Miss Mel smiled warmly as the trio clutched their flaky croissants. "Thank you, Miss Mel," Melania mumbled through a mouthful, her tone shy yet earnest. "You really didn't have to do all this…"
"Yeah, seriously," chimed in Tony, Elsa's boisterous friend, crumbs cascading down his shirt as he grabbed his third pastry. "Ugh, I wish you were my mom! I'm in heaven."
Miss Mel waved a dismissive hand, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her pride. "Oh, hush! I'm just glad you're here to share Elsa's morning. She usually sleeps through my attempts to wake her for school."
"With a breakfast like this, I'd be up an hour early every day! Even on weekends," Tony declared, mouth half-full as he turned to Miss Mel. "Listen to your mom, Elsa! And Miss Mel—I taste the French side of you in these pastries, but without the pretentiousness. Oh là là—these have a certain je ne sais quoi! You've got a golden touch. Seriously, you should open your own breakfast restaurant!"
"Stop sucking up, Tony," Elsa muttered. "She'll force-feed you until you explode."
"Why are you so rude to your mother?" Melania whispered, shielding her chewing mouth with a hand.
Elsa rolled her eyes. "Maybe if she didn't poison my dog, I'd trust her food more."
Tony and Melania stopped chewing and glanced at Elsa's mother, wide eyed with concern.
"She fed him croissants, and they're bad for dogs!"
Miss Mel's smile faltered as she scooped up Baxter, the golden retriever snoozing at her feet. "How was I supposed to know chocolate's toxic for him?" she protested, nuzzling his head. "He sits there with those big, begging eyes! It's not my fault he's a master manipulator."
"You should know better than a dog," Elsa shot back. "They have the intelligence of a four-year-old."
Miss Mel frowned, then covered the dog's large ears with her hands, as if trying to shield him from the insult. "He's smart enough to come running whenever I call him, unlike someone else who never listens."
"I'd come running from miles away for you, Miss Mel!" Tony grinned, crumbs spraying as he resumed eating after being reassured they were edible.
"He'd follow the scent of butter and sugar," Melania teased, poking Tony's bulging stomach.
Elsa shoved the half-eaten croissant fully into Tony's mouth to gag him. "Let's go. We're already late for class," she said, hoisting her backpack onto one shoulder as he protested.
When Miss Mel asked, "Who's helping me clean up?" Tony swallowed hastily and grabbed another pastry. "Sorry, Miss—can't stay. But I'd lick these plates spotless otherwise!"
Elsa groaned, pushing him toward the door. "How heavy are you? Like shoving a boulder uphill."
"You're just a weak little girl," Tony retorted, laughing.
Elsa looked at Melania for backup, but she shrugged. "Don't look at me. He might have a point. You should've seen how Jake lifted him in wrestling class and slammed him on the ground. Almost caused an earthquake in the stands."
Tony's laughter died down. "I swallowed my pride" he said as he grabbed his stomach. "Only to let him get a grip so he could impress you," he continued, puffing out his stomach back out.
Melania turned and looked at him seriously, her honey-brown eyes shining in the light between countless freckles. "Helping him impress me? Why? Did he say something about me to you?"
Elsa, unamused by the idea of Jake having an interest in Melania, interrupted. "Why have I never seen you date anyone, Tony?"
"You know I'm waiting for that special someone," Tony said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Someone thin enough to not break the bed when you're together?" Melania quipped.
"I'm a diamond in the rough, baby," Tony replied.
"You should lose a couple hundred pounds so they wouldn't have to dig through all that fat to find it," Elsa teased.
"I blame your mother's croissants. They've bloated me," Tony said, patting his belly.
The two girls stopped and turned to look at him, then at each other, stifling laughter.
"No, I'd just travel to a country where they see obesity as beauty," Tony declared. "I'm not joking, I've seen a documentary about it."
"Who'd see being fat as beautiful?" Melania asked.
"Starving people," Tony said.
"Always the charmer," Elsa added.
"They'd make me their leader, thinking I can find food for them," Tony said confidently.
"What if they decide to eat you instead? You'd feed their village for a full year." Elsa exclaimed, sending the two girls into fits of laughter. Even Tony chuckled, though he shook his head in mock offense.
"Stop playing around, guys. Jake told me we have to pick him up on Fourth Street."
"What? Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Elsa snapped, punching Tony's arm with her sleeve-covered palm. "We're gonna be late for class."
"Not like your grades can sink any lower. You've drowned to the bottom from the first semester," Tony retorted.
"Stop being an insensitive jerk!" Melania said, pulling Elsa into a side hug.
"It's a quick detour. Quit nagging," Tony replied, shrugging. "Look, you guys head straight to school. I'll grab Jake and catch up later if you're so scared of being late."
"No," Elsa insisted. "We'll go with you. Knowing Jake, he'd take it personally if I didn't show up."
"Doubt he cares—" Tony winced as Elsa slapped his arm again. "Ow! Would you quit that?"
They walked beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient olive tree, passing a weathered Italian restaurant with red-and-white-striped awnings and a chalkboard sign advertising the day's special. Melania sighed. "Days like this make me wish we didn't have school. It's depressing—we could go anywhere, but we're stuck following the same cracked pavement to the same boring building."
"Where *would* you go, then?" Tony asked.
"The beach, maybe."
"With that white complexion of yours? You'd crisp like bacon," Tony teased, pinching her pale arm. "Where's your melanin, Melania?"
"Oh I can handle the heat," Melania said. "But I'd be worried i might awaken your appetite bacon boy."
"It's not about the destination," Elsa cut in. "She means we should get to choose—no schedules, no rules."
"You'd be like a dodo bird," Tony continued. "Sure, they avoided predators and didn't need to fly to survive. But when they were allowed to roam their little paradise, they got lazy. Without any reason to fly, they lost the ability altogether."
"Getting deep before sunrise, Tony?" Elsa yawned. "Save the TED Talk."
"Just saying—freetime is useless without purpose. Dodos turned into flightless birds."
"Yeah because they got too fat, like you" Elsa muttered.
Tony grinned, walking in front of them. "You're hopeless."
"Isn't that Jake over there?" Melania interrupted. Elsa's gaze snapped to where Melania pointed, her breath catching as she spotted Jake leaning toward a petite girl, his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.
His posture was tense as he leaned forward, his arm resting on the wall, brows furrowed as if negotiating a secret pact, while the girl clutched her papers to her chest like a shield.
Elsa's cheeks burned, her throat tightening. *Who is she? What could they possibly be discussing so intently?* Jake had always drawn admirers from the girls at school, his obliviousness to their flirtations both endearing and maddening. But this girl—her wide, pleading eyes, the nervous bite of her lip—seemed different. Bolder. *Had she confessed her feelings outright?*
A sour taste rose in Elsa's throat. *That should've been me.* The thought clawed at her. She'd replayed the moment a thousand times: stepping closer, brushing his hand, letting her own fragile truth spill out. But fear had always won. Fear of shattering their childhood bond, of being rejected in a humiliating way.
Now it was too late. Jake's sharp, stubbly jawline tensed as he spoke, his voice a low murmur lost beneath the theater's entrance chatter. Elsa couldn't make out the words he was saying.
The girl tilted her head, hope flickering across her face like sunlight through storm clouds. Elsa's nails dug into her palms beneath her sleeves.
"Why are you frozen?" Tony's voice jolted her back. He arched an eyebrow. "Thought we were already late?"
Elsa blinked, her heart thrashing. *Coward,* she chided herself. *Hide behind Tony like always. Stay invisible. That's where you'll always be.* But something brittle inside her snapped. "Actually," she said, straightening, "you are right, he's obviously busy so let's move."
"Isn't that Monica, the actress?" Melania interjected, leaning closer to the group. "She played Juliet in a theater production last summer for my brother's class. Didn't you see it?"
Tony squinted across the courtyard, his tone dry. "Hard *not* to recognize her with those blonde curls and that thin upper lip. Haven't you heard? She and Jake landed the leads in Zikorki's new play."
Melania clasped her hands, her voice rising with excitement. "OMG, I *love* Zikorki's work! His romantic scenes are breathtaking—I've binge-watched every play he's directed since I was fifteen!"
"Calm down, you're only eighteen and he produces only one play a year," Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Funny, though… They seem chummy here, considering their characters in the play are practically—"
"Enough!" Elsa snapped, cutting him off. Her nails dug into her backpack straps as she glared at Jake and Monica, who stood oblivious near the theater's entrance. "Will they *ever* stop talking? He hasn't even glanced our way since we got here!"
Tony smirked, ignoring her irritation. "God, I'd kill to meet Monica. That woman oozes drama even offstage." He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Hey, Jake! Over here!"
Jake flicked a distracted glance toward them but quickly turned back to Monica, whose hand was resting on her front. Her usual poise had frayed; her laughter sounded strained, her gestures sharp and erratic.
"They're definitely talking about something important," Melania murmured, frowning. "Look at her—she's practically trembling with emotions. I've never seen her this worked up, not even during *Romeo and Juliet*'s passionate scenes. Maybe we shouldn't interrupt…"
Elsa huffed, already marching forward. "Life isn't one of your precious plays, Mel. We're late for class." As she closed the distance, fragments of Jake and Monica's conversation sharpened into focus:
"I can't ignore my feelings for you any longer…" Monica's voice trembled.
Jake shifted uncomfortably. "But love… It's hard to..."
Monica pressed a hand to her chest. "It was hard admitting this. I can't keep living a lie—"
"Neither can I," Jake cut in, his tone flat.
Elsa froze, her body rigid as the words sank in. She willed herself not to scream, not to cry—*especially* not in front of him. Her feet felt frozen, but she forced herself closer, jaw clenched against the sting in her throat.
Jake turned, flashing her a smile that once made her pulse race. Monica, however, glared daggers. "Can't you see we're busy?" she snapped, whirling back to Jake. "I need an answer. *Now.*"
Jake's smile hardened. "Monica… I'm not as good an actor as you think. The only reason I'm here is to avoid detention. And those things I do to you in the play?" He leaned in, coldly deliberate. "I'm not *pretending*. I'd *enjoy* every second."
Monica recoiled, lips parting in disbelief. She searched his face for a flicker of humor, but found none. Her composure crumbled—hands shaking, eyes glistening—before she spun away.
"You should go," Jake said flatly.
"Don't *touch* me! Asshole!" Monica hissed, fleeing down the road, fists clenched to hide her tears.
Elsa stared after her. "What… was that?"
Jake ducked his head, shoulders quivering with suppressed laughter. "What's up, little strawberry cake?" he teased, invoking the nickname Elsa's mother's bakery had cursed her with. Normally, it turned her cheeks oven-hot, but today she crossed her arms.
"Explain. Now."
He sighed, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked. "She wouldn't take a hint. Figured I'd creep her away."
"But you told her you *meant* all that… stuff from the play! Isn't it a romance?"
"Romance?" Jake barked a laugh. "It's the Halloween show. I play a serial killer who stalks her character. My big scene? Chasing her with this knife."
Elsa gagged. "And she *still* fell for you? While all your interactions were you acting as her killer?"
"Some women are into that maybe." He shrugged.
"Or *you*," Elsa muttered. "maybe it's you they can't resist."
"Don't be gross," he snorted, nudging her. "Wanna see the knife?"
"The one that was inside *Monica* ? Pass."
Jake grinned, wiping the knife he took out of his pocket on her sleeve. She shoved him, laughter dissolving her tension.
"Hey! Slow down!" Tony wheezed, jogging to catch up, Melania ambling gracefully behind.
"Where's my future wife gone?" Tony gasped, doubling over.
"Jake broke her heart," Elsa said, too innocently. "She's probably sobbing in some dirty bathroom."
"I was just being honest," Jake said, his hands in his pockets as he leaned against Elsa. "If people think it's okay to dump their messy emotions on me, I'll return the favor with my *honest* thoughts about *them*."
Elsa's throat tightened. *That could've been me*, she realized, imagining herself in Monica's place—confessing feelings only to be dissected by Jake's bluntness. "I still don't get what she sees in you," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Maybe she was just trying to seduce you to go for your tool."
Elsa's cheeks flared red as she looked down and noticed Jake had both hands in his pockets. "The *weapon*, idiot! The—ugh, you know what I mean!" She dragged a hand over her face, her voice shriveling. "Forget it."
Jake barked a laugh, snatching her wrist to ruffle her tangled hair away from her face. "Relax, red. You're the one that looks like you got hunted by a serial killer from the news."
"*Shit*." Elsa bolted to the nearest car window, squinting at her reflection. Of *course* she'd forgotten to brush her hair this morning. "Melania, why didn't you *say* something?" she hissed.
Melania blinked innocently. "I thought this was your… *everyday aesthetic*." She gestured vaguely at Elsa's head. "You've got that… feral Viking thing going."
Elsa groaned. The window mirrored back a chaos of dirt-blonde curls framing her squarish face— her deep-set blue eyes narrowed against the sun behind her high set, prominent cheeks. People called her "striking," never "pretty." *Untamed*, they said, like a woman from prehistoric times.
Jake hovered behind her, pantomiming hairdresser motions. "No, no—swoop it left. Twist it into a sailboat knot! C'mon, balance it better. Abit more to the right before you fall to the other side!"
"Keep laughing, idiot" Elsa snapped, yanking her hair into a furious fist. "I'll strangle you with this rope and *then* we'll see who's—"
Her threat died as the car window hissed open.
A stranger stared back at her—a man dressed in a police uniform was in the driver's seat, unamused, his coffee paused midway to his lips.
"Oh my God. *Sir*. I'm—I'm so sorry—Don't arrest me, I was only joking." Elsa stammered, lurching backward as Jake and Melania crumpled against the sidewalk, howling.
"Stop teasing girls jake, be nice." The moustached officer ordered.
"Who? Me? I'm the sweetest boy in town." Jake responded with a devilish grin.
Suddenly, the police car radio crackled to life, interrupting their brief discussion.
"10-96 – Reports of screams. Check the mental health division of Britton Hospital on Fourth Street."
The officer glanced at the group and sighed. "You kids might want to take a different route to school today." He started his car.
"Some lunatics on the loose," Tony muttered before turning to the others. "Monica might be in danger. I should save her! She'd have to fall in love with me then."
Elsa raised her eyebrows. "What if she's the one being reported screaming? What if she became crazy after Jake rejected her?"
Jake let out a nervous laugh. "No way… right?"
"It's possible," Melania said. "You never mess with a woman's heart."
A few feet ahead, just around the corner, Monica was storming down the sidewalk, her heels clacking. Warm tears blurred her vision, but she refused to wipe them. *That cocky asshole. Who does he think he is?* She'd never cried over a man before—why start now? Men usually tripped over themselves to please *her*.
She was the star of every play, the magnetic force in every room—yet their admiration felt hollow, a symphony of applause for the character she played, not the person she truly was.
No one had truly ever seen her without the mask of performance...then came Jake. With his honest stare, he'd stripped away the layers of her carefully crafted persona, leaving her feeling naked, exposed to a judgment that never came. Worse still, he seemed…*bored*??
His indifference became an obsession, reflecting her desperate craving for his approval. A craving that disgusted her.
It hadn't always been this way. During rehearsals, he'd been all sly grins and playful banter, unfazed by her icy defenses. He'd laughed off her sharp retorts, disarmed her with wit, and—damn him—even made her laugh despite herself a couple of times.
Slowly, he'd chipped away at the armor she wore like a second skin. But the moment she started becoming too close to him, the moment her walls began to crumble, his interest vanished. Now he treated her like someone he'd rather avoid, and it was *maddening*.
But today? Today, his indifference had curdled into something colder. *What changed?* Her nails bit into her palms as the memory of their argument clawed at her. *That woman.* The one with the wild eyes and careless look, who'd leaned into Jake's space like she owned him. *He was defending her. Of course he did.*
*Will he even show up tonight?* She gnawed her lip, feeling her heart beating faster. *I should've let Principal Harris bury him in detention. Serves him right for—*
**"Oof!"**
She collided with a solid figure, stumbling back. A man steadied her, his grip clinical and cool. He wore scrubs beneath a tailored coat, a surgical mask covering half his face. Round wire glasses framed steel-gray eyes that scanned her like a specimen.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, hugging her elbows. "I wasn't paying attention."
"No harm done." His voice was a velvet rumble, at odds with his icy stare. He adjusted his mask, then gestured to a sleek black suitcase at his feet. "Might you assist me? I'm late for a procedure, but I've forgotten my spare scalpel set in the car."
Monica hesitated. The suitcase gleamed faintly, its latches etched with an unfamiliar symbol—a serpent with two heads facing opposite sides.
"Just to the hospital's back entrance." He said as he removed his mask, letting it dangle from one ear as he flashed a smile too white, too perfect. "Surgeons avoid the main lobby. Less… *distractions*."
"Sure," she said, against her better judgment. The alley he pointed to was narrow and dirty, its walls streaked with red bricks. She hoisted the suitcase—*heavier than expected*—and stepped into the tight area.
Footsteps echoed behind her. The doctor's voice drifted from the mouth of the alley. "Quickly, now. Lives depend on it."
Her pulse quickened as she reached a rusted door labeled *MORGUE – AUTHORIZED ONLY*. The suitcase handle bit into her palm. Then she heard it: a muffled moaning noise, high and pleading, resounding through the hospital's alley—as if it were a woman regaining consciousness only to choke desperately against gags.
In her panic, Monica fumbled the briefcase. Surgical instruments clattered across the rain-slicked pavement, gleaming under the first rays of morning light. She bent down hastily, scrambling to collect them, her breath hitching as the surgeon's footsteps echoed behind her. Slow. Precise. Each tap of his polished shoes struck like a metronome counting down.
"What do I do?" she hissed through clenched teeth, arranging sterile forceps and scalpels on a garbage bin with trembling hands. *Act normal. Breathe.*
*There must be a kidnapper here. What if it's him?* Her gaze flicked to the surgeon's shadow, elongated and imposing on the asphalt. *Trust him or run. Choose. Now. Oh God, where are the voices coming from??*
Her muscles tensed, yet her boots clung to the ground as if bolted there. Surgeons saved lives. It couldn't be him, there's something strange going on here. She need to inform him. The thought calcified in her mind. When she finally dared to raise her head, she noticed that she couldn't hear footsteps no more.
She started turning around to see—only to feel latex fingers clawing at her face, tearing into her skin!
The Cold white gloves smothered her scream, reeking of antiseptic and the cloying sweetness of chloroform. Monica's elbows jabbed backward, fists thrashing against the arm around her throat, but every desperate inhale dragged her deeper into the fog.
Her eyes began to open and close unwillingly.
The alley warped—brick walls bleeding into the surgeon's masked face. The last thing she saw was this hollow-eyed psychopath leering down at her fainting body with morbid fascination.