The news spread across Goldridge Academy like wildfire: the International Festival was only a week away. It wasn't just any festival — it was the kind that would draw in parents, benefactors, and influencers. It was an exhibition, a competition, and a performance all rolled into one. Each branch—UK, US, and Sweden—would have its moment to shine.
The halls buzzed with the sound of money. Parents, guardians, and alumni opened their wallets, donations flooding in like it was a political campaign. Rumor said that one UK parent had dropped enough to fund an entire wing of stalls. The US branch countered with a celebrity parent sponsorship. Sweden, not to be outdone, promised something "culturally unforgettable."
And yet, not everyone got to be part of the preparation.
Selection
When the lists came out, Zion's name wasn't on them. He shrugged it off with that same nonchalant air, but Mabelle noticed. She, however, was chosen—right at the top of the UK roster.
Her job? Coordinate.
It wasn't glamorous. It meant schedules, item checklists, handling both egos and budgets. Still, Mabelle stepped into the role with the same calm authority that made people trust her.
"I don't care if you're shopping for lanterns or twelve crates of soda," she told her peers, "just don't make me chase after you. Send me receipts. Keep it neat."
The group groaned, but no one argued.
Independent Missions
Each branch decided to shop separately. No unit shopping trips—no mingling in one neat group. Instead, everyone scattered like rival sports teams, each with their own list.
The UK Branch: Mabelle headed out with Celeste, Mikey, and a few others. She was focused, her eyes darting between colorful fabric stalls, spice markets, and bookstores. Celeste lingered over hand-painted masks, while Mikey got lost at a food stand, arguing over which fried snacks would sell best. Mabelle dragged them both back, exasperated but laughing.
The US Branch: Amara took charge, clipboard in hand, walking like she owned the streets of Stockholm. Jonah carried bags behind her like her personal assistant, while Lila darted off to negotiate discounts with surprising charm. Their style was bold—red banners, flashy lights, everything screaming "bigger is better."
The Sweden Branch: Elias led his team with cool precision. They focused on authenticity, hitting traditional craft stores, bakeries, and textile shops. Their supplies looked less like carnival goods and more like museum pieces. "We'll impress them with elegance, not noise," Elias said, holding up a carved wooden emblem.
Mabelle in the Middle
Between phone calls, receipts, and a group chat that wouldn't stop buzzing, Mabelle barely had time to breathe.
But she noticed something. Shopping individually wasn't stopping the mingling—it was encouraging it.
Celeste struck up a conversation with Elias at a lantern stall, her laughter spilling into the street. Mikey somehow ended up sharing a snack with Sofia from Sweden. Even Amara, usually too focused to blink, paused to compliment a UK student's choice of music for their booth.
Mabelle smirked. The branches were enemies on paper—but reality was messier, softer.
Back at the Academy
Those not chosen to shop stayed behind. Zion was among them. While others teased or complained, Zion leaned against the railing of the academy's grand staircase, watching the comings and goings like a king unbothered by his absence.
"Why stress over costumes and props," he said to a classmate, "when you know you'll still outshine everyone on the actual day?"
It wasn't arrogance. It was just… Zion.
The students left behind rehearsed presentations, argued over stall layouts, and tested food samples. A few even turned their "free time" into clandestine hangouts—gossip, late-night practice, whispered secrets in dorm corridors.
The Big Picture
By the end of the week, receipts piled high in Mabelle's binder. Bags and crates lined the dormitory halls. Costumes were pressed, supplies stacked, plans checked twice.
The UK branch's corner smelled like cinnamon and fresh fabric.The US branch's looked like a carnival in the making.The Swedish branch's gleamed with handcrafted pride.
And yet, under the laughter and chatter, a quiet tension hummed:Who would steal the spotlight?Who would crack under pressure?And who would make the festival theirs?
As Mabelle closed her binder, her phone buzzed with a message from Zion:
Don't stress too much, Carter. The festival won't know what hit it.
She smiled to herself, tucking the phone away. Tomorrow, the calm would shatter.