16 School Festival Frenzy

The sun hung high over Bangkok Horizons Academy, its rays bouncing off the vibrant banners strung across the courtyard. Excitement buzzed through the air as students scrambled to finalize their contributions to the annual school festival. Booths were being set up, rehearsals were in full swing, and the scent of fresh paint and sawdust from last-minute decorations filled the corridors. 

The school grounds buzzed with excitement as students prepared for the annual festival. Posters were plastered across bulletin boards, colorful banners waved in the breeze, and committees bustled around, setting up stalls and finalizing event schedules. 

Kamon wandered through the courtyard, eyes wide with anticipation. This was her first festival at this school, and she was determined to make the most of it. 

She passed a group of students rehearsing a dance routine, their synchronized movements crisp and fluid. Nearby, another group painted a giant banner, splattering more paint on themselves than on the canvas. 

Kamon weaved through the crowd, clutching a crumpled registration form. After weeks of trying to find her place, she had impulsively signed up for something—she just couldn't remember what. 

"Kamon! There you are!" 

She turned to see Prem jogging toward her, waving a sign-up sheet. 

"They need more volunteers for festival activities," Prem explained, slightly out of breath. "You should sign up for something!" 

Kamon hesitated. "I don't know… Most of the good spots are probably taken." 

Prem grinned. "That's the fun part—trying something new." 

Before she could protest, a voice boomed over the speakers: 

"All students interested in participating in the festival competitions, please gather in the auditorium now!" 

Prem's eyes sparkled. "Let's go!" 

Before Kamon could object, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the auditorium. 

The auditorium was packed. Students filled the seats, excitedly whispering about the competitions. 

A teacher stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. "We have a variety of events this year, from music and dance performances to sports and culinary contests. If you're interested, come forward and sign your name!" 

The students surged toward the sign-up sheets, jostling for the best spots. 

Kamon stood on her toes, trying to see the options. 

"Ooh, look!" Prem pointed. "A cooking competition!" 

Kamon grimaced. "Absolutely not. I can barely fry an egg." 

But before she could escape, a teacher standing nearby clapped her hands. "Great! We need more students for the cooking event. You there!" 

Kamon turned, hoping the teacher was pointing at someone else. 

She wasn't. 

"You'll do it, right?" the teacher asked, already scribbling down her name. 

Kamon's eyes widened in horror. "Wait, what—" 

"Excellent! Next!" 

She gaped at Prem, who was wheezing with laughter. 

"Prem," she hissed. "I'm going to die." 

He patted her shoulder. "Just don't burn the school down." 

"Hey, Kamon!" Supaporn called out, appearing beside her with an easy grin. "Heard you signed up for the cooking competition." 

Kamon's stomach dropped. "The what?" 

Supaporn blinked. "You… don't know what you signed up for?" 

Kamon groaned, unfolding the form. There it was, in clear ink: Cooking Competition - Participant. 

"Brilliant," she muttered. 

Supaporn chuckled. "You can cook, right?" 

Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut through the chatter. 

"Of course she can't," Patcha sneered, appearing with her arms crossed. "Probably signed up thinking it was a taste-testing contest." 

Kamon gritted her teeth. "For your information, I know how to cook." 

Patcha raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I look forward to seeing what culinary masterpiece you produce, then." 

The late afternoon sun cast golden hues over the rooftops as Kamon trudged home from school, her bag feeling heavier than usual. The moment she stepped through the front door, the familiar aroma of freshly cooked rice hit her nostrils, making her stomach grumble. 

She didn't waste time. She dumped her schoolbag onto the floor, washed her hands at the kitchen sink, and sat down at the dining table, eyeing the steaming plates of food. 

Her mother peeked out from the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. "You're eating before everyone else again?" 

Kamon, already stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth, nodded shamelessly. "Mm-hmm. Got places to be." 

Her younger brother, who had just walked in, snorted. "You're such a traitor." 

Ignoring him, Kamon chewed quickly, savoring the meal. When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up. "Alright, I'm off!" 

Her mother looked suspicious. "Where exactly are you going?" 

"Market run with Supaporn, Thanwa, and Chanon," Kamon said nonchalantly. "We need ingredients for cooking class tomorrow." 

Her mother sighed. "Just don't come back with unnecessary junk." 

"Me? Never," Kamon said, already making her way to the door. 

Outside, Supaporn stood at the gate, arms crossed. "Took you long enough." 

"Excuse me, some of us have responsibilities, like eating," Kamon shot back. 

Just then, Thanwa walked up, looking relaxed as ever. "You two done bickering, or should I come back in an hour?" 

Kamon rolled her eyes. "Let's go before it gets too dark." 

The three of them made their way to the local market, which was already bustling with vendors calling out prices, customers haggling, and the rich scent of spices and fresh produce filling the air. 

At the entrance, Chanon was waiting, leaning against a fruit stall. "Took you long enough," he said with a smirk. 

"Sorry," Kamon said. "Some of us have lives." 

Chanon laughed. "Sure, sure. Let's get this over with before we get lost in here." 

The market was a chaotic mix of sounds and colors. Vendors yelled out their deals, customers squeezed past one another, and the occasional stray cat darted between stalls. The group moved through the crowd, dodging carts and stray chickens. 

"Alright," Supaporn said, pulling out a crumpled shopping list. "We need coconut milk, chicken, curry paste, and vegetables." 

Kamon glanced at the stalls. "I vote we start with the easiest thing: coconut milk." 

The first stall they approached was run by an elderly woman with a sharp eye for hesitant customers. Supaporn stepped forward. "How much for a bottle of coconut milk?" 

"Forty baht," the vendor said. 

Kamon frowned. "Thirty-five?" 

The woman crossed her arms. "Forty." 

Chanon leaned in, smiling. "What if we buy two bottles?" 

The woman squinted at him before finally sighing. "Fine, thirty-five each." 

Kamon high-fived Chanon. "Smooth." 

Next was the chicken. They found a butcher who was chopping up pieces of fresh poultry. Thanwa, ever the responsible one, took charge. "We need about a kilo of chicken breast." 

The butcher nodded, weighing the meat. "One hundred baht." 

Kamon gasped dramatically. "We're students! Have mercy!" 

The butcher chuckled but shook his head. "Ninety is my final offer." 

Supaporn sighed. "Fine, fine, take it before Kamon embarrasses us further." 

They moved on to the vegetable stalls, picking up onions, garlic, and lemongrass. 

At the curry paste stall, a particularly loud vendor greeted them with an enthusiastic smile. "You want spicy or mild?" 

Chanon nudged Kamon. "She can barely handle pepper. Get mild." 

Kamon scowled. "I can handle spice!" 

Thanwa raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? You still cry when you eat spicy noodles." 

Supaporn covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. 

Kamon huffed. "Fine. Mild it is." 

After some final bargaining, they gathered their bags, feeling victorious. "Alright, school kitchen time," Supaporn announced. 

As they left the market, Kamon sighed dramatically. "I swear, if our teacher doesn't give us extra credit for this, I'm never cooking again." 

Chanon laughed. "Sure, sure. Now let's get to work before we starve." 

With that, they headed off, the chaotic energy of the market still ringing in their ears. 

The first practice session was held in the school's makeshift outdoor kitchen, complete with portable stoves and ingredients sourced from local markets. Kamon, armed with determination and absolutely zero skill, approached her station. 

Half an hour later, a plume of smoke curled into the sky. 

"Uh, Kamon?" Supaporn coughed, fanning her face. "Are you cooking… or performing a fire ritual?" 

Kamon yelped, rushing to douse the flames that had erupted from her pan. Across the yard, Patcha cackled, effortlessly plating her dish with 

obnoxious precision. 

"You could always drop out," she suggested smugly. 

Kamon set her jaw. She wouldn't give Patcha the satisfaction. But as she stared at her charred disaster of a meal, doubt crept in. 

That evening, Kamon sat in the dormitory, poking at a bowl of instant noodles. Maybe she should quit. She had never been the type to care about cooking, and now she had willingly thrown herself into a competition against someone who thrived on making her look foolish. 

A tray slid onto the table in front of her. She looked up to see Chanon, the quiet yet reliable classmate known for his impressive culinary skills. 

"You look miserable," he observed. 

"Sharp eye." 

Chanon smirked. "You're burning everything, aren't you?" 

Kamon sighed. "It's like a natural talent." 

Chanon leaned forward. "Want me to teach you something simple? My grandmother's recipe. It's easy, but it always impresses people." 

Hope flickered in Kamon's chest. "Are you serious?" 

Chanon nodded. "Meet me in the school kitchen after dinner." 

That night, under the dim glow of the dormitory's communal kitchen, Chanon guided Kamon through his family's recipe—a simple but flavorful dish that required more patience than skill. 

By the end of the session, Kamon had created something edible. More than that, she had enjoyed the process. 

Maybe she could do this. 

The following day, Kamon's class was taken to a local farm to source ingredients for the competition. 

The air smelled of fresh earth and greenery. Chickens clucked in the distance, and a row of cows lazily flicked their tails in the midday sun. 

The students were given tasks - harvesting vegetables, collecting eggs, and gathering grain. 

At first, everything went smoothly. 

Until someone (no one knew exactly who) threw a handful of grain at another student. 

It was supposed to be a joke. 

It escalated rapidly. 

Within minutes, a full-fledged grain war had erupted. 

"Incoming!" someone yelled as a handful of straw whizzed past Kamon's head. 

"Ceasefire!" another voice shouted—right before being hit in the face with a bundle of wheat. 

Kamon ducked as students ran past, shrieking with laughter. She barely had time to react before— 

THWAP. 

A cloud of grain exploded around her. 

"Who did that?!" she coughed, brushing wheat from her hair. 

A few feet away, Supaporn and Thanwa stood, both looking suspiciously innocent. 

Thanwa adjusted his glasses. "You must be imagining things." 

Kamon narrowed her eyes. "Really? And I suppose you two are just figments of my imagination?" 

Supaporn grinned. "That would explain why we're so good-looking." 

Before Kamon could throw a handful of grain at them, the teacher finally

intervened. 

"Enough!" she shouted. "Unless you want to spend the rest of the day cleaning the animal pens, stop this nonsense!" 

The grain war ended immediately. 

That evening, Kamon attempted to practice for the cooking competition in the school's home economics room. 

It did not go well. 

"Why is it burning?!" she shrieked, waving a towel in a desperate attempt to fan out the smoke. 

Prem, covering his nose, coughed. "I think you added too much oil." 

Thanwa inspected the charred mess. "Or too much fire." 

The smell of disaster filled the room. 

Kamon groaned, dropping her head onto the counter. "I can't do this. I should just drop out." 

Supaporn patted her back. "That's the spirit!" 

Thanwa raised an eyebrow. "I think you mean 'don't give up.'" 

"That's what I said," Supaporn said cheerfully. 

Kamon groaned louder. 

Just when she was about to give up entirely, Chanon approached her after class the next day. 

"I heard you're in the cooking competition," he said. 

Kamon sighed. "Against my will." 

Chanon chuckled. "You don't need to be a master chef. You just need a simple, foolproof recipe." 

He handed her a small, handwritten note. 

"This is my grandmother's recipe for coconut chicken curry. It's easy, and if you follow it, you won't burn anything." 

Kamon hesitated before taking the paper. "Are you sure?" 

Chanon smiled. "Trust me. You'll do great." 

Kamon studied the recipe. Simple ingredients, easy steps. Maybe—just maybe—she could pull this off. 

That evening, Kamon tried the recipe. 

To her absolute shock, it actually turned out delicious. 

She took a hesitant bite—then gasped. 

"This is amazing." 

Even Supaporn, who had been bracing herself for disaster, blinked in surprise. "Wow. It actually tastes good." 

Thanwa nodded. "Miraculous." 

Kamon grinned. 

For the first time, she felt confident. 

She could do this. 

The festival was coming.