It's A Lot Of Work

After hours of toiling over the same tiresome documents, Amy finally puts the pen down. She’s finished. For the day, at least. She stretches back in her seat, stopping when she hears a crack. It’s not her spine, but it can’t be the chair either. When Mia found out that she’s going to do her work between the boxes and debris of the Advisors Hall, she’s ordered a complete refurbishing. Is she imagining things?

Amy pushes away from the desk, the light reflecting from its varnish making her squint and lose her balance. Why is everything so shiny, polished and expensive? Smartboards, projectors, a mood lighting console. She tries turning the lights down, but instead she makes them brighter, then red, then flickering, then music comes on from out of nowhere. It takes her a good minute to calm the rave down, after which the mood she’s left in is longing. For the time when the Advisors Hall was broken, defunct and homely.

What is she even thinking? This is great, professional and, more importantly, it’s a gift from Mia. One yes was enough to open the floodgates to an avalanche of cute little trinkets. In a way it feels odd, like she’s abusing Mia’s easy-going nature when it comes to spending. By this point, she’ll be in debt to her for a life and a couple reincarnations after the fact. With a sigh, she goes to the window, the automatic blinds failing to detect her presence. She claps, then snaps her fingers, but it’s only after the third jump that they finally draw up.

Heightist. She throws her gaze out to the green expanse of the garden. With the budget drafted and approved by Mr Astella, Hana’s gone ahead and ordered all the materials required to transform a peaceful field into a buzzing carnival. Now they’re all lying on the grass, strewn in piles and boxes, waiting to be made into Amy’s vision.

The theme she’s chosen made Edward laugh. As much as he assured her that it was wonderful, she’s held on to the same worry ever since she’s started committing details to it. What if it isn’t? In truth, she wants it to be perfect, but those are expectations she can’t live up to. She doesn’t know what perfect even means, not personally and certainly not Astella’s impossible version. All in all, she hopes the fete will live up to its name, Good enough. For her, for everyone else, but most of all, good enough to earn her an ounce of self-worth. Maybe she can use that to repay Mia –

“Boo!”

Amy whirlwinds around, screaming her lungs off. Scared, the blinds come down, hitting Amy’s head and sending her plummeting to the floor. A warm touch, however, breaks her fall. She looks up to see Mia, smirking, all amused. The mood lighting reads the room and dims, then puts on a sultry jazz riff. Amy blushes, darting to her feet. Mia goes to the console and with a button press, everything’s back to normal.

“Mia!” Amy yells, “What – what brings you here?”

“I figured I’d see the organiser in her natural habitat,” Mia says, eyes circling the room. “Looking good, the designer did a magnificent job.”

“Yeah, I feel all kinds of live-laugh-love.”

“Also, here,” Mia produces a cup from her bag.

“What is this?”

“An iced tea blend meant to be soothing and refreshing.” Mia’s smirk tightens, “You seem close to falling off the edge.”

“What?” Amy blows a raspberry, “What are you talking about, I’ve been hunky and dory.” Why did I say that?

“Are you… sure?” Mia says, turning towards Amy’s desk. Between the stacks of paper lie hidden countless Styrofoam cups smelling of sugar infused with bean juice. Mia plucks one out and takes a whiff, her pupils dilating.

“Oh, absolutely! Dad said coffee is French blood and I’ve been feeling a quart low lately, if you know what I’m saying.”

She doesn’t. Mia goes to the smartboard, zoomed in on a very detailed graph. When she pinches the image out, it reveals a gallery of crude, deranged drawings: a girl being beheaded, a spiral – tornado? – swallowing a stick figure, the words ‘I’m losing my mind, help me please’ in hieroglyphic cursive. Mia gives Amy a concerned frown.

“I was just testing the features! I’ve never had one of these things,” she says, her foot curling around the power cable. With a jerk, she yanks the plug out the socket. “Oops, must’ve run out of battery!”

“They don’t have batteries.”

“Condensers or coils or whatever, I don’t know I’m not an engineer!”

“Amy,” Mia says, suddenly in her face. Arms crossed, icy glare, mouth small and curled. Amy gulps. It’s coming. “I’m going to ask one more time. Are you okay? Remember, friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

To anyone else, these mantras might be cringeworthy and banal, but to Mia they’re her commandments. She says them so solemnly that Amy’s always left disarmed. Not because she’s holding in a laugh or because she believes in them. Rather, when she hears them, she can’t lie. Not when Mia’s so genuine.

Amy sighs, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Mia presses on every word, crossing her arms as she leans back on Amy’s desk.

“Sure I’m sure. I’ve just been having… quite a lot to work on. Planning a massive event isn’t exactly something I’m doing every day.”

“Yeah, but…” Mia says, pulling a couple papers from behind her. “Booths layouts? Tour routes? Security protocols? List of necessary special effects? These are all in your handwriting. Are you… doing everything alone?”

It’s a heartfelt question, but to Amy it’s like an accusation. She’s walking on unsteady ground and must tread carefully.

“Yes –” Mia frowns “–maybe?”

“Amy!” Mia groans, throwing the papers in the air. Quicksand. “Why? Every organiser has had help. Accountants, assistants, jeeves. Did you even talk with anyone from the four departments?”

“We do exchange the odd word and love letter,” Hana says. She knocks on the door she’s already opened and steps in with a twirl of her hair. Mia’s even changed the hinges; Amy liked them more when they creaked. “Did you get what I asked for?”

Amy’s face brightens, in realisation and grateful for an excuse to avoid Mia’s interrogation. “Yeah, one second. I think I’ve filed them away somewhere,” she says, dropping under the desk.

Even if she can’t see them, Amy’s sure they’re shooting daggers at each other. But much as she’s curious about their history and the source of their animosity, she’s got more important things on her mind right now. “Play nice, you two!” she says before losing their conversation in the noises of her rummaging frenzy.

“What did you ask for?” Mia says, voice melodious, yet strangely sharp.

“Oh, you know, boring stuff. Numbers, reports, her hand in marriage.”

“How professional of you.”

“Well, confidential is confidential,” Hana hums. “You’re not part of the committee.”

“You’re saying it as if it matters.”

“It does, to those of us bound by rules, but what would you know, Miss Astella? Why are you here?”

“Why do you care?”

“Little curiosity, little good-natured concern. For some reason I can’t imagine a noble reason why you’d be visiting the organiser.”

“She’s my friend and I’m worried about her. I’d be worried less if you’d be doing your job properly.”

“Right, right,” Hana muses, unconvinced. “My mistake, as always. Amy?”

A thud. “Ow…” Amy says, coming up to the surface. She fixes her upheaved glasses, rubs her aching head and hands Hana a neat folder, “Here you go!”

Hana opens it and takes the first paper out, giving it a cursory glance. Her smile widens, “Amy… did you check these?”

“What? Yes? No? Why, what’s wrong?”

“A… couple of things?” Hana says, sneaking a peek at Amy’s reaction. Mia shuffles closer, trying to assess the situation, but Hana circles around the desk and shoves the document in Amy’s face. Mia shoots a jealous leer Hana’s way, stopping before Hana can catch it. Her weaknesses are for Amy and no one else.

With growing disdain, she watches Hana explaining. It’s not about how close she and Amy are or how Amy’s listening to her with such care and awe. No, it’s how Amy’s ‘mistakes’ are things she would’ve had no way of knowing. Last year, the organisers have used imperial, base 12 numbers and coded language in every document. It was the only way they could get her father to sign off on their plans. Suffice to say he was surprised, but the pleasant mask he showed back then fell like a guillotine over the committee in charge the next day. Hana knows all of this.

She was on booths duty last year and the one who spearheaded the whole operation. And now, she’s wasted Amy’s time by making her extract data from those old, cryptic files. Angry as she might be, Mia holds on to her smile. Just barely; it’s hard when Amy’s constantly blinking away tears, struggling to appear together. But she can’t do anything until Hana plays her hand. And lucky for her, it doesn’t take long.

“No worries,” Hana says, snapping the folder shut. “I’ll fix these up for you.”

“What? For real?”

“Yep. And tell you what. Any other odd documents you find just send them my way and I’ll take care of them.”

“You’re… too nice. Really, I don’t wanna be a burden. You must be so busy.”

“Pot calling the kettle busy. But okay, no pressure. Just remember, I’m only a text away, okay?”

Amy brightens, like the sun after the storm. “Will do. Thanks.”

“Can I see those?” Mia asks innocently, already reaching for the folder.

“Sure,” Hana surrenders, “not much you can do with them.”

Mia flashes a smug grin, picking a pen off the table. Before Hana can wise up, Mia gets to work, converting every unit, fixing all the arithmetic, translating every codeword.

“M-Mia?” Amy asks, “What are you doing?”

“Well, since Hana’s a little in over her head, I figured I’d give you a hand. There you go,” she says, passing Amy the revised documents. She expects her to be ecstatic, much like she was when Hana made her the same offer, but all she gets in return is a bitter grimace.

“Thanks,” Amy says, “you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Friends help each other.”

Amy winces, slight enough to miss if not paying attention. But Mia can’t help noticing everything. Amy’s hiding something in those dark-set eyes, despite their joyful guise. She stares at the clock.

“Well, I guess that’s it for me. I’m off. See ya!”

“Oh, I can drive you there!” Mia offers.

“Nah, I’m fiiine! I’ve got enough caffeine in my system that I feel like I could walk home. Hehehe. But really, I think I’m going to crash any second now and I wouldn’t want you to see my corpse mug. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Amy's voice trails away. Quickly. Mia's left waving to the faraway sound of her footsteps.

Her arm falls by her side, dejected. The message was clear, Amy would rather be alone for now. Somehow, Mia knows it's her fault. She's done something wrong, something she can't for the life of her figure out. Not that Hana's scornful chuckling makes it easy.

Mia grits her teeth, “What’s so funny?” 

“Just the tragedy of a girl who can’t go one day without reminding everyone how she’s better than them. Lest she forget it herself,” Hana hums.

“You’re despicable,” Mia says, rushing out of the room before another chuckle stops her.

“Now that’s rich. But I suppose projecting is easier than accepting your own shortcomings.”

Mia takes a deep breath, steadying her nerves. That condescending tone gets her close to forgetting all the lessons in ladylike behaviour she’s had over the years. Just close. Hana’s not worth it.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk, Star. Like in the glory days.”

“I’m not here to listen to you gloat.”

“No, you’re here to answer questions. How much do you know about Amy?”

“More than you.”

“Info you get off your father’s files doesn’t count.”

Mia’s fists clench up, “I’m not like him. I’ve talked to her, asked her things. But what do you know? You've got everyone figured out, right?” She sounds defensive. She's long hated how Hana brings that part of her to light.

"Happens when you know them forever, Star."

“Why do you even care?”

Hana twirls her hair, closing the distance between them, "Because I like Amy. She's cute and strong and diligent and you will not ruin her like you did with Ellie."

"Aren't you tired of singing the same tune? Ellie's my sister. She loves me."

"But are you her sister? Do you love her?" Hana brushes past Mia, tapping her shoulder. It's a compassionate touch that she doesn't take well. She doesn't need her vile pity. 

"You know, growing up I was convinced you hated me. I spent years crying, thinking of why, until I realised you've always envied me."

Hana laughs, a loud, derisive roar, hitting Mia like a pickaxe dead in the head. "Good one," she sighs, almost exhausted. "Why would I be jealous, Star? You're a sad little girl living in a palace filled with wax figures and cold shoulders."

"Better than you. Holding grudges over things I have no control over."

"Then control them! Start with some boundaries. No means no, silence doesn't mean yes and ask for permission, so you don't have to beg for forgiveness. Folk wisdom, from pauper to princess."

Hana walks away, skipping across the tiles with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Mia wishes she'd trip, fall, break her leg, something tragic that would get rid of her, forever. Another thing she hates is how she speaks the truth. In fierce, acidic doses.

"Oh, and one more thing!" Hana adds. "Homework for you, Star. You love calling Amy your friend and much as I loathe to admit it, she's amenable to that title. But I can't help feeling like she contributes more to this than she should. It's a give and take, friendship, so I wonder... What do you have to give?"

But if there's one thing Mia hates most about Hana is how she can leave her speechless and act so heinously smug about it.