Goldridge Academy was quiet in that weird way schools always were after something big. The festival grounds were still there, half-taken down—confetti stuck in the grass, the smell of fried food clinging to the air, and posters half-ripped from the wind. Everyone was walking slower, talking louder, like the adrenaline hadn't left their system yet.
The festival had been the moment. Weeks of stress, last-minute shopping, rehearsals, drama, backstabbing (and, let's be honest, kissing behind stalls). Now came the part everyone low-key lived for: the results.
The announcement board was swarmed. Each branch had thrown everything into the competition, and the tension wasn't just student-level—it was in the staff too. Pride was currency at Goldridge, and no one wanted to come out looking second-rate.
Mabelle tugged at Zion's sleeve, pulling him forward through the crowd. She wasn't even subtle—her energy was buzzing, her hands clinging to him like she was claiming territory. Zion, of course, stayed calm, hands in his pockets, that unreadable look on his face that made Kevin's old obsession with him almost make sense.
"Don't walk like it's a funeral," Mabelle muttered, her eyes scanning the board. "This is history. We're history."
Zion just shrugged, but his eyes flicked up at the names. The list was broken down by categories—best stalls, best performances, best presentation—and then finally, the overall winner.
UK Branch.
Right there in bold black letters.
The roar from their group was instant. Mikey actually lifted Celeste into the air, spinning her around like he'd just scored the winning goal in soccer again. Even the usually calm Lyra lost her composure, jumping into Mabelle's arms for a quick squeeze before running back to her clique.
But Zion wasn't celebrating loud. He didn't need to. He just glanced over at the Swedish branch's table across the lawn, catching Dante's stormy expression. One glance, one smug half-smile, and that was enough. Everyone else could shout. Zion's silence was louder.
The Party
Later that night, the dorms were basically vibrating with energy. Goldridge didn't officially sanction "after-parties," but everyone knew what was up. Someone's Bluetooth speaker was already blasting, and neon lights were flickering through the hallways.
The exams were finally over. The festival had ended in their favor. The strict rules were still there, sure, but tonight no one cared.
Mikey was the first to dive into the madness. He wasn't drunk—rules wouldn't allow that—but he didn't need alcohol to hype the room up. He was bouncing between groups, pulling people into games, dragging Celeste around by the wrist, both of them laughing like they'd forgotten how toxic the academy could be. For once, Mikey wasn't the goofy sidekick—he was center stage, and he thrived in it.
Mabelle, on the other hand, was playing queen. Sitting on the armrest of Zion's chair, sipping soda like it was champagne, legs crossed perfectly. Boys from the other branches kept sneaking glances at her, but she didn't even acknowledge them. Her hand rested on Zion's shoulder the whole time—casual to everyone else, but deliberate enough to make sure no one forgot whose side she was on.
Zion wasn't performing for the crowd. He leaned back, quiet as usual, but Mabelle's presence made him look different. Softer. Maybe even human. People noticed, whispered, pointed. It was the first time anyone had seen Zion allow himself to belong, rather than just dominate.
Drama Underneath the Glow
Of course, not everything was chill. Rumors from the festival still lingered—hookups between branches, fights that almost broke out, suspicions of cheating in the competitions. Even with the celebrations, there was an undercurrent.
Elias from the Swedish branch was sulking in the corner, pretending to check his phone, while some of the US girls gossiped loudly about who kissed who behind the presentation tents. Someone had already started a group chat thread about "cross-branch secrets," and it was blowing up with screenshots, blurry pics, and half-true stories.
And then there was Kevin.
Not present. Not invited. His name wasn't mentioned, but everyone felt his absence. Like a shadow in the corner no one wanted to talk about but couldn't completely forget.
Quiet Moments
Amidst the chaos, Zion and Mabelle slipped away to the balcony overlooking the academy's courtyard. The music was faint here, the night air sharp with the scent of autumn leaves.
"You realize," Mabelle said, leaning against the railing, "we're basically untouchable now."
Zion raised an eyebrow. "Untouchable?"
"You know what I mean. Festival winners. Exams behind us. Everyone else is scrambling to keep up while we're… us."
Zion looked at her, his usual unreadable mask cracking just slightly. "That's dangerous thinking."
Mabelle smirked. "Maybe. But isn't danger what makes this fun?"
For a moment, it wasn't about rivalries, rankings, or the endless drama of Goldridge. It was just the two of them, the air heavy with something unspoken, something that made the night feel like it was balanced on the edge of change.
The Night Ends
Back inside, Mikey had finally crashed onto a beanbag, laughing at something Celeste whispered into his ear. The crowd was thinning, people heading back to their rooms, drained but buzzing.
Goldridge Academy had just survived another storm—festival drama, exams, all of it—and somehow, the UK branch came out on top.
But everyone knew it: this wasn't the end.
The rivalries weren't gone. The secrets weren't buried. And with Kevin lurking somewhere out there, plotting his return, the victory tasted just a little bit like borrowed time.