"What on Earth do you need, Z-zilla?" I blurted out, my voice tinged with a mix of surprise and confusion, as if I'd stumbled into a realm of bewilderment.
Wait, was I about to be entangled in a puzzling whirlwind of chaos? I asked myself, a shiver running down my spine as my brow furrowed in response to the sudden twist of events.
Racking my memory, I recounted the time when Dr. Roberts welcomed me into his care, and I couldn't help but link those moments to Zilla's inexplicable appearances. It was Zilla who emerged like a savior when I found myself drowning in the ocean's embrace. Then there was the elevator fiasco during my fifth grade, and a slew of other mishaps where Zilla appeared out of nowhere, as if popping up in the nick of time was his favorite party trick.
As if his ability to appear out of thin air wasn't uncanny enough, here he was again. I pondered if his recurring appearances were connected to some covert mission only decipherable by his peculiar crown. The suddenness of his arrival, however, suggested that a new whirlwind of weirdness was about to unfold.
His gaze bore into me, leaving me feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, or worse, like I'd walked into the Twilight Zone without my map. I tried to compose myself, and just as I was about to ask a million questions, the thought struck me: Could I possibly be stepping into the quicksand of trouble? My forehead wrinkled, resembling a furrowed jigsaw puzzle piece.
"Hey, so, like, is this the part where things get all heebie-jeebies and mysterious?" I mumbled under my breath, half expecting a chorus of ominous music to kick in.
Zilla maintained his enigmatic stance, as if daring me to uncover the riddle hidden beneath his theatrical appearance. He glided closer, his hand extending in a dramatic fashion, palm open like a magician revealing an ace up his sleeve. "Kiera, give me the ruby crown," his voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried a sense of urgency that was oddly compelling.
Now I was thoroughly caught in the web of bewilderment. Was I supposed to hand over the crown, despite the Light Order's strict code of "no-show-and-tell" when it came to the inscriptions? Zilla's cryptic appearance had me second-guessing everything, as if I'd fallen into a rabbit hole of absurdity. And let's not forget, this was the same Zilla who had a knack for crashing my life's party at the most inconvenient times.
Doubt and confusion wrestled within me, a battle of epic proportions that was probably more dramatic than a telenovela plot twist. But if I learned anything from a lifetime of reading novels, it was that sometimes you had to dive headfirst into the rabbit hole to uncover the treasure trove of secrets.
"Sure thing, Zilla," I quipped, putting on my bravest face despite the whirlwind of uncertainty. My instincts told me that maybe, just maybe, Zilla's zaniness held the key to unraveling the riddles carved into the crown. And honestly, who am I to argue with the guy who's saved my bacon more times than I can count?
With a nod that carried all the weight of our unspoken camaraderie, he confirmed my hunch. Without wasting another breath, I handed over the crown. Zilla's eyes fixated on the circular metal that embraced the fiery gem, like a conspiracy theorist deciphering the secrets of a UFO sighting.
"Zilla, my dude, are you absolutely positively sure about this?" I asked, tossing skepticism into the cauldron of uncertainty.
He nodded, his gaze unwavering beneath the enigma of his hidden visage. I couldn't help but admire his commitment to the theatrics, even if it made me feel like I was part of a Shakespearean comedy.
As he placed the crown back in my trembling hand, the door suddenly creaked open, making my heart do the cha-cha in my chest. Zilla, the master of disappearing acts, was already gone, leaving me with a case of whiplash that rivaled any roller coaster ride.
Phew! At least I'd saved a seat on the wild ride of the unknown.
And just when I thought the drama was about to settle, in walked Friedan, wielding a suitcase and an expression that made me feel like a contestant on a reality show. He was as serious as an IRS agent during a tax audit, which was both impressive and mildly terrifying.
"You're all set for your great escape," he announced with a blend of gravity and nonchalance, while my mind played a mental game of hopscotch with my emotions. The universe had a way of playing its own brand of cosmic hide-and-seek with my life.
"The car's on its way, so gear up," he added, his attention shifting between me and the collection of papers in his hands.
I pushed myself to my feet, a tingling mix of excitement and awkwardness making me feel like I was navigating a minefield of emotions. I realized I should've been discharged ages ago, but time had felt like a mischievous magician's trick, as if it had vanished and reappeared in a snap of fingers. And if I knew anything about Friedan's conniving tendencies, he probably had a crowned ally in cahoots with him, weaving their web of misdirection.
The corner of my eye caught Friedan's raised eyebrow, and I snapped back to the present. Changing was a necessity, and the thought of him waiting outside my room was just adding to the hilarity of this entire saga.
I tried to suppress my chuckle, failing miserably, as I mumbled, "Well, we wouldn't want to keep the eager beaver waiting, right?"
His bemused smirk was both endearing and confounding, a testament to the enigma he was. As I busied myself with changing, I couldn't help but marvel at the madcap twists my life had taken. But honestly, if you can't find humor in the chaos, what's the point?
Minutes later, as I finished dressing, a series of raps echoed on the door. It was Friedan, and boy, did his impatience deserve a standing ovation. As if he had a "Time Flies When You're Annoyed" superpower.
I laughed to myself, my amusement mingling with the absurdity of it all. Bravo for the comedic timing, Friedan, bravo indeed!
I swiftly snatched the small purse that I had with me from the previous night and headed for the door in a hurried manner. As I swung it open and scanned both sides of the hospital corridor, the man was nowhere in sight. But once I stepped into the corridor, my eyes caught sight of Friedan seated in the waiting area, engaged in lively conversation with a beautiful and alluring doctor. The two of them seemed to be having a ball, with Friedan flashing a grin that probably cost more than a small country's GDP.
I cautiously made my way toward them, feeling slightly awkward about intruding on their lively tête-à-tête. Just as I approached, both Friedan and the doctor turned their attention my way, a sight that nearly gave me whiplash. And to my astonishment, the doctor turned out to be none other than Lexi, the seductress from the ceremonial night. My eyes widened in surprise as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place—Lexi was the one who must have fabricated the hospital records. My "insect bite blackout" story was just an elaborate ruse to ensure that the entire LOU believed Astrid's cover-up.
"There she is," Friedan chimed in, sneakily glancing at me as I drew closer. Lexi's gaze, however, traversed my form from head to toe, and I couldn't help but meet her scrutiny. Clad in a white Plains and Prints dress adorned with floral motifs, paired with flat sandals, I felt surprisingly unfazed by her appraisal. I mustered a polite smile and lowered my gaze, emulating the shy demeanor I usually wore as my not-so-glamorous alter ego, Kiera.
"Kiera, this is Dr. Arveli," Friedan introduced, his grin reaching ear to ear.
"Hello, doctor!" I managed a reserved greeting.
"Seems like Kiera is quite the introvert," the doctor chimed in, her smile hinting at a shared secret, "Nice meeting you, Kiera."
I mustered a smile that was only slightly strained, then turned my attention to Friedan, a silent signal that I was ready to leave.
"Well, Lexi, we should get going. My sister needs her rest," Astrid chimed in, but a look exchanged between the two hinted at a deeper connection—one that was beyond mere professionalism.
I refrained from speaking further as we headed toward the car. Who was I to be jealous of a stunning doctor? I was just a sibling, after all. I clenched my teeth, annoyed at Friedan's choice of words. But the truth was, on paper, I was merely an adopted daughter of the late Dr. Roberts. Society would undoubtedly label any romantic feelings as taboo. I couldn't help but wish I had never agreed to being adopted by the doctor in the first place.
The ride was filled with a familiar silence, our unspoken awkwardness lingering like an invisible fog. We may be living under the same roof for almost twelve years, but our relationship was a peculiar dance of distant familiarity—siblings who hardly acted like siblings, more like strangers navigating the same space.
Just as I began to wonder if this ride could get any more stifling, a familiar ring shattered the silence. It was Ara, I knew. Only she and Friedan had my number. I anticipated her call, her voice ready to bombard me with questions about the crown and the hospital incidents. I quickly retrieved my phone from my pocket to answer her call.
"Hey, Ara," I greeted my friend on the other end of the line.
But a boisterous laugh echoed through the receiver, and a chill ran down my spine. The voice on the other end was unmistakably Phelan's. I had made a grave mistake mentioning his name, as I now realized that my stern guardian was right next to me, his grip on the steering wheel nearly crushing it.
"Hey!" Phelan's laughter carried through the line, mischievous and electrifying. I could still hear the distant hospital paging system in the background, as if he were calling from the heart of chaos.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice teetering on the edge of irritation, a mixture of annoyance and anxiety bubbling within me.
"I have your music book! If you don't get home soon, I'll toss it into oblivion!" His words were playfully wicked, like a jester taunting a captive audience. Panic surged within me, and I caught Friedan's gaze momentarily flicking towards me, his eyebrow quirked in curiosity.
I couldn't let Phelan destroy my music book—I'd be lost without it. "Don't you dare!" I practically shouted into the phone, my heart racing, my eyes darting to Friedan as if pleading for some semblance of normalcy.
"Hmmm," Phelan's voice paused, then he burst into laughter again, a sound that could make even the sternest of people crack a smile. "Gymnasium, Wednesday at 9 o'clock. No latecomers allowed."
And with that, the line went dead. I bit my lip, regretting my earlier choice of words. I didn't realize that Friedan had turned into a parking lot until I felt the abrupt stop of the car, tires screeching slightly as they met the pavement. He looked over at me, his expression inscrutable, and the intensity in his gaze alarmed me.
My lips trembled, and I blurted out, "Phelan, he, uh, well... he asked me out."
Friedan's reaction was a mix of surprise and disbelief, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. My revelation seemed to have caught him off guard.