook, The Eye of the Storm, became their weapon of choice. She hugged it tight, her resolve shaky as a fiddler on a roof. The heist of her songbook met her with a side-eyed gaze, but the real kicker was when they turned to me, Vesper, the casual observer with no dog in this fight.

  They flashed those devilish grins, thinking they could recruit me into their web of vengeance. I'm no hero in this story—I'm the one in the back row, eating popcorn and waiting for the credits. They knew I wouldn't take sides, but the idea of watching Austin's ego take a nosedive? Now, that was something I could get behind.

  "Come on, Vesper, don't you want to see Mr. Perfect's face when he realizes he's not the center of the universe?" Trish coaxed, her grin sharp as a tack.

  Ally said, "We could use someone with your unique perspective."

  I leaned back, considering the offer. "Well, it's not every day I get to play puppeteer to Miami's teen heartthrob. Count me in—but for the record, I'm doing this for the shits and giggles, not for your high school musical melodrama."

  With that, we plotted our grand spectacle, a performance that would bring down the house—or at least Austin's inflated self-image. And as the master of mischief, I knew how to pull the strings.  

  ─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

 I was in the thick of it, plotting like a Bond villain with the two least likely cohorts you could imagine—Ally, the songbird with a spine made of overcooked spaghetti, and Trish, the job-hopping queen of schemes. Honestly, if you'd told me I'd be teaming up with these two to bring Austin Moon down a peg, I'd have laughed you out of the state. But here we were, in the musical war room, and the air was electric with anticipation—or maybe that was just the static from the cheap carpet.

  Meanwhile, Nelson shuffled into the store with his latest human oddity in tow—a man who looked like someone used him as a human mop—and I couldn't help but smirk at the sideshow that was my daily existence. Nelson, the kid who could charm the pants off a statue, had somehow dragged his Uncle Hank alr a supposed oboe lesson. I mean, seriously, an oboe lesson? The kid's repertoire was more 'Three Blind Mice' than Mozart, yet he was parading around with his vagabond.

  "Aw, Nartz! You know how hard it was to get him on the bus?" Nelson whined, gesturing at his unkempt uncle like he presented a prize pig at the fair. "Come on, Uncle Hank." And just like a summer storm, they were gone, leaving behind a trail of confusion and the faintest smell of old cheese.

   Ah, but then the actual performance began, the moment we'd been scheming over—Ally, Trish, and I, the unholy trio. As Ally caught the flying lipstick that Trish lobbed her way and started slathering it on with the urgency of a woman on a mission, I reached for my popcorn, only to have it knocked out of my hand.

"No food in the store," Ally scolded like she was the freaking Duchess of Cleanliness.

  "Duly noted, neat freak," I grumbled, but my gaze returned to the unfolding disasterpiece.

  Then Ally went for the gold, locking her lips onto a mannequin's face, moaning "Austin" like she was trying to summon his spirit. It was almost too much to bear. I had to bite my tongue to keep from bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

  Enter our golden boy, Austin Moon, looking like he'd just walked onto the set of a B-horror flick. "Ally," he stammered, his face a mix of horror and intrigue. "What are you doing? Is that supposed to be me?"

  Ally spun around, her cheeks red as the lipstick she'd just abused. " "Oh, Austin. Hi. Yes, it is. I was practicing what I would do if I got bit by a rattlesnake. On the lips. It could happen, oh." The bullshit was so thick you could carve it with a knife.

   If Austin believed that, I had some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell him. Yet, somehow, he did. " "Good to know? So, do you want to work on our new song now? Here, where everyone can see us."

  "I can't right now. I'm busy," Ally lied through her teeth, scribbling a hit list of turn-offs in her book that screamed 'This is for you, dumbass' louder than a foghorn.

   Trish, the instigator extraordinaire, piped up. "Cool. Wanna go to the food court and vanish for, let's say, a solid twenty minutes?" Her eyes danced with the thrill of the chase, and I had to admit, the girl had style.

Ally nodded, leaving her book behind like a seductive breadcrumb trail for Austin to follow. I was just the architect of this madness, watching my handiwork come to life.

"Vesper, are you coming?" Trish called, her smirk telling me she knew we had him right where we wanted him.

The last thing I needed was to be left alone with Austin, the human equivalent of a golden retriever, only less valuable. "Sure, I'm in desperate need of a popcorn fix," I said, my smile as sharp as broken glass. I grabbed a new bag, already tasting the sweet flavor of impending humiliation. Watching Austin Moon fall face-first into our trap? Now, that would be the cherry on top of a shitsundae.

  ─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

  Perched casually on the counter of Sonic Boom, I could barely contain my delight. The anticipation of the upcoming display of Austin's public humiliation was the kind of high that money couldn't buy. This plan, our masterful blueprint of embarrassment, was about to unfold like the final act of a play, and I, Vesper, was the uncredited genius behind it.

   The door swung open; the melodic jangle drowned out by the gasps: Austin Moon, the self-proclaimed sensation of Miami, entered—and, oh, how the mighty fashion victim fell. His skin, an ode to the citrus fruit, made my mouth twitch with the effort to keep my laughter from erupting.

 "Holy shitballs," I whispered, the vulgarity slipping out with ease as he strutted closer, blissfully ignorant of his resemblance to a radioactive traffic hazard.

  "Austin's looking... vibrant today," I managed to say, my voice laced with a sarcasm that I hoped was too subtle for him to catch.

  Ally, who had been trying to look anywhere but at Austin, turned to me with a look that said, 'Is this happening?' "Vesper, tell me you're seeing this too," she murmured, her voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of pride for what was about to come.

  With a sly smile, I leaned in. "Oh, I see it, Ally. It's as if the sun decided to take human form but got it so, so wrong."

"Austin, how's it hanging?" I called out, plastering a grin on my face while my insides twisted with suppressed guffaws. He preened like a peacock, unaware that his latest look was more 'traffic cone' than 'rock star.'

Austin, ever the optimist, spun around, throwing a wink in our direction. "What do you think, ladies? Pretty hot, right?"

I bit my cheek to stop the laughter. "Hot is one word for it," I said, my voice dripping with feigned admiration.

"Orange," Ally said, her tone flat as a pancake. "You're very... orange."

  Austin shrugged, unfazed. "Yeah, I wanted to try something new, you know? Stand out." Stand out he did—it was impossible not to. But the pièce de résistance was still to come. Dez, in his infinite wisdom, had provided a pepper that could ignite a bonfire. As Austin bravely—or foolishly—bit into the fiery morsel, his composure melted faster than ice cream on a summer sidewalk.

"Oh, fudge," he gasped, his voice an octave higher. "That's hot!"

  "No shit, Sherlock," I mumbled, watching as he grabbed for a water bottle with the urgency of a man on fire. The real show was beginning.

  Trish, with a wicked gleam in her eye, signaled the fake production crew. The camera focused on Austin, who was now a sweaty, orange mess, his eyes watering like he was cutting onions for a giant's stew.

"Ready for your close-up, Austin?" I teased, unable to contain my glee.

  The fake interview kicked off, and Austin's awkwardness was palpable. Each question was a landmine, and he danced around them like a jitterbug in a minefield. Ally stood by, a smirk tugging at her lips, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  "Why'd you read Ally's book?" the host prodded, the question hanging in the air like a bad smell.

  "I—uh..." Austin floundered, his distress as visible as his atrocious tan.

  The confession that followed was sweeter than revenge—it was payback. Ally's feigned heartbreak was nothing but a ruse, a performance worthy of an Oscar. As Austin sighed in relief, believing his actual performance was still to come, the final twist landed like a cherry on top.

  "Check the Jumbotron," Trish whispered to Ally, and as the footage of Austin's debacle played for the entire mall to see, I could barely contain my excitement. What unfolded was better than anything—it was real life, and I, Vesper, reveled in the absolute mayhem. Austin's embarrassment, Ally's fake drama, the mall-wide broadcast—it was a scene so perfect I could hardly believe we'd pulled it off.

  As those surrounding us erupted into whispers and giggles, I leaned back, satisfied with the day's work. Who needed friends like Austin, Dez, Ally, and Trish when you could orchestrate their downfalls and sit back to watch the show? Life, in its unpredictable and often ridiculous glory, was indeed a stage, and I was more than happy to direct the play.

  ─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

  The air in the mall was electric, buzzing with the afterglow of Austin's latest performance. Patrons were still humming the catchy tune of "Not A Love Song" as I pushed through the crowd, my stomach growling louder than the residual applause. I made a beeline for  "The Melty Crust." It was the only restaurant to turn a rotten day into a bearable one.

  Baked cheese and herb-infused oils, a heady perfume that could coax a smile from even the fussiest souls,  filled my nose upon entering. I had to admit that despite my perpetual irritation with the world—especially the world inhabited by Austin, Dez, Ally, and Trish—this restaurant's tasty delights were a formidable opponent to my mood. As I sank into the plush velvet booth, the waiter set down my feast— a three-blend grilled cheese sandwich, the perfect crunch of toasted sourdough followed by the warm, gooey embrace of cheddar, provolone, and Gouda; I could almost forget the calamities that seemed to follow me like an evil sitcom plot.

  Each bite was a little piece of heaven. If I had to suffer through another of the Golden Boy's performances, at least I could do it on a whole, contented stomach. Melty Crust's bottomless Italian fries were a work of art. Golden, crispy sticks of grated Parmesan-dusted potatoes, chopped parsley, and just a hint of garlic played on the tongue like a flirtatious whisper. And Nona's Tiramisu? A dessert so divine, with its layers of espresso-drenched ladyfingers and velvety mascarpone, dusted with fine cocoa that lingered on the palate long after the last bite, was enough to make your girl believe in higher powers.

   Then he appeared with his mop of blond hair and a grin that probably had its fan club. He slid into the booth opposite me, his eyes wide with fear and forced camaraderie. Austin Moon, that perpetual ray of sunshine, sat across from me, grinning like he had just won the lottery. It was unnerving. He acted unusually friendly, even for him, which put me on edge faster than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  "Hey, Vesper! That looks amazing," he chirped, with that butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth tone.

  I narrowed my eyes, my fork pausing inches from my mouth. "What do you want, Moon?"

"Just to talk. Can't a guy sit with his acquaintance without wanting something?" He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable.

  I took a bite of my sandwich, the cheese pulling away in a glorious, golden string. "We're not acquaintances," I corrected him, my voice muffled by deliciousness. "Acquaintances don't plot each other's public humiliation."

  Austin winced as if the words were a physical blow. "Yeah, about that... I'm sorry. Truly—"

  "Spit it out, or I'm going to start thinking you've got a crush on me and trust me, you don't want to go down that road."

  "I come in peace. And with an offering." His hand dipped into his pocket, and I could feel the tension ratchet up a notch.

  My heart hammered against my ribs as he pulled out my iPod, the same one I'd resigned myself to never seeing again. The device was like a time capsule, filled with memories of my brother Toby and me, the music we'd made together, the laughter and lyrics that had filled our room. "Where the fuck did you find that?" I demanded, my voice rising despite the public setting.

  "I, uh, found it in the bathroom a while back," he confessed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't know how to return it after... everything."

  My hands shook as I took the iPod from him, the familiar weight of it igniting a storm of emotions inside me. "So, you let me freak out, turn the store upside down while you sat on this? Listened to it?"

  Austin nodded slowly, the words tumbling out of him. "And I know how 'messed up' what I did was, but It's amazing, Vesper. The songs, your voice, it's like nothing I've ever heard. You wrote those, didn't you? With Toby?"

  I froze, my grilled cheese sandwich forgotten. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into my palms. "None of your damn business." The words were a hiss, venom dripping from each letter.

"But it is!" Austin leaned forward, eyes alight with an almost convincing passion. "Music like that, it's a gift, Vesper. You need to share it with the world, with us. You could be our producer, join the team, and make something incredible."

I stared at him, my mouth agape. The audacity of the request was staggering. "You invade my privacy, listen to the most personal thing I have, and now you want me to work with you?" My voice rose with each word, drawing the attention of the other diners.

  Austin reached out, but I slapped his hand away. "No. Just no, Austin. You don't get to do this. You don't get to use my brother, my most precious memories, as some recruiting pitch. Real life doesn't work where douchebags like you can take whatever you want and expect everyone to jump on your bandwagon? Not happening. I'm not your Ally."

Austin reached out again, trying to soothe me, but I was beyond calm. "I just thought—"

  "Well, you thought wrong!" I cut him off, then stood abruptly, my knee hitting the table and sending my drink sloshing over its edge.

  In one fluid motion, the glass left my hand. Time slows, every drop of soda hanging in the air like a suspended constellation before gravity takes hold and sends them crashing down upon Austin Moon. The entire restaurant fell into an eerie silence, the only sound of the splash of liquid on fabric and the collective intake of breath from the onlookers.

  Austin sat there, a soggy mess, his eyes wide with shock as he sputtered and attempted to wipe his face with his shirt sleeve. I leaned in close so only he could hear the tremor of rage in my voice. "I'd rather eat glass than work with you. I quit Sonic Boom. And this," I raised my middle finger deliberately, my hand steady despite the storm of emotions within me, "is for you, Moon."

  With my iPod clutched in one hand and Nona's tiramisu in the other—because, let's face it, not even Austin Moon could make me abandon a dessert so divine—I turned on my heel and walked away. The stunned silence of the restaurant was a cloak around me, a barrier between myself and the scene I'd left behind. I didn't look back at Austin, not even for a second. I was done.

  I emerged into the empty corridor outside, the hustle and bustle of the mall a distant echo. My footsteps slowed, the weight of the iPod and the tiramisu in my hands grounding me as I felt the cracks in my composure widen. The cool wall tile beckoned, and I let myself slide down against it, the impact jarring but necessary.

  Now, away from prying eyes, the dam broke. Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down my cheeks. It was supposed to be Toby and me against the world, our music, our bond, our shared dream. Now, the reality of my solitude crashed over me, each wave of grief a stark reminder that I was navigating this chaos alone.

  Clutching the iPod to my chest, I let myself feel it all—the loss, the fury, the shards of my broken trust. Each song within that little device was a piece of us, a piece of Toby. And in this moment of raw vulnerability, I realized that no amount of tiramisu, free lunches, and certainly no contrived apologies could fill the space he'd left behind. But I'd carry on, with Toby's music as my guide, a melody only I could finish. Alone but unbroken.

─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

Word Count: 3475

  A/N: Ooooooh...Drama Bomb! Here's another chapter for you, lovelies! Expect chapter five real soon! I dedicate this chapter to breastittiees. Till next time, my beautiful readers!

- bbdqqce1