I’ve always had the worst of luck when it comes to romance.

“Luna, I can’t be with you anymore,” Cedric said, bowing his head down. “I’m a… a…. a werewolf.”

Perhaps life can’t get any worse than finding out the boy I’ve been dating for exactly one hour is a mythical creature. But oh, I swallowed up my pride and got down on my knees. There were people walking by, even at one o’clock at midnight. Some of them were most likely street-muggers, but they're probably more afraid of me than vice vera.

“Please, Cedric! I love you! Don’t leave me–”

“You love me?”

“Of course!”

“Bite me,” he snarled, repeating the words in disbelief.

The next moment went by when I charged at him. Every nerve in my body was aching, just trying to follow his direction but not looking completely like a maniac. I remember watching his fur-covered body change, change, change. My teeth smashed into his skin like a bullet through glass.

“I’m human!” he yelled with joy, jumping around and feeling his arms and legs, as if expecting it all to disappear. He looked at me. “Thank you so much, Loon! I love you!”

With that, he skipped off into the distance. I just stared after him under the darkness of the sky, with only a full moon to guide my path. My jaw dropped.

Instead of him biting me and me turning into a werewolf and spending the rest of my life in love with a legendary creature, he tricks me into biting him –somehow takes advantage of my short-temper– and skips off into the distance with the three most important words in that tasteless tone, “I love you.”

Unfortunately, my bad luck doesn't end there.

Mr Chewbucket was the teacher I fell in love with in sixth grade. My handwriting was sprawled all over my school diary, with "Mrs Luna Chewbucket" all over the book. Because this was a school diary and needed to be regularly checked, the dashingly handsome teacher (though, now that I'm thinking about it, there was the slightest tinge of mouldy-yellow around his front teeth) found all the scribblings.

But instead of telling me off and summoning me to humiliation, Mr Chewbucket smiled. Smiled. And then begun a secret relationship.

A so-very-secret relationship which only about four-hundred other people knew about. And before I knew it, he was fired and everybody felt pity for the innocent girl involved. Although I was far too outraged at Chewbucket not even being his real name ("I scribbled the criminal-name of my future husband! How dare I shall be tricked!") to become heartbroken.

The next boy in my life was Jasper. Jasper Hart. We became the best of friends in seventh grade and still to this minute, I have an unavoidable crush on him. Slight, perhaps, but still unavoidable. But since we're best friends, it'll all work out at the end when he realises his "true feelings," right?

Wrong. 

Desperately in love with my mother (he'll get an asthma attack if he doesn't see her for more than two days in a row), Jasper has eyes for only one woman. A woman who, sickishly, looks exactly like me and acts like me, but he's too clueless to notice. This angers me deeply, and at the same time, it triggers the use of the "h" word.

There are some things which follow me in life like toe-fungus.

Humiliation is one of them.

But it’s my turn to show the world who’s boss.

Jasper and Casper Hart always hated each other.

Maybe because they’re twins and think exactly the same. Not only do they look completely like the other, there’s no possible way to tell them apart. I mean, it must be epic to have somebody exactly like me. But there’s a limit. And having a twin brother following me around, being mistaken for me and vice versa, isn’t my ideal way of living.

Actually, there’s something I forgot to mention: this was all before. They hated each other two years ago. But now, they’re the best of friends. It’s my credit. Now, looking back to the incident when it all happened, I can’t help but flush. I really want to grab a wrench and knock something down, but it’s a definite assault towards jail.

Two years ago, they were fighting. I was in the middle of a class-seating-arrangement, and since the teachers always mistook the Hart boys of loving each other to bits, they always made sure to put them in the same class. And near each other. This time, however, they decided to put somebody in the middle of the oh-so-loving boys.

Poor, defenceless me.

It was an entire term of ruler tossing, male-ego blowing and shouting which the teacher never seems to hear. Let me say it aloud, it was pure torture. And the thing is, nobody could tell them apart. Even up close, they looked and were exactly the same. But since I had the lovely opportunity to sit right up close, I began studying them with my young, observant mind. There wasn’t a difference in the physical department, but a lot in the way they acted.

Jasper was always hesitant. Casper, on the other hand, was bold and aspiring with his movements. Every word which escaped Casper’s mouth was oozed with confidence, whereas Jasper’s way of speech had confidence, but there was a hesitant edge which I picked up on. That was the difference between the Hart brothers.

And one day, because everything got so out of control, I stood up. The teacher still hadn’t noticed, because she was putting up equations on the board. They were for homework, and she couldn’t stand the idea of turning around and losing time. School never went for long when it came to math. This was the perfect opportunity.

“You two should just sort it out,” I say, turning to both of them, my arms folded. They looked at me like there was something hanging out of my nose. I sighed and leaned back, a little gentler with my tone. “Can you find something you both agree on? Please?”

There was an odd silence. And finally, Jasper spoke up with, “I don’t really like your nose, Luna.”

Casper nods in reply. “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. It looks like a baboon with a failed plastic-surgery appointment.”

My jaw drops. “Hang on–”

 “Your eyes. What’s with the green and the brown?” Jasper babbles. “I mean, c’mon, make up your mind!”

 “I also hate your feet,” says Casper, shaking his head.

We both turn to him. He just shrugs. All three of us know how terribly Casper despises feet, even his own. Just the shape of them makes him close to vomiting, and us quizzically furrowing our eyebrows.

Then, to my surprise, they begin laughing. Laughing like maniacs. And then Jasper begins wheezing with his asthma-loaded condition and ends up at the nurse’s office, fighting for his dear life and breath. The teacher gave us both –Casper and I– looks before storming off to the board and playing nice. After that lesson, the three of us never sat together again. We weren’t allowed to, because the teacher thought we were “too distracting.”

But looking back, how humiliating it was! Two people who hate each other were united by pointing out mutual, pessimistic thoughts about my appearance. I’m not sure life can get more depressing than this. What’s more, even if Jasper matured the slightest over the last two years, it still reminds me of the way he insulted me. I’m not even sure he remembers his hurtful words.

Believe me, I remember every single one. Mainly because I have an impossible liking to him. And he’s obsessed with my mother, coming home every so often to check out her body. Well, he never really admitted it to me, but it’s obvious. Everything’s so obvious with him, it’s written on his forehead in permanent marker. The way he looks at her, the longing gazes in his eyes. It’s all there, waiting for my brilliant and beautiful mother to realise he’s the one.

Even though my mother’s divorced, it’s never going to happen.

 “I prefer somebody older than me –somebody manly,” she’d gush whenever I was around. I’d just narrow my eyes and prevent my lips from spilling Jasper’s secret.

After all, it’s his secret; not mine.

 “Luna.” I feel a poke at the side. Hard. Must be Casper. Sure enough, I see his grinning face and brown eyes when I look up. “You might want to get up.”

I look at the alarm clock. Today’s Saturday; why on Earth would anybody sacrifice their Saturdays? Slapping Casper on the arm, I slump back in my pillow. It’s his fault for waking me up when I didn’t want to wake up. There’s not even a wince of pain from Jasper’s dear old twin.

Again, I feel a tapping on my shoulder. It’s urgent. Gritting my teeth, I spring up into sitting potion, reading to tear this boy apart. Casper holds out his hands, his eyes widening in horror. He obviously doesn’t appreciate being murdered. Not while he’s so young, anyway.

 “I was… I was just saying–”

 “What?” My voice is brittle with irritation. “What were you saying, Casper?”

 “…You have work today.”

Oh, crud.

Springing out of bed and throwing clothes on, I march down the stairs. I gulp some breakfast down, run a comb through my knotty dark-brown hair and run through the door faster than an athlete in the Olympics. Casper, behind me, looks completely confused as I slam the door. He probably assumed I was slacking off and just couldn’t be bothered working. Well, it’s more like I completely forgot I had a job.

My teeth are grinding together. Hard. I wonder if they’ll break down, causing me to visit the dentist. Chances are, my menacing boss will chase me all the way to my appointment, only to fire me afterwards. Why, oh why did I have to get a job so early? And I don’t even need to money. It’s just something I’m doing for “experience.” These are the thoughts circling my mind as I continue running.

Then I look down at my shoes, a few cussing words escaping. They are the wrong shoes. Runners aren’t “right” for the look, according to my boss. Uniform states the shoes worn must be black and leather.

That’s when I see him. Not my boss, not Jasper. Believe me, I’d rather see my cranky, miserable old bag of a boss over the person in front.

Mr Chewbuckett.

It saddens me how I still don’t know his real name. Maybe I should ask him, but my jaw’s too busy hitting the ground for second thoughts. It’s

quite hard talking while the lower-half of my mouth is hitting the ground, but I swallow my pride. Instead, I flash him a quick smile. He recognises me instantly, and though he deceived me with his criminal name, I can’t help my heart beating. Fast.

And then he smiles. Then the beating of my heart slows down, my upper lip curling. They’re as yellow as the sun on a summer’s day. What did I ever see in this guy?

 “Luna–”

 “Gotta dash,” I reply unhelpfully, pointing beyond him. His face falls. “Uh, we can talk… some other time. I’m late.”

And before he can put a word in, I’m already running. My legs are tired, seeing how inactive I am compared to most people, but adrenaline is keeping me running. It’s keeping my heart beating a zillion beats in the same second. When I finally reach the front of the grocery store, I’m clutching at my knees in a standing position, my cheeks crimson.

I fake a smile. I enter the store and am awaited by my boss, his dark eyes bulging out of their sockets. Not a good sign.

 “One hour!” he screeches. “One. Bastardly. Hour. Do you realise, Luna Richards, how valuable time is? Money doesn’t grow on trees…”

He said a whole lot of other things after that statement, but my mouth’s already in a lazy smile. I zone out. That’s exactly what I said to Jasper last year, when he “borrowed” money out of my bag and bought two pairs of skates –one for me and another for himself. Needless to say, I was furious. Storming. Feared.

Especially when I lost it, shouting a zillion insults at the same time. What maddened me even more was how Jasper seemed more interested in his cuticles. Which is when I added the lame but true expression, “Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

Laughing like a maniac –‘cause he does it often– he told me how that’s incorrect. “Trees grow cotton, money’s made of cotton. So technically, money does grow on trees.”

About one hour afterwards, he’s having an asthma attack from laughing so loud. I sighed and dragged him to the nurse’s centre, a small smile playing on my face. The anger drains out of me as quickly as it arrived. There are some people I just like too much to remain angry at: Jasper Hart just happens to be one of them.

 “…You are fired!”

Hold on. Wait a minute, did I just get fired?

My cheeks are burning as I look around the place. It’s never crowded here. And also, despite having such a small store, there are many employees. All who witnessed my firing with a pitiful expression, secretly relieved they’re not me. When I take the time to death-glare every single one of them, they quickly turn back to their job.

 “What?” I croak. “You’re firing me? This is barely my second session!”

 “Good. That means you haven’t gotten attached to this job, ‘cause you’re never getting it back.”

I’m shoved outside and standing alone. The shopping centre’s crowded, but I feel like I’m standing alone. Suddenly, I don’t want to live on this planet anymore. My luck’s so bad, I manage to get humiliated in every way possible. For example, this wasn’t my first job I got fired from at a public spacing –it was my sixth.

Maybe somewhere in the universe, there’s another planet who offers me a little more than bad luck. It’s not fair. None of my friends have to put up with back luck. It’s just me in solitude. Not that I have many friends in first place; I’m that girl who never gets along with girls, thanks to my endless bad luck.

And also because the only females to exist on this planet are obsessed with boy-bands. At least, in my town, anyway. Or maybe it’s because Jasper and Casper threaten to retrieve a gun every time a group of boys sing on television, and I jokingly tell them I have a supply under my bed.

I think they took me seriously, because I once found them under there, just searching. And when I asked them what they were doing, they said “crawling.” Fifteen-year-olds don’t “crawl” under a bed without a purpose. I have the feeling this year they’ll be “crawling” as well. Maybe sixteen-year-olds do crawl?

How many times has the word “crawl” arrived in my mentality?

 “Hey,” says a husky voice from beside me.

My eyes snap, looking at the most perfect face ever. There’s a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes are so many colours, I wonder if rainbows have been mixed. There’s a small pause in my mind. Maybe it hurt to have rainbows in his eyes. Perhaps I should ask him.

But my knees are weakening too much, let alone allowing my mouth to move. My lips open and shut a couple of times, making me appear like a fish. He laughs at my expression, kneeling down so he’s right next to me. His lips are so perfect. How is it possible?

 “You’re the girl who got fired, eh?” There’s pity in his eyes. “Tough luck.”

 “Yeah.” I swallow a mouthful of spit. “Yeah, it is.”

 “Hey, are you related to Mrs Richards by any chance?”

I nod. “She’s my mum.”

 “Oh. She’s my English teacher.” There’s a short, awkward pause. “She’s hot.”

I feel like screaming. 

Mum’s been keeping her distance this morning.

Every time she walks in the room, I death-glare her. My cornflakes seem to turn green when she’s around. Fortunately, she took the hint and refuses to stay in the same room. Especially when I’m perfectly capable of murdering her. I think she prefers living her life alive. Or perhaps that’s just my way of thinking. Either way, she’s evil.

She’s trying to stay away, just until I’m “ready” to tell her what’s wrong. How can I begin to explain my problems? She’ll never understand. She thinks my endless grudge is just a “teenage-phase,” but how can I deny it when she has no clue? Every guy in my grade had a thing for my mother at some point or another. It’s enough to drive me insane.

The one and only gorgeous boy speaking to me just has to bring up how attractive she is. What’s with that? Can’t a teenage girl like myself ever get a break?

Maybe it’s the fact her eyes aren’t of different colour. Instead, they’re both the same plain brown. What if my eyes were like hers? Would that make me more “beautiful”?

And lastly, I’m sick of how people compare us, simply because we’re family. Believe it or not, I’m never going to be a strikingly beautiful and confident as my mother.

She’s a strong, opinionated lady. I’m just a street-rat drama-queen.

These are the questions surrounding my mind as I wait in line, ready for my picture to be taken. There are camera crews around, a large blue background (which is actually just a piece of cardboard) behind the person being snapped and smiles on everybody’s faces. There are always girls in line, giggling like dying geese as they try and “perfect” their hair.

At least they didn’t wake up this morning with a huge pimple on their nose. Just thinking about it makes me wince. The one day of the whole year I actually care about my appearance, I get a pimple. I never get a pimple! Instead, it seems life just loves humiliating the sanity out of me. Don’t I deserve a little more goodness than this?

These are the thoughts swarming my head as I take another step, when the person getting snapped exits. I hate school photos. Mainly because there’s always something wrong with them. Last year, I got a bruise on my left cheek. The year before, a moth chewed my forehead. And there wasn’t anything wrong the year before that; not with my physical appearance.

Instead, just as the flash went off, I was stuck between a sneeze and a cough. There wasn’t enough time to take another one, so it was on my report cards, school ID and everywhere. I had to pretend I was sneezing, just so suspicious librarians could allow me to borrow a book. There’s something really “off” about a girl who has bad luck enough to sneeze in photos.

Honestly, if I was in their positions, I would’ve also felt suspicious. There’s this girl who walks around the hallways, getting bird waste on her washed school uniform, having her hair stick out in different directions and the worst bunch of religious people chasing her, showing her the road to religion and everything good.

But it’s not a “her.”

It’s me.

 “Next,” calls out the photographer, and I self-consciously take a step forward. The camera-woman is pretty, and seems disgustingly aware of it. Mainly because she’s leaning forward so her entire chest is exposed. Why doesn’t she walk around naked? “Ah –Luna Richards?”

My voice croaks when I reply. Damn –it always sounds like that exactly when I want to sound strong and sure of myself. I clear my throat. I reply, “Yeah, that’s me.”

 “Good.” She studies me for a second, her upper-lip curling in obvious disgust. “What’s with that huge zit on your nose?”

 “Lindy!” hisses the photographer on the other side, sending me a quick, apologetic look. She tries to smile. “Sorry, Lindy’s new.” She turns to Lindy –there are daggers aimed at this young, haughty photographer. “She doesn’t understand the meaning of respect.”

Only when Lindy exposes a bubble do I realise she’s chewing gum. And it pops. Right in front of the other photographer’s face, who grits her teeth but manages to contain her anger. She then turns back to the next kid lining up to get his picture taken. My heart sinks. Nobody can ever give me a break.

The camera flashes. I’m sure my teeth were gritted in anger and embarrassment, but I don’t care.

Instead, I’m walking back to class.

Just when I’m not in the mood for anybody but myself, Miranda Everdeen comes up to me with her lip-glossed lips in a smile. Watching her walk makes me vomit in my mouth. There’s something condescending about

the way she sways her hips, throwing “seductive” pouty glances at all the unsuspecting males passing by.

Then they’ll all walk away. She shamelessly thinks it’s because of her “hotness” they walk away. I just think her lips are the most gruesome colour –bad enough to zombie-fy any human within attacking radius.

 “Hey, Luna,” she says in that husky voice of hers. To be honest, she’s really pretty –but it’s just the way she thinks so highly of herself, people tend to ignore the “pretty” factor. And she’s not a total cow as some of the girls at this school seem to be. “Heard about the whole ‘pimple-incident.’…”

 “Yeah…”

Can things get any more awkward than this?

 “My brother, Oscar, talked to you yesterday, didn’t he?” She flicks her ratty hair so it’s hanging down the front of her shirt. “And he said your mum’s hot? What a douche.”

Apparently so.

 “Don’t worry.” His name’s Oscar. Even though Miranda’s in my class, I still don’t know about her brother. Only, he’s not in my grade for sure. Instead, he’s the most popular guy in Year Eleven. Mostly ‘cause he’s good-looking and, for a change, doesn’t play girls. I bite my lip. “…I never knew you were related; seeing as you have different surnames–”

 “He’s my half-brother,” she replies, unaware of how awkward I was asking that question.

 “Oh.” I head back into my class. She’s in my year level, but we have completely different subjects. “Well, see ya.”

She half-smiles. “See you, Luna.”

*Assembly comes later on in the day.

Apparently, the school has a life now, and decided that one lesson simply won’t be enough to withhold all the information. Therefore, they’re holding a school meeting twice this week. What’s with that? Feeling myself grumble more by the second, I slump down in my seat. I try not to fall asleep through all the notices and zillions of accomplishments people at my school are achieving.

Everybody but me. Why can’t I be good at something?

That’s right: I have cursed bad luck. A life of pure humiliation.

This sort of evil scheme was probably planned from the minute I appeared in my mother’s womb. Nobody takes pity on me. According to Jasper, I’m a drama-queen. That I over-exaggerate things.

Also, according to him, I never listen to whatever people say: that my life is always about me. This was when he was high from eating too many sweets, because he’s too sensible to say anything rebellious –something that’d start a fight –without something helping him.

Don’t know what he’s on about.

 “Loo-naa?” The girl next to me. Brunette and elephant-like –especially with her long nose. Her nose is wrinkling. “Is that, adore, what it’s, adore, pronounced?”

 “Um. Yes. That’s my name,” I say, trying to be polite. “And you are?”

Despite being at this school for almost all my life, I barely know half the people. Mainly because I tend to hide myself away. Because if another person sees me during my endless humiliation, I’ll be insanely judged. Also, I usually hang out with Jasper during my breaks. We don’t really talk, and usually, Casper joins us.

I smile. The girl who has two boys as best friends. Some of the girls envy me, because they’re all after Casper. Mainly Miranda, who once told me she’d totally make out with Casper. I laughed (a little hysterically and uncomfortably) and told her she could have her. Which was totally true. So long as nobody takes Jasper Hart away from me, I’m okay.

I’ll always be okay so long as he’s with me.

Maybe this isn’t a “crush,” but just the idea of trusting somebody. Of depending fully on somebody and having full faith on them. I don’t really know much about romance –especially since my life revolves around werewolves and teachers with secret identities. Jasper Hart might be my oldest friend, and he may have humiliated me in the process, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m desperately in love with him

At least, I think I am.

This brunette thinks I’m going crazy. “I, adore, am Eloise. Tell me you, adore, haven’t forgotten me? I, adore, work with you, remember?” There’s a pitiful grimace on her lips. “Sorry, I, adore, forgot you got, adore, fired.”

I ask her the million-dollar question. “What’s with all the ‘adores’?”

She replies instantly with, “I, adore, hate the world ‘like.’ It’s, adore, so overused. Why not, adore, love something? Or, adore, ‘adore’ something?”

Finally. A girl who’s more messed-up than I am.

I smile like a maniac before slowly shifting myself away from her. She’s too busy singing along with the national anthem of Australia to hear me. I sigh. How typical. I really wish there was a single friend in the world of mine. Sure, I can talk to Jasper about anything, but he’s… a boy. There are some things I just can’t talk about to boys, even if they’re the only friends I have left.

My lips form into a grimace as we’re ordered to stand up –the minute after the priest has given us his overall blessing. Amazing. They drag us in here, under the raging heat and no-air-zone, and then kick us out the minute we’re completely tortured. I hate this school.

No, I don’t hate this school. I hate this town. I hate how small it is. I need some sort of enjoyment for the last two years of my life. Why is everything so terrible in my life? I’m in Year Ten, for goodness sake! Why haven’t I accomplished the zillion of things other people my age have? That’s right. Because I’m a loser.

Loser.

Luna the Loser. Has a nice ring to it. And also, it makes perfect sense. Casper would probably whack me with a fish if I told him about my self-conscious feelings. My mother would roll her eyes and tell me I’m beautiful… I snort. As if. She’s the lady all the boys chase, regardless of whether I’m a mini version of her. How completely lame is that?

Oh, and another thing Jasper never stops nagging me about; how I ask myself rhetorical questions (even aloud, apparently) and expect somebody to answer them.

We’re to stand up and sing along to one last song. Some of the children are already falling to their seats, groaning in agony. The disadvantages of having a Christian school is how the no-ventilation church is used for all meetings.

After agonizing centuries, we’re told to sit down.

I can’t be happier.

Unfortunately, as I sit down, my hand lands on the knee of Eloise.

She stares at me in horror. “Are you, adore, trying to feel me?”

I can burn in my humiliation. Especially since all my group are looking at me in horror. There’s something already sketchy about the way I have a pimple on my nose –now, apparently, I’m accused of being a rapist. Hooray for Luna! Only she can manage to have such bad luck. The teachers give Eloise a look for her outburst, but then it turns to me.

There is curiosity in their faces, as if they’re believing what she said. As if me trying to feel people is the only way a mistake can be interpreted. My breath escapes as a whoosh. This is why I don’t want to come to school. There are whispers around my area, which is a lot of people, and I’m sure I’ll be the subject of conversation at lunch-time.

I’ve got Jasper and Casper to talk to. Anyway, they hate sitting with people who can’t tell them apart. That’s why they’d rather hang out with me. So, in a way, we’re all family.

But I don’t want a family while still living through this torture.

To every person, there are a zillion sides. I’m a different person if I’m about to meet the queen. Likewise, my personality is completely altered when talking to my mother. But neither side of me are real. I’m a person made out of many sides, wanting to expose one particular one to the world.

Just once, I’d like to show the world the other side of Luna. The sassy, confident, wild one. The side which can unleash all her powers and have people obey her every order. The one who’s liked, not in a romantic way, but as a fun and interesting friend.

I want the world to see me like Jasper does.

Having the boy of my dreams ogling my mother breaks the humiliation scale.

Jasper sits there, his mouth wide as my mother giggles and throws another chocolate-chip cookie into his mouth. I swear, when he’s around, Mum forgets who her most important and beautiful child is –me.

It’s not a pretty sight for anyone, watching me lash out and exposing feet to Casper as a form of my evilness. He always runs away in horror. I usually start to feel bad and buy him a pretzel –to Casper, everything on Earth can be forgiven with a curved, artificially-made snack.

It makes him the worst candidate for president. He won’t be able to resist it when other nations offer him the world’s largest pretzel, in exchange for all lives on his own land. Maybe the reason people love Casper so much is because he’s so laid-back and open.

Whereas Jasper’s this antisocial, awkward kid who looks just like Casper. And that’s why I love him –because he has a good head on his shoulders, and has dreams.

Not that Casper doesn’t have any of his own. It’s just that becoming a doctor or a lawyer like Jasper is slightly more realistic than Casper’s dream of being the world’s largest pretzels and scaring people with his pretzel-ing limbs.

 “Luna, be a little more clear ‘bout your explanation of bio-nominal numbers,” Mum says sternly to me. Her voice them melts into a dish of honey. “Because Jaspy and I both know there’s no such thing as a bad student–” She actually does the whole wagging-finger thing. Oh God. “–But a bad teacher.”

Jasper grins back sheepishly. When my mother smiles and returns back to the kitchen to bake more brownies, he gets a tissue and spits out the chocolate cookie in it. He then does a series of mouth-stretches involving his tongue as far away from his mouth as possible, before asking me, “Seriously, what did she put in this?”

 “I don’t know, Jaspy-Waspy.”

He ignores my reference to his sick nickname. “And there’s this black gooey stuff in there. What is it, melted coal?”

I hunch over to get a better look at the mushy mixture. “Nah, that’s just the poison. Don’t worry ‘bout that too much.”

 “Ha-ha. You’re hilarious, Loon.”

 “You know what, we should have a code. Every-time something embarrassing happens, we have to yell out, ‘Embarrassment Alert’ and then state who’s the one getting embarrassed. Okay?”

“Uh, okay.”

Mainly, this offer was made out of hysteria. I needed somebody else to point out embarrassing situations, because I’ve found myself to forever concentrate on my own. Surely there are other humiliating experiences other people undertake –I’m just too self-absorbent to take notice of them. So Jasper’s going to help me out with confusion as to what he’s even doing.

When my mother comes back with a sweet smile and a tray of burnt and horrible-smelling brownies, I resist the urge to flee. Perhaps if I call up Casper, we can still make the next trip to South America and keep away from my mother’s death sentences –I mean, “baking”– for the rest of our lives.

To my great dismay, I don’t have access to a mobile phone.

So in order to satisfy my mother, I pick up a brownie and bite into it, making sure to spread it all around my lips before chewing the very last piece of what’ve left. I resist the urge to vomit on the inside, but on the outside, I’m smiling. “Mm, mm, mm. How do you make these amazing cookies, Mum?”

Unfortunately, she doesn’t notice my awesome compliment. She doesn’t bother to reply with a sweet answer like I know she would’ve done if Jasper had asked. My own mother hates me –is there anything more embarrassing that that?

 “Ew, you have biscuit all over your face.” She sees the tissue Jasper just spit out his chocolate-dough in and begins wiping my mouth. Bits of his spitted-out chocolate-chip cookie get stuck to my face, still warm and mushy from Jasper’s saliva. Because she doesn’t care about me at all, she doesn’t notice the sudden addition of crumbs. “Ooh. My scones are ready!”

The woman created three different dishes in under half an hour. Surely that alone is an indication of how awful her cooking is. But nobody has the heart to tell her –especially not her secret admirer and my eternal crush.

Perhaps I should invite Casper over sometime, however, he always reminds me he hates my mother’s feet worst of all. Apparently, the shininess and pink nail polish on her toes make her look more like an ogre than “elegant,” although I have an idea of how many people would disagree with this statement.

Still, it’s nice to know I’m preferred over my mother by one person. Everybody else seems to meet me, smile, and then crack up insanely when they meet my mother. Casper assures me that, even though my feet are horrible, he’d prefer to be near them than my mother’s.

Ah, that boy –full of compliments.

 “Hey, Lunatic,” says Jasper, fighting a smile. “Embarrassment Alert.”

 “Jasper, don’t start–”

 “And the embarrassment’s all yours.”

He pulls out a tissue and reaches over, gently scraping off all the crumbs he previously chewed. They’re all a soggy, disgusting and unromantic sort of visualisation. However, I can’t help flushing. My neck grows hot. My eyes are darting everywhere but at his face.

When Jasper leans back, his eyes grow wide. He obviously noticed my sudden transformation into tomato-woman, and gingerly checks the thermometer on the wall.

 “Sheesh, what’s wrong with your face?” He holds up the thermometer. “It’s not even that hot.”

Turning away from him, I hope he doesn’t pick up on anything. My lips are numb. What makes things worse is how he’s right: it’s not warm enough for me to blush. Not suspiciously, anyway.

Mum comes back from the kitchen and sees Jasper. No, she doesn’t see me first –she sees him. They’re a perfect couple. Happy, happy, happy. She rushes over and hands him a glass of warm milk, which he takes and exchanges a sweet thank-you. They both start laughing at how stupid the lion was in front of the bakery, then stop laughing when I death-glare them.

 “I was that lion in front of the bakery… it was my first part-time job.”

That shuts them up.

Yet, it takes humiliation to a whole new level.

*

A new part-time job. That’s what I need.

Perhaps that’ll help me get rid of this curse. Why does somebody hate me so much, sending everything bad into my life? Have I ever committed

injustice against someone? I hope not. And I’m certain nobody has a bad word to say about me, except how I always stink of something I stepped in. Every single morning.

If there’s something everybody knows about Jasper, it’s his quirky requirement to go shopping. It’s extremely weird, because he loves browsing through the aisles and looking up prices more than I do. Also, he does this really peculiar thing where he gets a trolley and sits in it, sliding himself through the aisles and yelling out, “Darling shop, I’m finally home!”

Yeah. That might give most of our town-residents a clue or two about his obsession.

Today, he dragged me out of bed simply to get a new twenty-four pack of soft-drink. I remind him he’s got another four sets of it at home, but he refuses to listen, claiming my horrible mind doesn’t allow any openness to enter. When I tell him he’s lost his mind, he admits he failed English class last term because of what he considers originality and what teachers consider a wrong answer.

The shopping mall shines vividly with lights. A few people walk past us, engrossed in their own conversations and lives. Perhaps if I had a less-humiliating and wonderful way of living, I’d join them in the quest of liking myself. Unfortunately, that’s like wishing for my mother to stop revealing cleavage –two things that will never stop happening.

 “Oh. My. God.” Jasper’s hand does this weird jerking, and he finally stabilises that arm with his other one. “Do you see it, Luna? Do you see it?”

 “See what?”

 “C’mon,” he says, grabbing my arm roughly and ignoring the ferocious blushing in my cheeks. He then drags me into the store. “Daddy’s going to buy some more soft-drink from his darling shop; oh yes, he is.”

Now he’s just creepy.

That’s the thing about Jasper –he’s this perfectly well-mannered, polite boy who helps everybody with their problems and is an amazing listener. However, when there’s a shopping mall involved, it’s like some random alien jumps and replaces his body. To his advantage, job interviews are never held at shopping malls.

If they were, he’d have restraining orders and live a low life in prison for containing a romantic desire for an inanimate object.

 “What are we looking at, Jas?”

 “This.” He picks up the trolley where there are little cans of soft-drink. “This is perfect. This is how we’re going to save money. We’ll make a revolution; we’ll take over the world!”

How does this guy roam the streets without police trailing behind him?

 “Yeah, yeah. As catchy that sort of dream is, how exactly are we going to do that?”

He smiles. “I’m glad you asked, m’dear. We take twenty-fix cans, not twenty-four, and then… wait for it… we’ll tell them there are twenty-five!” His eyes sparkle dreamily. “Because there are lazy people in this world, they’ll never check to see if I’m lying or not. They’ll never take money from us ever again!”

 “…You do realise that each can is a dollar, right?”

 “Yup.”

 “And that a twenty-four pack of soft-drink is only eight dollars?”

 “Your point is?”

 “That if you use the individual method of buying one can at a time, it’ll cost you twenty-four dollars. Whereas if you buy the twenty-four pack, it’ll cost you only eight. That’s, like, one third of the cost.”

 “Yes, but if you buy them individually, you save one dollar! How often do you get to do that?”

I sigh. He’s clearly impossible. Although it doesn’t surprise me he failed English, I’m shocked to find he’s actually good at math –a B standard. So how does somebody not see the evidence of a horrible idea? Seriously, the twenty-four pack and the individual cans are exactly the same, despite one option being for people who’re drinking it on the way.

Discreetly, Jasper gets a trolley and piles twenty-five in it. After giving suspicious glances to the people around him –who assume he’s on drugs and quickly avert their gaze– and sneak in an extra can when he’s certain nobody’s looking at him.

He then whistles while we’re in line, as if he’s not doing anything illegal

The girl serving us looks familiar with her long nose, an when I realise who she is, it’s too late to turn away. “Oh, adore, it’s you! The, adore, sketchy toucher-girl.” She chews her gum like a mad cow. “Have you, adore, been feeling up more, adore, innocent children lately?”

Jasper’s jaw drops so low, it’s about the reach the ground.

 “There are fifteen cans in this trolley,” I say quickly.

Because Eloise is too busy being disgusted, she doesn’t follow the usual rules of checking what we say is true. She takes my word, quickly types in a couple of numbers, and then hands me my receipt while making sure not to touch my hand.

Jasper opts out of his shocked state, and quickly follows behind me. His eyes are wide, not out of surprise, but out of admiration and delight.

 “Luna. You wonderful little girl you. You went for the kill. And you succeeded.” He glances at my trolley with obvious giddiness. I can’t wait until he’s out of the shopping centre and acting like a human once more. “You are absolutely amazing. Amazing, I tell you. You deserve a place in the world records.”

 “It honestly wasn’t much–”

He kisses me on the cheek. So sloppy and slightly repulsive. But it’s enough for me to feel light-headed. And giddy. In other words, our expressions and personalities match at that current moment.

And only because he’s Jasper Hart, the guy of my dreams, do I say:

 “Wanna do that whole deception again?”

While he grins widely and replies, “I thought you’d never ask.”

My jaw drops.

There’s Casper, hanging around the school with big glasses, all the buttons of his school uniform done correctly and his hair combed down neatly with a comb. If there’s anything I wouldn’t expect out of him, it’d be this kind of look. Is this is a dare? Maybe it’s some sort of laughable scheme between the hart brothers.

But then Jasper blinks twice, wondering if this is his twin brother. He’s also a little wide-eyed. So I suppose he has nothing to do with the new look.

“Casper…” Jasper says, then he closes his mouth.

I’m at the Hart’s residence. We’re just about ready for school, and Mum’s in the kitchen, talking to their mother. Because our mothers went to the same high-school, they’re bonded, although not very close friends like me with the Hart twins.

The lighting at their house is particularly damaged, because there are bars at every door and window. It makes me feel as if I’m in prison. Mrs Hart has a huge fear of burglars, seeing as Mr Hart was kidnapped three years ago by some people who broke into the house. Nobody knows whether he’s alive or not –the police were too busy feasting on free food than investigating the case.

Therefore, in order to prevent a repeat of the horrifying incident, she confirms every door and window is alarm-set and burglar-preventable.

But we all knew Mrs Hart and Mr Hart were never that close –in fact, he was her cousin who agreed to look after her kids. They had nothing in common. Casper reckons they would’ve split up anyway.

 “Casper!” Mrs Hart straightens herself from the leaning position she had a second ago. “What on Earth is with this new look?”

Despite her surprise, I sense a little bit of approbation for this new look. Her eyes flit over his costume, slightly nodding. Although even I have to admit this look suits him better than his oily hair and un-brushed teeth, it just isn’t the same. It isn’t Casper.

 “Nothing’s wrong with the new look,” he replies defensively. “Besides, I thought it’d be good –as a change, you know?”

Actually, I didn’t know. Not only was this new look a little too far-fetched, I never expected Casper Hart to be the kind of person who liked change. He always prefers things to go smoothly and among the same road rather

than trying something new. Jasper is even more boring with his slightly agape mouth and crazed look that reveals when around shopping centres.

My mother sees this. Then raises an eyebrow.

 “He’s so weird, right, Mrs Richards?” says Jasper.

They both burst out in a conversation, as if Mrs Hart and I are completely invisible. Which I guess we kind of are. So I start up an awkward conversation with her about penguins, which she finally dismisses with a, “You’ll miss your bus.”

So the Hart brothers and I run to the bus-stop –Jasper with a smile because he talked to the woman of his dreams, despite the fact she’s a decade older; and Casper with his new look that stuns all the girls on our bus. He has, I have to admit, style. He makes some sort of nerdy composition, which most girls would sneer at during lunch, something irresistible and attractive.

The bus-driver, Craig, turns to us, his eyes not visible due to his dark shades. “What’s up, mates?” He holds up his fingers in a peace sign, perfectly suiting his beaded hair.  

 “Everything’s great,” we chant in unison, careful to get the seats at the back.

There was a time where only seats were available at the front. Naturally, we took the opportunity and got our ear blown off by Craig’s horrifying voice. He sings to every song on the radio, and his terrible taste in music doesn’t help our fear. It was so horrible, the three of us vowed to never take seats at the front –we’d rather stand at the very back.

 “Hey there, Casper,” says Mandy, grinning. She then takes the empty seat next to him, opposite of both Jasper and I. “Love your new look.”

Her friends are all whispering among themselves, giggling at the back of the bus and shooting looks at Casper and Mandy. Unfortunately, Casper is the first ever boy to reject Mandy with a, “Please don’t sit next to me.”

Mandy doesn’t listen. She stays in her place and pretends to eye the scenery, as if not quite catching what the person next to her said.

And even though Mandy dresses in revealing clothes, she’s one of the few girls at school who actually talk to me. She sees me as a regular stranger without pretending to understand my loser-like qualities. What’s more, she claims to not believe all the other rumours about me being a complete klutz.

Although I suppose it’s not completely fictional.

Therefore, a part of me feels a little uncomfortable at Casper’s flippant reaction to one of the only girls who’re pleasant. I whisper, “That wasn’t very nice.”

Then Casper’s eyes widen as he turns to Mandy. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean it to be that blunt…” And I’m suddenly reminded why I love this kid. Though not in the same terms as awkward and shuffling Jasper, his twin brother has compassion. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to sit next to you, but it’s more…” His voice trails off when we’re at the next stop. Casper splutters as if trying to clear his throat.

Although I’ve known this boy for years, there’s never been a time where he stumbled on his words. Okay, so maybe once or twice at the public-speaking competition, but he got straight back on track. Not like this. Not like a choking fish out of water, who’s still struggling to breathe.

It’s such a peculiar sight, I find my jaw dropping for the second time in the same day.

 “…You okay?” says Mandy. “I mean, if you’re that disgusted by me, I can leave. Just say so properly.”

 “No-no. It’s not you. It’s just–”

 “Hey! I, adore, love your new look,” says Eloise, giggling.

 “H-hi.” His face is scarlet. Somebody has an obvious crush. “Eloise,” he ends dumbly.

 “I’ll be going. It’s okay, Casper,” she whispers. “I’m not offended. You just wanted some girl –who’s way out of your league– to sit next to you.”

 “Shut up,” says Casper, turning to the window to avoid our eyes.

But since the girl of his dreams is too busy eyeing me with disgust, she doesn’t notice his reddened face or how Mandy’s giving Jasper’s twin a whole list of pick-up lines while he death-glares her. Eloise reminds me why I’d rather have Mandy around –somebody who I don’t really know, but prefer for her open-heart– than somebody with their eye twitching.

 “Touching, adore, any more children lately?” says Eloise with disgust, plopping herself next to Casper who yelps at the sudden change in seating partners. His head snaps back to the window as reflex, so that she doesn’t see his face. But she isn’t focussing her attention on anybody else but me. “Really, Luna. Stop. It’s not right.”

 “No, I think you’re the one who should stop,” says Jasper, to my surprise. “That was an accident. Luna explained herself. Why’re you still going on about it?”

 “Well, I think it’s disgusting. Anyway, who knows what else Luna gets up to ‘accidentally.’”

That’s when I realise she really, really doesn’t like me. Sure, I made a mistake. But if I’m over the humiliation, then she should be as well. Why doesn’t she let it go? This entire thing isn’t about an accidental touching of thighs during an innocent period of assembly. For her, the whole scene goes deeper than that.

Maybe the touching of her thighs is a very sensitive thing.

So I simply purse my lips. “Sorry, Eloise. I didn’t mean it.”

 “Oh.” She looks away, awkwardly, clearly not expecting me to apologise. “Then it’s okay, I guess.”

Jasper rolls his eyes. He obviously doesn’t approve of his twin brother’s new crush. And it occurs to me how twin brothers can be so different. Jasper doesn’t approve of this “adoring” girl, while his brother is crazy about her –to an extent he can’t face her without bursting out into ridiculous fragments and broken sentences.

But I know Eloise isn’t saying this as a joke. It’s not a “Oh, you touched me accidentally and I’m going to laugh about it” kind of thing. It truly does go deeper. And I know because Jasper is sensitive when people create pretend-glasses with their fingers, because he was teased for having them in first grade. His reactions were a lot similar to Eloise’s.

The bus halts to a stop.

Not before Craig yells out, “Okay, this bus stinks. Luna Richards, did you do anything nasty?”

Everybody is confused at first before cracking up laughing. Some of them are too mature, but that’s like a one percent of the entire bus. The rest eye me and laugh, feeling a great deal of visible relief at the same time. It’s not them. They’re not the target of this laughter, this ridicule.

Even Casper’s fighting a smile while Eloise simply looks smug. Jasper, however, turns to me and says, “It’s okay.”

For him, it must be the most mundane thing in the world. His best friend getting laughed at for the millionth day of her life. What’s new about that?

But he’s not me. He’ll never understand this horrible feeling, as if everybody’s lining up to laugh at me. Not with me, but at me.

I can’t stand it anymore.

With a mumbled, “Excuse me” repeated over again, I exit the bus quicker than everyone else.

Craig notices my sudden desire to get off the bus, and calls out with his ridiculing laugh, “It was only a joke.”

It certainly is a joke. Everybody on the bus was laughing. Even Casper, who’s supposed to be one of my best friends in the world. I’m willing to bet that, if Jasper wasn’t so caught up in feeling pity, he’d be cackling like a maniac. It’s a humongous gag that I don’t get. I’m the only one not laughing.

During English, I scribble the word “War” at the top of my page. My teacher for this subject is particularly expressive and raises an approving eyebrow as she struts through the classroom. She probably thinks I’m writing something fictional in my head –trying to get stories out. I wonder what she’d say if she knew the tale I’m writing is non-fiction.

My life is an endless and rather unserious war between me and the world. Perhaps it’s not the worst kind, but it’s enough to drive me mad. I don’t deserve this.

Beside the word “War,” I write “funny, revengeful, bloodthirsty.” But I can’t exactly get people to experience bad luck, can I?

Then it hits me. Perhaps I can’t genuinely choose what kind of luck a person has. However, I can trick them into believing their life has taken the worst part. Maybe then they’ll discover what it’s like to be the smelly, unwanted and second-choice Luna Richards.

Pranks are the best way to achieve this kind of “sudden embarrassment,” before the victim realises the intended action and gets their revenge. But what if my own version of pranks were something indestructible? What if they’d have all kinds of bitter thing happening, and nobody to blame? I won’t be near the scene of the crime –not from their eyes, anyway.

The confusion. The anger. The frustration.

They’d feel it all.

So I make a list of everybody who needs a good pranking. I’m surprised by how my mother and Casper make themselves on my list. Eloise is a big one, and perhaps Oscar for his one and only statement about my mother

being “hot.” I frown. It’s kind of early to punish him for something he did only once… But the thought is waved away.

There are a lot of people who deserve one instance to go wrong. Too many petty people with unreasonable problems. People who get mad at me for not laughing at myself, when it’s something I’ve been doing my whole life. And quite frankly, I’m sick of laughing at myself. I want to laugh at somebody else for a change.

Even if it’s the tiniest gestures such as sticking out their foot, they’re on this list of mine. Soon, my entire page is filled with messy scrawls of initials, so that anybody accidentally stumbling across this piece of paper doesn’t suspect Eloise is right with her “touching.” They all deserve imperfection in their lives.

I’m not looking for justice.

I want revenge.

Only when I finish my list of punishable people, I realise Jasper’s my only ally.

What have I done to suffer in a world so painfully? Is my life this miserable that my best friend (who’s also unaware of the humongous crush I have on him) is the mere person to not add cruel laughter to my humiliation? It’s such a painful thought, I have to rock myself back and forth a couple of times in bed.

Today I’m ditching school. Big time. After faking sick, I managed to convince Mum I’m old enough to be home alone. In reality, all I need is some time to plan something big to pay back all those people who brought me down.

Most people would look at my situation in disgust. They’d look over me like I’m some miserable child with a lonely life. They’d blame my mother for not providing me with a good home, or my teachers for not feeling welcome at school.

The truth is, it’s nobody’s fault. I’m one of nature’s joke. But this is my one and only chance to change the whole world. Because I’m not a rug for people to walk on. This is my opportunity to prove to the world how I’m much more than that –like a microwave, in full control on whether you have to starve during a dinner of pre-heated meals.

This is my chance to show the world I can shine. There’s still that little bit of spark left of me; something only Jasper can see, and yet, it’s not enough for him to fall desperately in love with me.

I shake the negative thoughts out immediately. Who cares what he thinks or how he feels?

There’s no way I’ll get another chance like this.

So I jump out of bed, half thinking I’m a lunatic like the first two syllables of my name, and pull out a notebook Casper gave to me last year for my birthday. Long story short, he forgot and purchased a notebook so ugly, it’s a trademark of the broken-down twenty-four-hour shop down the road.

Actually, it’s kind of sad how the people there were on their knees, begging Casper to purchase more. According to him, anyway –it’s most likely a false excuse for why he was late to my party.

In that notebook, I write down “Prank War” as the title. So I’m that ninja girl who’ll be jumping through windows in the mornings, scaring all the sleepy-heads out of their skins. It seems like such a fun sort of environment to live in, and yet, my lips are pursed.

Somehow, it’s not how I pictured the whole humiliation-bringing.

Taking no notice of the title, I continue planning out what I’ll do to everybody. It’ll be a solo act of racing down the street at sunrise, putting eggs in the wrong basket or running in the school hallways.

At the same time, something doesn’t feel right. This isn’t what I had in mind.

Suddenly, my phone beeps.

Hey. Jasp here. Ditching school?

I text back: You got me. You suffering in class?

The reply is almost immediate. Yeah. Shut up.

Ever since we both got a plan where we could text each other for free, regardless of how little credit we had, our communication has been more frequent than ever. It also helped our texting-speed, and I find spelling out full words still takes a short amount of time –for Jasper, as well.

We’re just that awesome.

And though he’s in class, trying not to get caught with his mobile, I can’t help sending a text back. Maybe this is what obsession is. Or love. Either way, I never make the first move: but when he does, I like pretending our conversations will never end. That Jasper Hart will never get a girlfriend or become that doctor he always dreamt of being.

That he’ll stay in this small town to be with me, the school janitor. As far as my school results are going, I have no future in universities. I’ll be rejected at every one of them, all thanks to a teacher who suspected I was cheating. That rumour spread around the staffroom like fire cackling among dry leaves, and all teachers give me marks a little lower than deserved.

Which is why all my teachers –every single member of the staff– are on my list. They’ll get what’s coming to them.

My text: Haha. Sorry. Anyway, you coming over tonight?

While I’m tapping my fingers, waiting impatiently for a reply, I make my other hand stop the motion. Then I load the laptop to the Word document where a zillion names lie. About twenty pages full of font-twelve names of everybody who I need to claim revenge against. This might take me a century.

The phone beeps. Of course! Your mum’s home, right?

I sigh. Yeah.

Awesome. I’ll be there as soon, okay?

Then it hits me. The reason why I can’t imagine a solo act of me knocking on doors, asking them sweetly to let me plot my revenge is because it’s incorrect. My actual visualisation doesn’t involve me knocking on doors: it’s me and Jasper, running around the neighbourhood with evil grins pasted on ours faces.

There’s no person at the door with bed hair. In fact, there’s no person at the door at all. In fact, they’re tucked in bed, their mouth open as saliva dribbles our like a professional basketball –well, not so much a professional basketball. But either way, the whole revenge-thing should be done at night-time.

I get all starry-eyed just thinking about it. Yes. It’ll be when the full moon’s up, glaring at us. We’ll have black costumes with visors to avoid recognition, watching the twinkling stars and getting back at everyone who has ever done us damage.

By us, I mean me. Jasper’s too normal –if not bland, unless we’re talking about shopping centres– to become a target.

Then again, I’m not exactly superstar quality. It’s difficult to predict why I’m considered the bullseye.

Jasper has no idea what I’m planning. When he comes over tonight, I’ll spill my entire plot out to him, only to have him nod his head like an eager wolf. He’ll accept my challenge. After all, he’s always looking for new ways to waste him time when there aren’t end-of-the-year clearances at the local grocery store..

But right now, he has no clue.

So I text the unsuspecting boy with a, Okay.

*

 “No.”

I almost jump up like a crazed maniac. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

He sighs, deliberately averting my gaze. It’s obvious where his eyes dart to. A part of me wishes I could stand up, yell at him for being so obvious. After all, I’m the one he’s supposed to be with. But my mouth is glued

shut against my will. And judging by his ignorance and pursed lips, he’s silent purposefully.

My mum’s in the living room, playing some sort of video game she always wins. No wonder Jasper loves her: not only is she beautiful, but she’s the most perfect video-game player. Boy heaven, finding a woman like that. Me, on the other hand, can’t get past the first level: that stupid cobra, within the first five seconds of the game, gets me every-time.

Then he turns back to me. “Wow, your mum’s so awesome at that–”

 “Don’t change the subject. Why are you saying no? Do you really hate me that much?”

He sighs. “Luna, this has nothing to do with hate. You know that. You’re, like, my best friend.”

Three words with the word separating them, but not necessary. And somehow, they’re enough to shatter my world like it’s a window among the world’s most talented opera singers. That’s right. He sees me as his best friend. A. Best. Friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Although I’m relieved he doesn’t just say “friend,” I horrified at how he even mentions that word.

But because I’m used to suffering humiliation my whole life, there’s a fake smile. Only because this is the kind of incident showing up in my face every one to two days, he buys it. On the inside, however, I’m seething.

 “You didn’t give me an explanation.”

 “Look, how do I say this? Um, I think your name with a ‘tic’ at the end would describe your personality.”

 “Thank you. How flattering.” I get up and start heading towards my bedroom. “I’m glad you consider me your best friend, because the feeling sure ain’t mutual.”

He grabs my arm. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m just not the kind of guy who gets caught up in… this…” His tongue’s fighting in his mouth, looking for the right words.

 “In what? Tell me. What do your ‘kind of guys’ don’t get caught up in?”

 “I’m sensible. I’ve got a bright future.” I swear, it’s like he’s talking to himself more than me. Like he’s trying to convince himself of his success. “I don’t want to jeopardize this all after making a complete idiot of myself.”

 “You know, I don’t care. You’re right. You have a future; it’s unfair of me to ruin it all for you. But what if I make you a deal?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I doubt you can find anything big enough to deal with me, but I’m listening.”

 “You help me out with this prank war; I get a job at the local supermarket, Sam’s Groceries.”

 “Why would I care where you get a job-?”

 “Did you know employees get a thirty-percent discount on all stock?”

His eyes shine. “You’re kidding me.”

 “Nope, not kidding.” I pretend to examine my fingernails, disinterested. “But of course, you have to help me out first. And it’s not like you can get the job, Mr My-Mum-Won’t-Let-Me-Get-A-Job-Until-I’m-Thirty.”

 “But there’s no guarantee you’ll get the job, you know?”

 “Not right now, no. But wait until we finish our prank war. You’ll see: I’ll get the job in the snap of fingers. So, what do you say?”

He bites his lips, clearly debating the whole situation in his head. I guess it’s a huge responsibility when some random girl asks a boy to join her in some sort of revenge-hunting spree. Maybe my name truly does match my personality. But for the time-being, I don’t care what Jasper thinks of me.

All I need him to say is–

 “Yes,” he replies. Then, more confidently, “Yes. Okay. I accept.”

I start grinning like an idiot. “Great. Tell me honestly: was the whole discount the main reason you accepted?”

His grin then diminishes to a smile, but the spark doesn’t leave his eye. “You really do see right through me. And no: it wasn’t the whole reason why I accepted. My future would be pretty horrible if I knew some random girl died getting revenge because I wasn’t there, under the midnight clock with her.”

I make a face. “Paint quite a picture, don’t you?”

In reality, my mind is replaying the words “midnight.” Yes, it’ll be held at the darkest of nights and earliest of mornings. A time where nobody’s

lurking in the street to spot us. Nobody but two dark figures, appearing in sight and disappearing just as quickly.

He laughs. “Part of my job description –don’t tell Mum that, though. She’d flip at the idea of me having a job. Who else will do the housework while she chats on the phone twenty-four-seven?”

There’s a story somewhere, about how nobody finds who their real friends are until in moments of despair. Quite frankly, I’ve never been that low as to make a list of people who I want –no, declare– bad luck for. How desperate must a person be, trying to wish such horrible things to people around them?

Jasper can see how illogical my idea is. To be honest, I’m seeing another doubtful side of this idea I’m formed in my scheming mind. But because I’m stubborn, I jut out my lower lip and continue with a plan that’s going to end in disaster. We both know it’s one of the worst ideas ever invented.

Only because Jasper’s a true friend –and because he needs that employee discount access– he tolerates me. My insane ideas that’ll never work; a whole list of people who he might actually like, and wishing the worst of luck to them. Not to mention the many hours of sleep he’ll sacrifice, simply to complete this stupid “midnight prank war” with me.

If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.

The next night is spent with Jasper and I sitting in the couch, our school laptops in both our hands.

He lists people who’ve shamed him over the years and I, well, just watch. I notice how messy his handwriting is –because he’s a slow-typist, he claims it’ll take him a day and a half to type. His hand moves up and down the paper like a seismograph measuring the geological motions of Earth. Then I find a new fascination with my fingernails before admitting there’s nothing more I can do but wait.

My list was completed before today even begun. Mainly because I’ve put down every possible person who dared to humiliate me, while Jasper may as well type names of his enemies. Not only is he using lead pencil, but he has a tiny eraser with a picture of a penguin. Believe me, he’s making perfect use of this rubber. It’s obvious I’m the one taking this entire ploy more seriously.

His hands suddenly stop. I’m disappointed. Despite a small cut scarred on his arm from trying to bake a cake –how does one even cut themselves baking cake?– his hands are quite flawless. There’s an awkward pause as he assumes my eyes avert to his list. He then clutches the piece of paper to his chest. I do respect his privacy –in fact, I wasn’t even looking at his list; his beautiful face is much more interesting, despite the slight blemishes under chin.

But there are topics a girl must never bring up. And telling a guy-best-friend he’s what I need for the rest of my life is definitely on there. Possibly second to “My brother and I are having a romantic affair.”

“There’s no point in privacy, you know?” A part of me wants to blurt out how my eyes weren’t searching for his list, but he’ll ask why I stare at him like a predator targeting a prey. “We’re in this together.”

“Yeah, fine.” He tilts his piece of paper slightly. Just enough so I can see it. A part of me wants to snigger –he’s handling this list like it’s a confidential document. He seems to read my mind, because he glares before saying, “Do you realise that this list could be used against me?”

“Why not just cross out ‘List by Jasper Hart’ at the top of your page?”

“It’s not that–” His ignorance fades behind a mask of sheepishness. “It really is that easy, eh?”

“Yep. Anyway, do you wanna go over to your house? It’s just too quiet here.”

He grins immediately. Around the Harts’ residence, there’s never a moment of silence. There’s only Casper, Jasper and his mother –their dad,

like mine, left. The house by itself is a tranquil environment with the gentle humming of television in the background, if any. They always make sure to never disturb the neighbour. Even their dog, Puzzles, never barks louder than necessary.

Their home isn’t the problem. Instead, their neighbours are a punk-rock couple with music blaring through their speakers every single day. It doesn’t help how each speaker is as big as their house alone. When somebody shoots them a death-glare –because nobody’s able to out-scream the music– they only get a peace-sign in return and a rotten-toothed smile.

I believe the only reason they’re not in jail is because elderly residents have heart attacks before dialling three digits to save their life. Ironically enough, the ambulance is usually too busy with the dying patient to notice the loud music. Thus, the cycle continues.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. The Harts’ only bought their house this year, and the entire neighbourhood is pretty new. Only newly-working people have enough energy to buy a house here –which explains the lack of complaining people. Plus, Jasper’s house and their house are in the middle of nowhere. For another ten kilometres or so, there aren’t any more houses. The neighbourhood would probably fill up at the end of this year –I just know it.

We catch the bus to their house. It’s a ten minute walk, but we have way too much money to waste. The night’s always a little unsafe at night. When the midnight prank war begins, however, I suspect I’ll be an improved version of myself. With so much adrenaline bursting through my veins, I’m bound to not care about the darkness. It’ll be a breeze.

The driver cocks his eyebrow, and if it wasn’t for Jasper beside me, I would’ve ran all the way back. There’s something extremely creepy about eyebrows. Casper has his hatred for feet; I have my own about eyebrows. Especially thick ones like his.

The bus crowds with people, the majority standing and holding little belts to prevent themselves from falling. I never expected seven o’clock to be so busy. But life continues to surprise me at every corner, and different pairs of eyes all focus on me. Dark eyes, light eyes, smiling eyes, solemn eyes. It’s like an abundance of eyes.

It’s kind of pathetic how freaky even that seems to me.

Cool it, Luna, the inner-voice controls me. After several long seconds of slouching worriedly, I finally take a deep breath and stand up straight. This time they’re not the one staring at me: my eyes are burning into theirs as a change. One by one, the eyes avert at other directions. Some

of those seeing-machines turn to face their partner, starting up a conversation, ignoring the intense stare I shot.

If they’re looking away already, they’ll never survive what’s coming up next. With a twisted smile playing on my face, I follow Jasper out the door. That was, surely, the longest and most unforgettable bus-ride of my life.

We’re engulfed by darkness, the moon shining in the dark sky. It’s like a model with the perfect bladed glass, appearing as shadows at this time of night. The sky’s no longer navy. It’s a pitch black, with only flickering streetlights guiding our path to Jasper’s house. In front of us is merely three hundred metres of mowed grass –not a single building yet.

Finally, the Harts’ residence appears in front. Regardless of the fact we were silent for the entire bus trip and walk, we start chattering the minute we enter. Jasper’s mother’s on the telephone, talking to an old high school friend of hers. Then she moves the phone from her ear and makes a vomiting noise. I smile. She obviously hates the person on the other end, but is doing her best to tolerate them.

Casper’s watching television. Suddenly, he grabs for his blankets, his mouth wide. A television commercial for talcum powder plays, with foundation covering every person’s face like jam on toast. Their smiles are bright. Too bright. He turns away from the television, his shoulders shaking.

How is somebody that frightened of something they have themselves?

It occurred to me I never saw Casper’s feet. They’re always covered in socks, even in the summer-time.

“How does he ever change his socks?” I whisper to Jasper.

 “Mum changes them in the middle of the night. If it wasn’t for her, he’d get some sort of rash and die a painful death.”

“Charming.”

As usual, the punk-rock couple, who we nicknamed Mr and Mrs Epic-Sauce, wave to us and raise a peace sign. I mimic their action and so does Jasper. They have a new song blaring through the speakers, and I immediately grab my laptop, my head bobbing to the sound.

“Awesome song,” says Jasper, his own finger tapping on his knee. “It’s called Serial Killer of the Night.”

Sure enough, there’s a huge large screen with the title in digital red writing. As a punk-rock couple who also loves promoting indie musicians,

they’ve bought this board for promoting purposes alone. When new neighbours arrive, the music would be promoted so much that those people would get instant recognition.

Can they get any more epic-sauce?

“Loon, wanna drink?”

My eyes widen. “I wouldn’t!”

“…You know you want it.”

He only needs to repeat the process one more time before I agree. Seriously, some things don’t need much convincing before an agreeing answer comes to mind. So he gets up, opens his fridge and takes out two bright orange cans before handing one to me.

“A toast?”

“To the midnight prank war!”

Our cans touch with a clang.

“We need to sort through this list,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “Number one: we take Eloise down.”

“You sure? My brother’s, like, in love with her.”

“It’s okay. We’re bringing him down too.”

“We’re so bringing them down,” Jasper says, a little too quickly. He sighs at my accusing gaze. “He didn’t let me change the channels. Even when I called dibs, fair-in-square.”

I roll my eyes skyward. “So immature. Anyway, with Eloise: I’ve got a whole plan devised.”

When I tell him my plot, his jaw drops so low, it’s about to hit the ground with a thud. A part of him is impressed –I definitely prefer it over the other part, looking at me like I’m a nutcase. Then there’s newfound fear in his eyes, as if suddenly realising what I’m capable of.

“Wow. Seriously, just wow. I mean, it’s really simple… but I never expected you to think of it.”

I twirl my hair innocently, pretending not to wonder how he sees me.

*

Mum never worries about me. She knows I don’t have any other friends but Jasper and Casper, so she doesn’t have fear of me running to some party and hooking up with a stranger. All she does is call about once every six hours, and she’s comforted for the time-being.

She worries about my well-being, my mother. Says that being an only child would get lonely, so I’m sleeping over at Jasper’s a lot of the time. She’s never home herself –hence why she never practices her “amazing” cooking. Leaving me with her close friends makes her feel comforted about me not being comforted.

So tonight, it was amazingly easy to sneak into Jasper’s bedroom. There’s a special room for myself. They call it the guest-room, but it has “Luna” in bright colourful letters on the wall and a mobile of rabbits, which are my favourite animals. It’s a second home. A hotel for whenever I want a place to escape to.

But I leave this room and head straight to the next. Jasper is sound asleep in his bed, a slight snore drifting through the air. I almost feel bad about having to wake him up. Almost.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” I mercilessly snatch his blankets away. “Time to go get revenge.”

“What…? Who…?” It takes him a couple of seconds’ worth of rolling around in bed before he finds the energy to sit up and look me straight in the eye. His eyes narrow. “Luna?”

“Duh. C’mon, we have to go pranking.”

“You go,” says the sleepy voice. He yawns. “I’m going back to… bed.”

This time, I grab his hair and tug on it so we’re face-to-face. “No, you’re not. A deal’s a deal. So get up, get dressed and hurry up! It’s eleven-forty already. It’ll take a couple of cabs to just get to Eloise’s house.”

Immediately, he sits up. “You asked her for her address?”

“No! How stupid do you think I am? I got her email address, searched it online and found her exact location, phone number and gender.”

“How are you not in jail?”

“Shut up. And if you don’t get up, I’m getting a bucket of cold water and pouring it down your t-shirt.”

He starts to lie back into a peaceful sleep. Abruptly, he stops halfway, his back at an angle. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

I try my best attempt at a death-glare, with the glittering eyes and maniacal smile.

It works like a charm. Before he swallows before standing up a little too quickly. “It’s okay: I’m up.”

This new Luna is utter perfection.

Thankfully, Eloise doesn’t live somewhere higher than the ground-floor.

Something blatantly obvious occurs to me: those who don’t live on the ground floor will be hard to prank. For those people, I’d have to set something up during the day. Or put a spider in their lunchbox as an example of my childish deviousness. Jasper will think of something. His best prank would probably be a fake receipt, where all the sale items are deliberately expressed as full price.

With our matching black costumes, we blend with our surroundings. The bushes which are green by day leave nothing but a shadow –a mystic background we blend into, as a result of our costumes being so efficient. Nobody will catch us at this rate.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” whispers Jasper. “I mean, high-school’s not that bad–”

 “You’re either with me or you’re not. Choose now, ‘cause it’s now or never.”

He sighs before pointing to Eloise’s house, expressing his answer. I grin at him before taking the CD from his pocket and clutching onto it for dear life. Now, I run. Dash straight past the garden gnome with the gleaming eyes, visibly glaring at us from underneath the moonlight. Then I see a window and pray it’s hers.

There’s honestly no way to recognise whose room is whose. It’s all a matter of guessing with people I barely know. Maybe I’ll put a prank in their sibling’s room without realisation. That’ll be a rather awkward incident for the entirety of this small town.

However, I’m saved when I inspect a double bed and two figures lying in it. I have a hunch this is her parents’ room, so I duck down and shuffle through their recently-mowed lawn before coming across another bedroom with decorative curtains hanging from the inside. Just like the last room, there’s a figure lying in a bed, facing away from the window.

Now, the question is if it’s Eloise’s room. When I grab my dim torchlight and shine it discreetly, I see the word “Adore” on the wall, with each letter in a different font and style. It’s as if she took the time to cut out singular letters from a variety of magazines, before arranging them to create words.

Yeah, close enough.

As a result of luck, Eloise’s window can be opened despite of whether I’m inside or outside. Jasper creeps up to me, his eyes feasting on the lock in

front. He fishes a straightened paperclip he prepared for this purpose alone, and uses both hands. Click.

The window’s open.

He spent his entire night searching “How to Pick Locks” on the internet. Justice served him splendidly, because I’m gazing at him in both admiration and envy. All those articles seemed so complicated for my feeble mind. He, however, must’ve understood those jumbled-up letters. Even if it did take him an hour to practice.

 “And now we go for the kill,” he declares in a hushed, victorious tone.

Like the secret spy he is, Jasper slowly pulls the window open. There’s a slight screeching noise, but it’s hardly noticeable to a snoring person. The window’s completely open. Jasper reaches out and gets the CD cover next to the CD player, inserting the disk and gently closing the lid.

 “Who even owns a CD player nowadays?” he says, frowning as he struggles with the faded buttons

 “I believe your question is why she’d express this on her profile. Does she really have no life?”

 “If she had a life, that ‘Adore’ slogan on her wall wouldn’t be there.”

 “It’s really creeping me out…”

 “Me too. Let’s go home.”

Our footsteps are slow but carefree. There are no worries about the cops arresting us or somebody recognising us among the streets. Every feeling of guilt disappeared from both our bodies, leaving only a trail of accomplishment and satisfaction. This must be true friendship –a bond where we walk in complete utter silence, but not feel any unnecessary uncomfortableness.

It’s obvious he’d much rather my mother to walk alongside him, but I’m not giving him a choice. He either has my company or nobody else’s. My mother’s disgusting cookies aren’t enough to let be back down from this unspoken and odd love-triangle. She’ll break her heart; I’ll be the one he runs to. It’s only a matter of time.

So we stroll the through treacherous night with victory bursting in our chests. But only half the emotion is accessible. True victory will approach us when we see Eloise’s face on the bus tomorrow.

I’m a toddler on Christmas Eve.

*

Jasper and I hold our breaths, waiting impatiently for her stop. Casper’s looking rather jumpy himself, though I doubt it’s for the same reason. He isn’t the one surfing through the raging darkness to place a very specially-made CD in her player. No, that’s Jasper and my little secret.

Casper, on the other hand, has the same nerdy look before. The fake glasses, the perfectly-done-up buttons. Today, however, they don’t look quite as new. Yet, I still can’t picture the old version wearing anything other than sweats and some t-shirt with a smart slogan.

He sits opposite his twin brother and myself, desperately hoping the love of his life will take the seat beside him. This must be the first crush he ever had. And if he had multiple before, I’m surely a beginner to the mental workings of the Hart brothers. Jasper liking my mother, who’s thirty years older and still out of his league, is pathetic by itself.

But Casper’s another story. Liking a girl who refuses to listen to any modern technology and owns something belonging in an antique store must be difficult. Not to mention her excessive “adores,” which are simply irritating and the accusing gaze she has upon innocent bystanders whose hands accidently brush against her thigh.

Her effect on Casper is unexplainable. The way he responds to her, acts around her, gets all wobbly like a bowl of jelly is new –even to me, his best friend. I’ve never seen him like this before.

It’s like somebody slipped drugs in his water, or there’s a puppet-master controlling his every move and reaction. This isn’t like him. He’s not the romantic kind of guy at all. What does he even see in this girl who always has a frown on her face instead of a smile?

 “She’s coming,” he mouths, and if possible, his legs jitter more.

And there she is. She takes the seat beside Casper, not taking a single glance at him. The expression on his face is quite humourous, and also defeated because she’s not turning to him. Instead, she’s starting at Jasper. She smiles at him. For a moment, they’re the last two people on Earth, exchanging a victory written clearly on their faces.

What does she have to be all smug about? As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing on her list. Not to mention, it was me –and with the slightest help from Jasper– who snuck to her house at the middle of the night and pranked her.

If anybody’s to cackle like the winning-villain, it should be me.

 “Jasper. Wanna go out with me?”

I so did not see that coming.

He blinks. “Uh…” He catches the look Casper’s shooting him; the whole “Go out with her, and I’ll kill you” expression. Then he sees my “Don’t you dare turn your back to me, mister” look shooting pointedly as him. He does the unexpected. “Sure. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Thankfully, we’re only among the middle of many stops before school. This means there are still seats near the back of the bus where most of the alcohol-consuming teenagers lie, pretending they’re not attending school at a drunken state. But that’s better than nothing.

In unison, Casper and I stand up and leave the pair of seats facing each other. We take a double-seat by itself. Neither of us dares looking back at their traitors. My cheeks burn with humiliation and Casper’s gaze remains on the floor, still questioning why Eloise chose Jasper over him. The look is so sad, so defeated I can’t help putting my arm around him.

And just like that, we’re a team. Because teams exchange all ideas, I immediately spill all about The Midnight Prank War, and how it’ll go on for a whole week. It just isn’t the same. That thrill of knowing Jasper’s with me has disappeared, and it isn’t a bonding activity for the both of us. Instead, it’s a sad attempt at revenge.

Right now, however, it’s all we’ve got left.

My mouth opens and closes like a fish, not taking a pause between words. The excitement is contagious, because Casper’s shooting back ideas. And they’re much better than Jasper’s. Heck, the traitor had no ideas of his own –he was the “sensible” one who went along with whatever the crazy lady thinks up.

His twin brother’s so much better. He’s more fun, he smiles a little more. I might go as far as saying his cheekbones her better defined than Jasper’s, and has less blemishes. And yet, it’s just not the same. My entire life I’ve been going after one boy only. It’s difficult to suddenly stop.

 “We’ll have to change the dates of The Midnight Prank War,” says Casper thoughtfully. “Jasper already knows too much. We’ll have to change the idea and the people we prank.”

Despite how inner-conscious, both of our eyes peer over to the happy couple sitting side-by-side. One who the guy beside me is staring at with drool escaping his lower lip, and the traitor who raised my happiness and stomped on it like a herd of elephants. My breathing doesn’t slow down and my eyes well up with tears which I wipe before they trail down my cheeks. Why am I being so emotional about this?

Because it’s Jasper. A simple explanation that barely answers the original question.

They’re both sitting facing the front. All I can see is the back of Jasper’s head, shaking as he laughs to what Eloise says. I don’t believe he ever laughed like that with me. This is him trying to impress the new girl he’s with –even if it means laughing for a freakishly long time. I’ve never seen this side of him. And if I ever witnessed it, it’d be in my imagination.

Except I’m the one he has his arm around.

The bus halts to a stop and I watch the two of them get up. They leave first and Eloise is startled when her new boyfriend grabs her bag and hands it to her. A look exchanges between the two. I think I’m going to be sick. Just like that, they leave the bus.

We stand up last, letting everyone through first. My footsteps are weak and feeble down the bus, and then stop. A CD player lies, all old and scratched. The markings on the buttons disappeared, and all functions need to be done from memory. But when I open the inside, I see the pranking CD I sent her.

 “School-time, kids. Shoo,” says the bus-driver.

Casper and I don’t need to be asked twice.

Once we’re off the bus, I play the tape. Everything’s the same. My little speech on how paedophiles roam the world and how I’m one myself –not as Luna Richards, of course, but as Chester McGowan– and how I’m coming to get Eloise. It isn’t the best prank, but it’s definitely something.

But after my speech, there’s a five second pause. Then Jasper’s voice takes over. This wasn’t part of the prank.

I pause the CD when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

 “I reckon we should make it one night,” says Casper. “My brother knew it’d be a whole week. So maybe he’s expecting you to strike one day. Then he’ll look out for you at another. It seems like something he’d do.”

 “I’m not sure he even wants to sabotage our Midnight Prank War.”

He ignores me. “And then we can choose seven victims –because going from house-to-house is quite difficult in the middle of the night– before doing our best.”

 “Casper, let it go. Jasper’s not out to ruin our plans. Actually, let’s not do it at all. It’s stupid.”

I press the “play” button.

Hey, Eloise. Can you hear me? Yeah, it’s me Jasper. Sorry about Luna’s previous message. I like her. Really. I like her a lot, ‘cause she’s one of my best friends. But sometimes, she’s just plain crazy. And insane.

Since I couldn’t talk her out of it, I discreetly added this message when she assumed I was learning to pick locks. Yeah. I’m a rebel –be proud.

Basically, I don’t wanna be a part of the plan. I don’t really wanna lose her as a friend either, but I can’t take it. She has really lost her marbles–

I press the stop button, unable to keep listening.

Perhaps he doesn’t intend to ruining my pranking plans, but I don’t appreciate being called crazy. A lunatic. Somebody who has lost their marbles.

 Really, I like her a lot, ‘cause she’s one of my best friends. But sometimes, she’s just plain crazy. And insane.

 “Casper, the prank war’s back on.”

 I’ll show him.

Seven victims.

Two prankers.

And one night for the event to take place on.

We had the slogan worked out, although nobody will see it beforehand. Casper reckons we should print it on napkins and leave it behind after every prank. It’s definitely a considerable idea, and I’ll definitely add it to my notebook.

But the most difficult decision will be choosing those seven victims. Originally, we had twelve but we soon worked out how the average person sleeps for only eight hours a day. Therefore, it’ll be difficult pranking somebody when they’re wide awake.

So we went with seven victims, just for safety.

Casper has a separate list to mine. People who have done him wrong aren’t as serious as mine, though I have to love him for trying. He tries to express anger at that guy at the train station, who gave him extra-sugary doughnuts instead of normal one. I can tell it’s all just an act, because his words and actions aren’t heated enough.

I’m the one taking this entire “prank war” seriously. Casper’s just this awesome twin brother of a traitor who’s kind enough to help.

“Have you got a list of your seven victims?”

 “Seven victims? Casp, you sure you don’t want at least three on there? I mean, the whole reason this plan is still on is ‘cause I hate your brother’s guts.”

 “Don’t worry, I hate him too. I actually snuck in a fake spider in his bed last night.”

My eyes are probably sparkling. It’s intentional. “How’d he react?”

He grimaces. “He actually woke up and stroke it, thinking it was real.” My expression falters. Damn Jasper and his strange love for creepy animals but dislike for normal ones like elephants. “But don’t worry,” he adds quickly, trying to lighten up my mood once more. “We’ll get him back; we’ll get him back good.”

I grin. “Thanks for helping me out.”

 “I have to admit, guilt has something to do with it.”

 “Oh?”

 “Yeah. I look exactly like the guy who betrayed you. Believe it or not, but everybody looking like Jasper is a complete jerk.”

That’s how we sit there, laughing about a joke that isn’t funny. This is the kind of relationship Casper and I have; an effortless, happy one where I never have to be serious because he never is. When he asks me a question, the words “I am the pretzel master” is a valid response, and he will configure his own response out of my extensive one.

Why couldn’t he be the one? Because despite me feeling so comfortable to the extent I’m willing to shave my hair off, it’s just not the same. I don’t like the relationship me and Jasper have –if we have any at all, that is. I always thought, and still to this day believe, that his intentions for ever arriving at my house was for merely my mother.

Does he even know I exist? And if he does, it’s just as a “friend.” If only I saw him the same way. Maybe things would’ve been easier if he didn’t start dating the first victim we pranked.

But my hands roll up into balls. Because I’ve had enough of wishful dreams where Jasper jumps out of nowhere, dumps Eloise and then confesses his true love to me. At this rate, chances of my grandmother getting a love-letter from him is more probable –and she’s a couple of feet underground.

So when Casper casually asks me the question, “Loon, who’s first on your list?”

I say none other but, “The traitor.”

*

 “You have nice eyes,” says Jasper to Eloise.

She grins and then flitters them teasingly. “Yeah? I polish them every night.”

I debate upon whether this polish is sent directly from the devil himself. Although Eloise strikes me as the kind of person the devil would admire, being all, “Oh yeah, I’ve taught that girl well” towards her. And though I suspect she’s kidding, I still can’t wrap my head around how quirky her sense of humour is.

The Traitor, however, laughs. “You’re really funny, too.”

 “Thanks.”

Thankfully, she’s not talking in full sentences and thus not letting any repetitions of “adore” escape her mouth. I know for a fact that Jasper wasn’t completely kidding when he said that word used too many times freaked him out. I’m just hoping she’ll use it against herself.

Unfortunately, she seems to have a good grip on her subconscious. Because even when she explains the long history of bird-watching, which Jasper listens to with a fond expression though he’s dying internally, not a single “adore” escapes her lips. I’m puzzled to say the least. There’s no way a habit that bad can disappear overnight. Especially the minute she starts dating.

 “What’re you doing here?”

I almost jump. Then I spin around to see a concerned Casper.

Smoothing my hair, I move away from behind the tree and stand face-to-face. “Nothing. I was, uh, bird-watching.” Then I begin repeating the same lecture Eloise gave to Jasper a second ago, which isn’t too difficult seeing as I listened so closely for slip-ups, the entire speech is memorised.

Finally, Casper breaks me off with a desperate wave of his hands. “Enough. Seriously. I know you’re hung up on it and everything, but you’ve gotta stop doing this. Spying on a couple? What are you, an old woman with access to binoculars?”

My face must’ve lit up. “Binoculars? You think they might have binoculars here?”

He clutches at his forehead like a pained kindergarten teacher explaining the concept of vowels to their pupils. “Stop it. Luna, stop it. I know my brother ‘betrayed’ you and everything, but it’s all good. You’ve still got me. I mean, he’s not that important…” His voice trails off. Something on my face must’ve revealed emotion, because his eyes widen. “You like him, don’t you?”

 “Of course I do,” I say nonchalantly. “I like him. I like you. I like my mother, Puzzles the dog, the Epic-Sauces next door–”

 “Let me rephrase that. Oh my God, you like-like him, don’t you?”

Immediately, I clap a hand over his mouth. “Shush! Can you say it a little louder? I think some penguin in Antarctica didn’t quite catch it. And for the record, I don’t like-like him–”

 “Luna!”

 “Fine, I love him. Is that so bad?”

Casper looks as if he’s about to suffer a stroke. Perhaps now’s not the best time to confess I’ve secretly been in love with his twin brother all along. Although I’m quite surprised he’s never noticed my unrequited feelings. Jasper must’ve, at some point or another, noticed I have an uncontrollable soft spot for him. And my endless jealousy when he spends time with even my mother. The thought of him with another girl makes me sick.

And now, he’s not just with another girl; he’s dating her. Can this relationship crisis get any worse?

As if reading my mind, Casper absentmindedly states, “How are you not on Oprah?”

I flash him a grin, despite the sinking feeling in my chest. How stupid of me to think Jasper would actually break up with her, at this very park, all because I happen to also be here. Not that I’m stalking him or anything. No, that’s a lie –I have his entire month’s schedule memorised from the planner on the fridge.

My best friend rejects me for the first victim we pranked. There’s also a theory he’s secretly in love with my mother. His twin brother, out of pity, is helping me run some midnight prank war he barely cares about. I just lost my best friend. Somehow, that hurts more than anything else. He might love my mother, get his twin brother to feel sorry for me, date my archenemy. But nothing compares to the loneliness of losing him.

How embarrassing.

The only way I’ll ever feel like the old Luna is if somebody else gets humiliated. That’s the whole point of The Midnight Prank War –a fair, feel-good session for the person inside me who’s been abused all these years. That side of me who’s tearing apart because I’m the class-clown without wanting to me. I’m that girl on every YouTube video, the one who’s always doing something stupid in photos.

I want it to end. Maybe bringing the whole world down with me isn’t the best solution. But I genuinely believe it’s the start of my healing process.

 “Let’s go through our victims, shall we?” I say.

Casper nods. “We shall. Like you said, Jasper’s first on the list. We might get Eloise there too–”

 “Oh yeah. She’s definitely on there too.”

 “And those are the first two people. We’ll think of the other five. But since you have such a huge list, I think finding substitutes for pranking won’t be a problem.”

 “I don’t, either. We can also put that old lady who leaves across the road from me. She always comments on how I’m putting on weight.”

 “Have you seen her nephew? He’s so skinny, his bones are sticking out.”

 “Oh, and him too. Come to think of it, he’s staying at her house for this entire year. Mainly ‘cause he has a year where he’ll sit around and do nothing.”

This is true. University gives people the freedom to do anything as they wish. Just so long as they don’t expect payment for their miscellaneous activities. Her son, Mark, is going to stay there for an entire year because he’s taking a gap-year from university. Although this might seem like a dream come true, he still has to work part-time because his grandmother barely lives on pension money.

Anyhow, it still doesn’t stop him from living his virtual life.

 “You really hate that teacher who always gives you bad marks ‘cause she confuses you with somebody else?”

 “Yes! I can’t believe I forgot her. She mistakes me for Lacey Hillbury. Luna. Lacey. Completely different names! And yet, I get a significantly low mark on my report because Lacey talks all the time.”

 “Ouch. Sucks to be you. I guess the plus-side of being a twin is that teachers pay extra attention to who is who. We’re never confused with each other.”

I sigh. “And add Lacey to the list. Not only is the reason I get low-marks for her endless chatter, but she also spread a rumour that I and Mandy do after-school stripping at a club. With my luck, they’d kick me out within a ten metre radius.”

 “Gotta admit, it’s kinda hard being you.”

 “Only noticed that now?” Regardless, I smile. “Yeah, it’s tough being me in the aspect I can fight back but I never seem to. I’m madder at myself for not getting revenge earlier, you know? I never think myself as having a tough life. I just hate my reluctance to stand up for myself.”

We walk in silence some of the way back to his house. The only reason I was able to come to this park is because Jasper had a full distance next to his daily schedule. It was a neat indicator of his exact location so his mother doesn’t get worried. Not that she ever checks the fridge in hurry of going to work.

And I meant every word I said to Casper. I hate myself. But I’m going to be a whole new person after the prank war –the kind I’ve always wanted to be. Always, however, I had doubts as to whether it’d suit me. Now I just don’t care. I’ll be who I want; and if it doesn’t feel like, I’ll change myself every day until I find a skin I’m comfortable in.

Just like that, we begin discussing school and our life halfway through our path. That’s the difference between Casper and Jasper: I’m far more comfortable with Casper. Plus, our personalities match to a greater extent. Yet, he’s still not Jasper.

Weaved through within our conversation, we mention Billy the toddler who vomited on me during a time I babysat him –and it was on purpose, because he had a bucket right in front of him. However, he ran all the way towards me and puked all over my hair, which definitely didn’t benefit with this new substance sticking on.

Cedric and Mr Chewbuckett were mentioned also. They’re the first on my list in the “failed romances” department, but I’m unsure as to whether I’ll ever see them again. But when I do, I’ll make sure to sneakily get their location. Maybe I’ll look their names up online.

 “We have seven victims,” says Casper all of a sudden.

I grin at this –seven victims, two prankers and one eventful prank war.

The slogan screams perfection.

In a hurry, I spring open my locker.

It’s break, giving us extra time to plan our amazing prank war. Casper’s probably already at our bench with his notebook, waiting for me. It’s where Jasper and I used to sit. In fact, Casper never used to sit still at lunchbreaks –he’d either be playing football, arguing with teachers about his mark or awaiting another detention for speaking back.

To even think about him sitting still, eating and sitting silently is a shock all by itself.

I almost look over the small piece of paper tucked at the top corner. I pull it out. It’s not small, but rather an A4 page folded so many times it’s impossible to flatten it out completely. However, I’m still able to read it.

Luna, I like your hair.

And all the memories you don’t know we shared.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer.

My first reaction was to run to the nearest police station and place a restraining order. After a couple of deep breaths, I realise my stalker has been extremely clever and hasn’t put a name on this piece of paper. There’s no way I can sue a nameless person. The law doesn’t allow it.

After five minutes or so, I stop thinking the letter as creepy. In fact, in its own twisted way, it’s sweet and kind of flattering. Instinctively, I pull on my dark-brown hair I always thought was plain. Chances are, it still is. Kind words from a stranger doesn’t convert a boring hairstyle into something extraordinary.

But my nose has grown. My ego has inflated like the world’s largest hot-air balloon. For the first time in about two years, somebody pays attention to me. And only me.

Although I want to pretend the admirer’s identity means nothing, there’s a huge amount of curiosity bursting in my mind. No, I simply must know. This person sees me the way I want to see myself.

Not exactly as a stalking-target, but as somebody worth sending a secret letter to. They’re probably extremely shy so they’re afraid of being bounced back.

That’s when I see Scott walking down the hall. Our eyes lock instantly. And somewhere within the urgent panging of my heart and sweaty palms, I know. I’m certain he’s the sender of this message.

He looks away first, taking a right turn in the hallway and disappearing from my sight. Just because I can’t see him doesn’t mean the drastic beating of my heart slowed. It’s like a movie, where the girl discovers her secret admirer.

Usually in movies, it turns out to be the best friend. And I would’ve been over the moon if it was my best friend. But my life isn’t a movie. I’m definitely not the one writing the script, because I’d have given myself the happy ending years ago.

I have a gut-feeling it’s Scott. There’s no evidence. The writing on the piece of paper is typed, not even written. How am I supposed to find out for myself?

Deciding I shouldn’t worry myself further about this secret-lover business, I chuck the piece of paper in my locker, grab my lunchbox and head towards the bench. When I get there, I admit it’s difficult to not see Jasper. Casper looks similar to most people, but they’re completely different. Period.

Different personalities, difference faces, different names. Jasper’s the guy to get close with before one ends the relationship while Casper always maintains a distance from everyone.

 “Thought you’d never come,” says Casper, grinning.

As predicted, a small yellow notebook rests in his hands with a pencil tucked in the binding. I have no doubt he’ll make good use of the lead, shortening it until it’s useless. Him and notebooks. Every year, I get him some sort of bound paper for his birthday and he’s content for the next year or so.

 “Neither did I.” I sit down next to him. “But I couldn’t keep you waiting. By the way, you’re really got to stop wearing that ‘nerd’ costume.”

He holds his nose up defensively. “It’s my new style.”

 “No, it’s not. You’re still holding onto that teensy bit of hope, thinking Eloise would chase after you with that costume.”

 “Am not!”

 “Are too!”

Mandy comes around the corner. “Hey. Can I sit with you guys?”

Because the benches have seats opposite of each other, she sits on the other side. She doesn’t even wait for an answer. Casper’s about to open his mouth to say something, but closes it. The obvious has risen: there’s no way we’ll discuss the midnight prank war in these conditions. Confidentiality is required.

However, Casper’s not that smart and blurts out, “How come you’re sitting with us?”

Before I can point out how rude he was, Mandy shrugs and answers, “My friends hate me. Whatever.”

Did not see that coming.

 “Huh?” we both say in unison, wondering if we misunderstood her.

 “You heard me. They hate me, I hate them. It’s mutual.”

 “I believe friendship’s a two-sided thing, but who am I kidding?” For the second time in the same ten minutes, Casper blurts out, “Luna’s in love with Jasper.”

Mandy grins. “I saw it coming.”

Among all these different subjects thrown together, confusion fills my mind. “What?”

 “You and Jasper,” Mandy says again, as if explaining a simple concept to a kindergartener. “Just the way you’d look at him. It was obvious. And by the way he reacted, he seemed to know it.”

 “The way he reacted?” repeats Casper.

Mandy rolls her eyes. “Seriously, you two are so slow. Yes, the way he reacted. He was always kinda, you know, tagging her along. A second choice.”

It’s not a matter of opinion. To my dismay, it’s a cold fact engraved in stone. I’ve always been Jasper’s second-choice, even before he and Eloise started dating. My mother came before myself. How is that even possible? What other girl in the world has a guy-friend preferring their mother over her? Is this the kind of bad luck heaven threw at me? Some sort of cruel joke?

Because I’m not laughing. I’m definitely not laughing.

 “We’re planning a prank-war,” I say, ignoring Casper’s bulging eyes. “We’re going to go around pranking everyone at midnight. Not much of a big deal.”

 “What’s not much of a big deal?”

My heart stops at its place. Perhaps it’s a slight exaggeration because I continue living. Regardless, I see the chiselled face of Scott. The guy in Year Eleven I always knew was popular by seeing him around sport fields, but never knew his name until Mandy told me.

 “They’re having a midnight prank war,” says Mandy, obviously not realising how secretive this is supposed to be.

 “Cool! Can I join?”

 “Yes,” I reply. Somehow I don’t mess out the two-syllabled word. I’ll have to treat myself with chocolate for my accomplishment. “Sure. I already have the seven targets picked out, though.”

 “Seven targets so you can get ‘em all before dawn, eh?” He sits next to me. I almost faint. “Sounds reasonable. Though could me and Mandy get one victim each?”

 “Sure. I’ll leave out that grandmother at the corner and her grandson. They weren’t that important anyway.”

 “I easily choose that Jasper guy,” says Scott. “Ugh, he annoys me so much.”

I swallow. “Jasper Hart?”

 “Yeah. Sorry, I know you guys are friends and it’s wrong of me–”

 “We aren’t friends anymore.”

 “Oh.”

 “Yeah. And he’s first on the list.” I wink at him. At this rate, I’ll be rewarding myself with enough chocolate to develop diabetes. “He’s just being a jerk is all. Mandy, what about you?”

She tells us about a supposed friend of hers, claiming Mandy stole her boyfriend. Emily, her name is, and we all agreed it’s the name of a villain though I thought it was a pretty name. Of course, I concealed my personal opinions.

The worst part about this rumour was how all Mandy’s other friends believed it also. It’s a nightmare come true. An act of betrayal. And although this has nothing to do with him, I imagine by ex-best-friend with that tape. How dare he go behind my back and claim me as a lunatic?

In a messed-up world, friends become strangers. They’re the demons living underneath our beds, the ones we check for but dismiss. When we grow older, it’s as if our filter for friends weakens. I know I have the worst best friend in the world, one who has two sides to his face.

And just as simply, strangers become friends. That’s how Casper the Pretzel-Lover, Mandy the Boyfriend-Stealer, Scott the Popular-Year-Eleven-Er and Luna the Humiliation-Taker got together.

We’re pieces of different puzzles fitting together, making an unrecognisable picture.

*

Casper went out to get some more chocolate from the corner-shop.

Since it’s so cold in the middle of the afternoon, I insisted on staying underneath the cool fan and watching the sun send more golden rays my way. Bring it on, sun.

Jasper enters the room. A fresh layer of awkwardness suffocates the air.

 “Luna, we’ve got to talk.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say breezily. “Eloise left her CD player in the bus, I pressed play. Now, I don’t want anything to do with you. So if you’ll excuse me,” I say, trying to brush through the door.

He blocks the doorway. “What’s wrong with you?”

That’s when I lose it. “What’s wrong with me? You’re right. What is wrong with me? Why am I still hanging around my best friend? Oh, that’s right –because he isn’t one. He’s too busy talking behind my back.”

 “What? Luna, did you listen to the entire tape?”

Suddenly, I’m confused. And quite frankly, I just don’t care anymore. Not about anything. I just want to lie in a freezer forever. “No, I didn’t.”

 “Well, duh. Of course you’d get the wrong idea if you only listened to part of it.” He turns on his computer and retrieves the sound-file he put on the CD. “Now, listen to the whole thing.”

 “She has really lost her marbles. But it doesn’t matter if she’s crazy. I know what you’re thinking: I’m an idiot. Why am I even friends with her?” Gee, thanks Jasper. “And all I can say is, you don’t know her. Anybody can judge her from the outside. But when you get to know her, she’s an amazing person. So what I’m trying to say is, please don’t tell anybody else about this prank war. It, well, means a lot to her.”

The file stops playing. And for the moment, I’m speechless.

Finally, I say, “What do you mean ‘please don’t tell anybody else about this prank war’?”

 “Casper found out. Somebody told him to look up something on the internet, but ours was down. You had wireless on your laptop, so he was about to Google it. But you didn’t close our little ‘list’ and he saw everything.”

I look sheepish. “I should really learn to close stuff…”

 “You should. Basically, the next time he tried ‘impressing’ Eloise, the whole thing came out of his mouth. That boy cannot keep a secret. And then she called me up, saying she knew.”

 “So you gave her this CD…” I take a deep breath. “Wow. Um, thanks. I guess.”

He laughs. “No problem. Friends?”

 “Yeah. Friends.” I pause. “So you and Eloise are dating, huh?”

His eyes light up. “Oh yeah. That’s just a bonus. I mean, that night when I gave her that tape, she called me at four a.m. And we got to talking and kinda never stopped. She wants to be an engineer and she’s just an awesome person…”

My heart falters. I was somehow praying it was all a hoax and he’s still secretly in love with me. But what wishful thinking? Of course Eloise is good enough for him, that smarty-adoring-pants. And then there’s me, who he still won’t consider more than a friend. I sigh. This isn’t a matter of movies and happy-endings where the main lead gets everything she ever dreams of.

I might as well let go of him. He doesn’t have any “secret” feelings for me, I don’t need to hold onto a dream belonging only in my sleep.

Being friends is more than enough; how long can I convince myself it’s true?

I find another small pink slip tucked in my locker.

Once more, I open the note to find yet another love poem. I can’t help a smile on my face. Scott has to be the most romantic guy ever. Even if I don’t have solid evidence he’s my secret admirer that look passing between us the other day was good enough.

He’s like an open book I decided to flip through, finding pieces of details and combining them. Maybe there’s no place in the book stating the obvious, but altogether, there’s enough evidence to suggest he’s secretly in love with me.

 “Hey.”

The voice almost makes me jump. “Oh! Hey, Jasper.” I try to look casual. “Whatcha doing here?”

 “Waiting for you. Are you okay? You look freaked out.”

The main reason is because of the second note found in my locker. However, I’ve been a little hesitant around Jasper lately, despite him claiming the title of my best friend. I just don’t know how to act around somebody as unpredictable as him. What kind of person goes that long not explaining misunderstood situations?

He’s not the bad guy in this event. I don’t believe Eloise is, either. Life’s the jerk in this situation, and certain sour lemons it threw in my way. Those are people with seemingly perfect lives; a mask of flawlessness I’ll destroy their pathetic plans with my pranks.

Which, although sounding quite humourous, is one of the most serious things I’ll ever do in my lifetime.

 “Yeah, I’m fine.” I follow him through the hallway and back to the bench. Our bench. However, it’s not the mere two of us anymore: the entire team’s sitting there, awaiting my presence. It occurs to me how I’m finally part of something special. No amount of humiliation can take this away from me.

Over this happy realisation, I don’t see the apple core in front of me. I step on it, and then out of shock of losing my balance, flip and land on my elbows. Everybody leaves the bench and rushes towards me. If there’s a medal for the “Most Embarrassed,” I wouldn’t just me a nominee –I’d take that prize home.

Choruses of “Are you okay?” erupt around me, and I groan before giving everybody a pained smile before nodding. Everybody else ambles back to

the bench except Jasper, who’s walking three steps behind me in case something else humiliates me beyond reason. What a positive light shining on my life.

 “We’ve got so many people on the Prank Community.”

 “Prank Community?” I question.

 “That’s what we decided to name our group,” says Scott in a childishly obvious way.

 “I didn’t agree to it.”

 “You didn’t have to,” says Eloise haughtily. “We’re all leaders here.”

 “Right,” I mutter. “But it’s cool with me. Now, about the victims…”

Mandy looks hesitant. “Yeah, we were meaning to talk to you about them.”

 “What?”

 “We kinda, well, changed them around.”

I lose my final screw. “You what?”

 “Since there’s so many of us, we’ve decided to hand one victim to each team-member. Just so it’s fair.”

 “But–”

 “If you wanted a Prank Community, you have to serve justice.” Eloise twirls a strand of her brown hair. “And I’d say you’re not being quite fair, don’t you think?”

I hate that girl. There aren’t any words to describe how happily I’d dig a hole and bury her in it. Maybe then she’ll understand the genuine meaning of “justice.” Justice is where Eloise doesn’t speak, look or even think. The world’s so much better without her.

Just like how the world’s better without the “Prank Community,” which contains the greediest, most horrible people I’ve ever met. How dare they submerge something meaning so much to me? Can’t they see how they’ll never understand the magnetism pulling me towards some sort of desperate solution to my pathetic life?

So for the first time ever, I stand up on the bench. Scott rolls his eyes before telling me to get down. I ignore him. He’s definitely not my secret

admirer –I simply won’t allow him to be– if he believes I’ll get down from my pride. All that’s left of a dysfunctional ploy to take over the world are five people, including me, who believe in justice.

What about the fact I thought of the prank war? Even think of that? And anyway, I never asked them to become a part of the team. Things were fine when Jasper and I were a team all by ourselves. In fact, they were excellent. A girl and a boy running through the darkness of the night, humiliating the souls out of many horrible human beings. That was perfect.

Just as I’m ready to project my thoughts, my evidently right opinions, a teacher comes by and glares at me. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to, because before I know it, I’m standing back on the ground and grimacing. The teacher’s sunglasses glisten, as if warning me she’ll be around in ten minutes. I shudder. How creepy are the teachers around here?

So there goes my dramatic way of exposing my feelings. But it doesn’t stop me from clapping my hands loudly to catch attention from the “Prank Community.” When they finally all turn to me with their lips sealed, I begin.

 “First off, I don’t need you. Any of you. Full-stop. So don’t you dare think, you’re doing favours by simply being on the team. Secondly, it’s my Prank War. Hear that? Mine. Justice isn’t supposed to be served here, because this entire thing’s mine only. If you don’t like that, leave.”

To my surprise, Scott’s the first to leave, muttering something about him having a lot of homework and needing to get a head-start. Mandy stumbles an apology about unable to sneak out during the night and slips away from my sight before I can blink twice. Eloise obviously disappears next, admitting she hates me. Fair enough.

Casper’s departure is next. He makes a face. Perhaps it’s some sort of apology, but my blood is boiling too ferociously to examine body language. And then there’s Jasper left, who hangs his head.

 “Don’t do this to me,” I whisper.

 “Sorry, Luna. I’m with Eloise.”

Putting his hands in his pockets, he walks off without a glance backwards. He’s gone. I can’t believe he did that to me. And Casper. Although I didn’t know anybody else well enough to judge them from their past, I’m betrayed by all of them. Strangers who’ll never be friends. Is this what my life has ended up as?

There I sit on the bench. Alone. How humiliating. Why do these things always happen to me? Maybe if someone else was in my position, they’d keep their mouth closed. They wouldn’t snap at their team members, and insist on things going exactly their way. Tears fill my eyes. I no longer care if anybody’s watching me, whispering about me.

 “Hi.”

With tear-filled eyes, I look up and see a face I once saw in the newsletter. And sometimes around school. A boy with glass-blue eyes and hair hardly impressive due to strands sticking out at all directions.

 “Hello,” I reply.

 “You okay?”

 “I’m fine.” I manage to smile. “I’m Luna.”

 “And I’m your secret admirer.”

This makes me snap my head right up so I’m facing him eye-to-eye. “What?”

 “It’s kinda embarrassing, but I was on my way to slip in another note in your locker.” Now that he’s grinning, I see his teeth are far too big for his mouth. And yet it doesn’t look completely hideous. “But then you’re all alone here, so I… I had to stop by.”

 “Well, um, thanks for the notes. The first one was really creepy,” I say, and he laughs with a nod of agreement. “And I know this is straightforward, but I have a specific rule not to date anyone more than a year older–”

 “Don’t take those notes the wrong way. It’s just… you’re kinda a mainstream person for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I mean, I watched you get fired, watch Scott make casual convo about how ‘hot’ your mother is, and now I watched the whole incident with your friends walking away.”

 “Nice. Very nice. Have you ever considered you are in the wrong place at the wrong time for seeing all these things happen to me?”

He laughs. “Yup. But I figured I’m perfect, so it must be your problem. In all seriousness, though, I thought it’d cheer you up getting notes. It might make you feel special.”

 “Great, I’m a charity-case now.”

 “Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you it was me.”

 “Don’t apologise. It’s okay.”

The bell rings. I stand up, and to my surprise, my secret admirer follows me. When I turn to shoot a curious look, he motions his locker’s near mine. He can slip by pink slips of paper without receiving any suspicious looks. Definitely a convenient way of making somebody else’s day better to live.

It occurs to me how not stranger is out to strangle me. There are genuinely nice people around like this secret admirer of mine, whose name I still don’t know. Not everybody’s out of humiliate me, although a good ninety-eight percent are plotting ways to attack me this very moment. Maybe it’s simply a moment of paranoia for me.

I take a deep breath. Then, I power-walk to where my secret admirer is whistling and getting his books. He’s a good couple of centimetres taller than me.

 “I should’ve asked earlier, but what’s your name?”

 “Cedric.”

Immediately, a series of shudders run up my spine. When he notices it and asks what’s wrong, I debate upon telling the truth. Then decide against it. Telling a stranger Cedric’s the name of my ex-boyfriend who’s now a human but was formerly a werewolf isn’t the best first impression to make. Chances are, it’s a one-way ticket to a psychiatrist asking me to “release” my inner-tension.

So I only tell a half-lie and reply with, “It used to be my ex-boyfriend’s.”

He nods. “Understandable.”

Although the bell rang a minute ago and I barely have time to head to my next class –which is at the other side of the school– I linger around. There’s some sort of mental buzzing noise sounding in my head. Immediately, I shake the noise out before putting on my best smile and asking Cedric if he’d like a cup of coffee after-school at the small café just a couple of metres away from the school.

He checks his diary through his schedule. Seeing as he’s in Year Twelve, he probably doesn’t have any extra time for anything else but studying and revising. I bite my lip. How inconsiderate of me, demanding he takes a break from the most important year of his life.

 “It’s okay if you can’t make–”

 “No, today’s fine.” He closes his diary and then picks up his books. “See you after-school.”

I grin. “See you.”

When I walk into class, I’m declared “late” and the teacher gives me a lecture about being on-time for her classes. But during the last period of the day, I have the strangest burst of realisation. For once in my life, I’m living in the moment. My old friends are the past I no longer care about.

That isn’t completely true: I still can’t forgive them for betraying me. But they’re as good as forgotten. For now, anyway. They have their own little group I’ve never been a big part of. None of them share the same interests and Jasper definitely doesn’t consider me as a true friend, because he’s willing to choose his girlfriend over me.

Speaking of the devil, he taps on my shoulder from behind. “Luna? Are you mad at us?”

I ignore him. And Casper with his lectures on feet. It suddenly strikes me what a dysfunctional group I truly did hang out with. What human being on Earth can’t put on their own socks without feeling disgust enough to kill them? Not to mention Eloise’s CD-player obsession, Jasper’s shopping mall frenzy and Mandy’s ability to look like a hooker.

These people aren’t normal. It’s an observation I just made, only because I saw them from a third-person’s point of view. I don’t have anything in common with them. Why do I continue hanging around people who want nothing to do with me?

The door to their friendship has closed. A new start with Cedric as a possible candidate of a best friend has opened up. And I’m not going to set my hopes high: chances are, me and Cedric won’t be friend-material either. These last six months haven’t been the best time of my life.

But this is going to be my year.

A year where anything can happen.

When I see Cedric after school, he’s already waiting outside my last class.

I try not to show my surprise. He sees right through my unneeded mask, because he grins before adding something about checking with the office where I’ll be. A part of me is flattered he bothered to check, but at the same time, a little freaked out as to how people find out confidential information so easily.

We walk across the road, the traffic-lady guiding us. Exchanging greetings, we make out way to the coffee shop at the corner. Jasper and Casper catch my eye, but I ignore them when they wave. They’re a figment of my past now. Perhaps it’s a dramatic end. But it’s how I feel.

As it’s been recently renovated, it’s three times larger than it used to be. Wallpaper with exotic designs and an overall collage of different shades of brown. The waitresses are all high-school students with a reasonable amount of makeup and revealing short skirts. Definitely a good place for guys to hang out, despite the family friendly environment.

 “What type of coffee would you like?” I say.

 “Nah, I don’t drink coffee.”

 “Oh?”

 “Yeah. My father was an insomniac thanks to that drink. It was traumatising hearing the television in the middle of the night. So I’m not going to get addicted to it.” He sniffs the air. “Even though it’s one of the nicest smells in the world.”

 “I know, right? The smell itself is addictive.”

 “And it’s impossible to get insomnia from that… right?”

 “I’m failed science last term. Better not ask me.”

Taking the nearest table, I sit with my straight black coffee and add around six small packets of sugar. I haven’t counted how many packets I emptied in the drink; I just judge the drink by whether it’s sweet enough for me to consume. Cedric sits opposite me, trying to hide his embarrassment over choosing a bright pink cupcake.

I laugh at this. “Don’t try to hide it. Just ‘cause you like pink doesn’t mean you should be ashamed.”

 “It’s not so much the pink colour.” Suddenly, a boy comes out of the staffroom and makes his way towards Cedric. The boy opposite me

hunches low at such an extent, I kind of figure it’s physically impossible. “Speak of the devil.”

 “Cedric! Fancy seeing you here, Champ!” The boy around the corner flashes one of the brightest smiles I ever witnessed before ruffling the uncomfortable boy’s hair opposite me. “And you’ve escorted a wonderful lady to accompany you.” He raises his eyebrows. “How old might you be?”

I give him a tight smile, acknowledging he doesn’t care about my name. “I’m Luna, thanks for asking.”

 “You’re in, what, tenth grade?”

 “Yup. And enjoying it.”

 “Just like Chester here likes Child-Molesting.” His million-dollar smile blinds as all once more. “Chester, Chester, the child molester.”

 “Nice to see you again, Wyatt,” mutters Cedric.

 “Wish I could say the same thing about you and your horrifying obsession with strawberry cupcakes,” says Wyatt before shooting me a wink and disappearing back to the staffroom.

There’s an awkward pause between us where I drink my coffee. But every once in a while, I shoot “intense” stares simply to make him uncomfortable. What a wonderful impression I must be making. This is to certify no other kind strangers dare assure me after many of my humiliating moments happening on a daily basis.

Cedric, however, isn’t wavered. It’s almost as if he's used to this. Does every victim he pity end up like me? Why isn’t he leaving this small coffee house?

What’s more, do Wyatt’s comments have any meaning? It’s possible this is the first time he’s ever seen Cedric and decided to humiliate him, but something tells me their history goes back a couple of notches. They seem familiar with each other, and yet, they seemed distant.

That short five seconds felt like a lifetime. I think that’s a sign I’m truly the third-wheel in this meeting. Anyway, why am I even wasting Cedric’s time by giving him sour glares? Shouldn’t he be studying away somewhere in a library? Or does he consider this a rude option and a bad first impression on a stranger?

Guilt strangles me. So I begin blabbering about how important Year Twelve is, and count down on my fingers how much I’m not looking

forward to locking myself up in my room, buried under a pile of homework every single night. There’s no time for a social life, I don’t think.

What a horrible year. But if one doesn’t do it right, they’ll end up at a fast-food outlet for the rest of their lives.

To my surprise, Cedric smirks. “Don’t worry, the sour glares are something I get on a regular basis. From a lotta different people, actually.”

 “Oh.” What an informative word.

 “And as for Wyatt, he’s an old friend of mine. He’s been working here since he was twenty. And he’s twenty-eight now, so do the math.  I’ve been known to date girls younger than me, so he never passes up an opportunity to tease me about it.”

 “Girls younger than you?”

His cheeks redden. “There was this one time I brought my ten-year-old step-sister, Polly, in. Wyatt was there; Wyatt was there, alright. And I’m pretty sure she’ll never speak to me again.”

Despite the seriousness of this situation, I crack up laughing. Here is somebody else equally as humiliated as me. He probably has a zillion lists scrunched up, buried amongst the back of his cupboard, with names of people who’ve done him injustice throughout his life.

It suddenly occurs to me exactly why he started those secret admirer notes in first place. When I got those tiny pink slips, I thought the entire world was in the palm of my hands. Like something was going right. And although it was slightly disappointing when Scott didn’t turn out to be the sender, the misery didn’t last long.

After all, none of my old friends deserve to be part of The Midnight Prank War. They’re all selfish people, especially Eloise who steals the hearts of two of my best friends in the world. I never considered her a friend. Never did I realise none of those “mates” of mine would soon be left behind.

Except I’m not the one being left behind. It was vice versa.

When I see Wyatt again, his blond dreadlocks in a wild mess, I’m lead back to the memory of Jasper. How, I have no idea. Especially since they look nothing alike. But the connection is there. Plus, it burns my heart into pieces so tiny, a microscope has trouble detecting them.

Jasper was my whole world. He was that guy I always told everything to. In my current moment of desperation, I’d take him the way he is. He might

be in love with my mother, dating my worst enemy, and is incapable of seeing me as anything more than an annoying sister. But this is a moment of weakness. I’m not that strong.

So I stand up. I realise now that I’ve made a mistake. He’s not in the wrong. I’m the stubborn girl who overreacts to everything and makes a huge dramatic fuss. So the “prank community” wanted to rename themselves a specific name and choose a victim each. Big deal.

But when I get up, Cedric gives me a wry smile. He thinks I’m freaked out by the dating-younger-girls thing, which can’t be more wrong. Despite him being a stranger, I sit back down and explain the whole concept of my prank war and exaggerate on the major mistake I made of letting my best friend go.

He agrees I’m an idiot, while also placing an opinion about females being overdramatic. According to him, we think every little thing is a matter of life and death. I laugh. I assure him it’s not the entire female population who’re like this: it’s just me.

To my surprise, he has a different approach to my problem. “Don’t let your friends get in the way of what really matters to you. I mean, gain their friendship back and everything. But don’t let them decide what’s best for you.” He pauses while I gawk, draining every drop of his wisdom. “Far too many people know ‘bout the Prank War. I suggest pretending it’s not on anymore.”

I debate this thought. “They might try to sabotage it, eh?”

He nods. “And while they’re in beds, thinking they’re safe and sound, you can attack them.” Suddenly, he grins. “I think I’ve found you four victims you simply must prank.”

 “You don’t mean my friends, right?”

He shrugs. “It’s really up to you. But think about this: have you ever been that humiliated as you were when they walked away from you?”

 “It was worse than all the other times.”

 “Exactly. Do you see now why they should be the victims?”

I sit there silently, unable to decide upon this situation. If I say no, I’ll be plain old Luna Richard again with the added stress of continually fighting for my two best friends –who’re now stolen by Eloise. Really, the best I can hope for is them still appreciating my contribution after that major breakdown.

What am I, an actor? There’s no reason for me to be dramatic. Anyway, I now have Scott who’ll never look at me as more than a friend –if he sees me as one in first place. And Casper who betrayed me just as much as Jasper, dating another girl in front of my eyes.

It’s the easiest solution. Go back to my old life with added negativity. It’s a safe place I can predict. Kind of boring, actually, to live the same thing over again. No difficulties, no pressure.

Only when Cedric gets a text message from his mum, groaning about her incapability of writing a proper text message do I realise what I want. What I really want is for this prank war to proceed. Perhaps my pranks won’t be that well-thought-out, seeing as Jasper’s no longer a part of the team and my solo mind can’t handle such large experiments.

But I’m willing to take the risk. The dangers of losing every friend I ever made and sneakily come back afterwards, pretending nothing went wrong. As if I wasn’t out in the middle of the night, trying to make the world feel like I do. Is it really worth it?

Yes, it is.

When Cedric leaves the coffee house, I wave to him and he looks confused before waving back. I guess he assumed he made the worst first impression. He has no idea how he made my mind up for me. The most-likely scenario is I’ll never find a chance to tell him, because he’ll be buried under assignments and exams.

Sometimes we meet people who seem insignificant. But they’re at the right place at the right time. Cedric is one of them. He was there when all my friends disappeared, and some force on Earth pushed him forward to greet me face-to-face. If he didn’t come up to me today, I’ll probably run back to my friends, begging them to take me back.

But we met at the right time. The right time being a choice between two difficult paths, and he made me realise how easily I ruled one of them out. I don’t want to live my boring, pathetic life. I want to sneak out and not get caught; prank people anonymously; get the world shaken up at the next possible victim.

This is why I take the other path. The one which requires me being out of my comfort-zone and into a blind, wild road. Yet, I appreciate the conclusion of me being more than the person I am now. Luna Richard, best friend of Jasper and Casper Hart and fair acquaintances with Eloise, Scott and Mandy.

How boring.

I’d rather be Luna Richard, the mysterious girl nobody knows a lot about. And, to certain victims, their worst nightmares. Nobody crosses her path without feeling an eerie chill suffocate them.

I want to be that girl.

I will be that girl.

The Midnight Prank War is back on.

The Midnight Prank War begins in exactly five minutes.

I hold my breath, watching the numbers flip. It takes minutes. But I want to start at precisely the right time, simply because this event will dominate history. The next generation will sit in class, studying my face with a description of my courageous tactics to take revenge upon the world. So I might as well make this as dramatic as possible.

Cedric’s right. The real victims in this Prank War are my friends. They have been, all along. All I needed was somebody to come around and point out the obvious. Now, I can see clearly like a blind man with a bionic eye. That’s right: my friends have hurt me the worst, because they’re the ones I rely on.

The entire world continues to torment me with its miseries. I find myself stepping in disgusting things, people catching me doing the most inappropriate things and witnessing many looks of disgust shot my way. But these supposed friends of mine should stand by me like Batman and Robin.

They’re my sidekicks; the ones making sure my life doesn’t collapse completely. It’s their responsibility to assist me in viewing the bright side when the world is an endless shade of black. But they’re not handling their responsibility well. In fact, life’s a million times easier without them.

That’s not the definition of true friends. Just people I hang around with, pretending they love and accept me. In reality, they’d hardly notice if I disappeared.

Actually, they’re all over at Jasper’s house right now. Half an hour after the party started, Casper invited me. But I refused. I know they forgot about me because Jasper’s voice was in the background, yelling out to get clothes for their small hot-tub in the backyard.

Since he’s the father of the group, he refuses to let anybody enter water-surrounded areas after eating. They must wait a certain amount of time. I wish I didn’t hear him. It’d be easier to pretend they didn’t forget me.

But they did. Which is why Cedric’s advice plays clearly in my head, like headphones blaring my favourite song: these people aren’t my friends. They’re enemies. They’re fakes.

They’re prank victims.

I grab my skin-tight black costume and exit the door, practically racing towards the motorbike in the shed. Perhaps it’ll make a significant amount of noise, but I’ll park far away from my victims’ houses. They won’t see what’s coming.

It suddenly occurs to me I have every prank-victim at the same place. A rush of excitement catches me off-guard. Yes, these people just made pranking a whole lot easier. It occurs to me how dramatic and stupid this idea might look to a third-person: a prank war. Really? I can sense Wyatt, a guy I barely met, rolling his eyes without intention of ever knowing me properly.

Here’s the thing: it’s not a little thing to me. I truly think my life will change. Maybe it’s got something to do with how revenge seems like a wonderful alternative to “getting over it.” Because I, Luna Richard, have serious issues as to forgetting shameful incidents.

My memories start all the way from kindergarten where I accidentally eat my green crayon, causing a little boy to start crying and teachers having bad impression of me. It’s fair to hold that incident as the “beginning” of my humiliating schemes.

Since then, my life didn’t get any better.

Maybe this is my chance to get back at the world. So why do I keep stopping, finding the need to convince myself what a brilliant idea this is? Surely I would have full confidence if it’s a scheme coming from the heart. But the truth is, I’m a little doubtful. What more can a couple of measly pranks do?

Nothing, really. They’ll be anonymous, because I can’t stand the idea of people truly hating my personality. Plus, these victims of mine won’t ever remember a tiny mishap of their life. When I swallowed that green crayon in kindergarten, I sure didn’t care about it much.

Little did I know my entire world would revolve around incidents where people looked at me with those same, horrified/disgusted expressions.

I wave away every doubt in mind. Then I get on my motorbike, my black helmet blending in with the darkness. Some escaped leaves find themselves on the road; they make a crackling noise, along with the crickets of the night. I glide smoothly through the street until I arrive three metres in front of their house.

But I watch Eloise running out the door, grinning, and then getting into a black car. There’s a bald shadow in the driver’s seat, who I assume is her father. She waves goodbye to all her friends and disappears. Scott and Mandy aren’t there at all. It’s just Jasper and Casper in the same house, as it should be.

I try not to feel disappointed. All my hopes of pranking them all at once are destroyed, yes, but this means I’ll grow stronger with each prank. I’ll find new tactics, find what works and whatnot, and then then use my very best to make this an unforgettable night.

The door closes. The hart twins are behind it, unsuspecting the reality of how horrifying this night will be for them. My hands rub absentmindedly in glee. When they awake, they’ll wish they never messed with me. Even so, I can’t help sniggering. My pranks, unfortunately, won’t be that brilliant –but I’ll try my best.

With a handbag clutched at my purse, filled with all my materials, I sneak around the other side of the house. I tiptoe, careful not to make sudden movements or sounds giving away my position and whereabouts.

I succeed. My feet are firmly planted in the backyard, and I duck below their window, careful not to get caught.

Then I realise something: I’m not the other Luna. Not the one who hangs around in the darkness, trying desperately to receive deserved attention. The whole point of this prank war is so this new and improved version gets a chance to shine. With the same skin and same face, I’ll display how different a personality can get in a time-span of two weeks.

So I stop my crawling, my ducking, and any other forms of secrecy. I deliberately stomp a little on the leafs, not caring about the cracking noise. And then I make myself to the front door, my brain buzzing as I ring the doorbell. There’s conversation at the other side of the wall, and it occurs to me how loud their Friday midnights are.

The conversation stops, all residents hearing the doorbell. Then, footsteps scuffle through the rough carpet and the door opens, revealing Mrs Hart. She raises her eyebrows, a little shocked as to why I’m here in the middle of the night.

“Hey, Luna. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

 “I should be…” I clutch at my stomach. “But I hurt so badly. Mum tried this new chicken recipe. It was green, I tell you, green.”

She opens the door a little further, her shock lessening the slightest. “It doesn’t explain why you’re at my doorstep at midnight, though.” Her tone isn’t mean or accusing –in fact, it’s more on the amused side.

 “I didn’t want to tell her my stomach hurts. It’d crush her. But you know how much she loves it when people love her cooking, right?”

She sighs and opens the door to its fullest, welcoming me. “Believe me, I know: I was in her home-economics class in high-school. There’s two years of my life I’ll never get back.”

I grin but then realise I’m supposed to be collapsing in pain. So I crumple my face and pretend to clutch at my mid-range before inhaling a sharp breath and standing up steadily once more, as if trying not to let the pain

show too obviously. Mrs Hart believes me –a little too well, because she’s off to the bathroom, fetching medicine for stomach aches.

Part of me debates on whether I should explain my ploy: that I’m not really sick, and it’s a ingenious ploy to prank both her sons, who’re not really my true friends. But the sensible, logical part of me decides it’s the worst option. So I keep my lips zipped, and wave unsuspiciously when Jasper enters the room.

His jaw drops. Since the summer’s getting hotter, he has no shirt on and a pair of shorts reaching his knees. One month ago, I would’ve blushed like crazy and avoid looking at him. Now, I don’t care if he doesn’t have any clothes on at all: he’s an enemy, now. And enemies aren’t attractive.

I look him straight in the eyes. “Hey, Jasp. How’s Eloise?”

He scampers around the room, finally finding a shirt and placing it over his body. Then he sighs, sitting next to me. His mouth opens, as if wanting to say something, but closes it. We sit in silence, staring at each other with non-blinking eyes. It’s as if a silent contest: the first one to close their eyes loses. Unfortunately, I’m slightly allergic to most environments and my eyes begin watering.

I blink. And just for that pathetic defeat, I feel a strange surge of anger. There’s enough losing in my life without needing my prank-victim feeling sorry for me and my allergies.

So I go for the kill. “Eloise hates shopping centres.”

 “What?”

 “You heard me. She hates ‘em.”

Jasper shrugs. “So what? I don’t care. She’s perfect for me. And that’s what matters.”

Surprisingly, I wasn’t shocked by his response. In fact, I came prepared for this kind of answer, so I sigh and fish the DVD from my small purse. It was borrowed from the library for this purpose alone. When Jasper gives me a quizzical look, I take that as permission to insert the disk in his DVD player.

It loads. Then starts playing without any pauses. I made sure to clean out all the scratches, to make this prank as effortless as possible. He needs to see this.

And see this he did. Jasper’s mouth hung open throughout the entire movie, his brown eyes reflecting light off the television screen. It’s like

he’s stuck in a coma sitting up. All his memories are forgotten for the time-being, evidently showing in his blank eyes.

The entire movie was about the documentary of shopping centres, but not told in a boring way. The director did a fantastic job of expanding on the fascination people have towards centres and exchanging things for other things. Aspects of scenes were edited, simply to make them more appealing to the human eye.

Finally, the credits began rolling.

Jasper doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. Instead, he picks up his mobile and dials a number he knows off by heart.

 “Hey, Eloise?” There’s a pause. “Yeah, I know it’s late, but I just gotta know…” Another pause, except this time, it’s awkward. “Oh. Wow. Um, I really like you too. A lot.” I try not to vomit on the spot: perhaps I’m truly getting a stomach flu. “Listen, do you like shopping centres?”

 “She doesn’t,” I whisper, although I don’t know if this is accurate.

It suddenly occurs to me what an awful prank this is: what if Eloise loves shopping centres as much as Jasper? And although I don’t have a crush on Jasper anymore –not as obsessively, anyway– I still don’t feel comfortable with him dating somebody else. I’m like an older sister who must approve of everyone my siblings date.

Fortunately, today seems to be my lucky day, because Jasper’s next expression is one of disbelief. “You don’t like shopping centres?” There’s a pause as she replies. Jasper’s hands are shaking. “Eloise, shopping centres are amazing. I didn’t realise that until I saw a documentary today –what? Of course I’d watch a documentary on shopping centres…”

There’s a definite way to end a relationship: the male admitting they have a secret affair with an inanimate scenery.

 “It went for two hours, if that’s what you’re asking… Well, I’m sorry if that bothers you. I just can’t date somebody who doesn’t approve of… hello?”

The line’s dead. I can tell.

But there aren’t any words to explain the look on Jasper’s face. Humiliation. He can’t believe he lost his girlfriend over something as stupid as an obsession. Maybe they’ll make up tomorrow, being all lovey-dovey as ever. In fact, it’s expected of them. For the time-being, however, Jasper curls into a little ball and still doesn’t acknowledge me.

His face is scarlet. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him like this. Although a part of me itches to phone up Eloise, explain my devious plans, I stop myself. That redness in his cheeks, the groaning noises he makes as he attacks his pillow and muttering words about how stupid he is. I’m certain I caught him banging his head against the wall at least once.

Perhaps this isn’t the definition of a tradition prank, with the cling-wrap on toilet seats, the confetti on umbrellas and tying somebody’s shoelaces together. When I looked up the definition of “prank” last night, the definition was “A ludicrous or grotesque act done for fun and amusement.”

There’s nothing more amusing than a prank-victim suffering from humiliation.

Revenge tastes like candy-floss.

Unfortunately for the residents of this town, Jasper’s merely the first of my many victims.

And my second victim happens to live in the same house. How convenient for my  transporting; no moving required, all I have to do is sneak a little bit towards his twin brother’s bed. There, I will be avenged for the second time in the same night. But it definitely won’t be my last.

Hungry for revenge, my vision clouds as I see click on the mouse. The black screen turns to the actual computer screen, and I go to Casper’s Facebook page. Sure enough, his profile comes up with his relationship status –“single”– and his last statuses revolving around grammatically incorrect sentences like, “Y wont she luv me?” and melodramatic emotions like, “i miss her already…  xoxoxo :’(“

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realise his feelings for Eloise hasn’t disappeared. But Jasper and his girlfriend are clearly unaware of this situation, judging by their continuity of having Casper around in their friendship group.

My initial attack was to reveal Casper’s crush on Eloise. That would crash their friendship for good, and Jasper himself will feel awkward handling both his twin brother and Eloise. Maybe he’ll break up with her in order to continue living with his brother –without any fights, that is. Either way, I’d be ready to reject them both when they come running to renew their friendship.

This ploy, however, falls apart beyond my eyes. There’s a much better prank which won’t cause as much damage –but the humiliation factor would increase by infinity. It’s times like these I have to remind myself this isn’t some sort of violence factor, where a criminal is lose and sets out to hurt everyone.

I must avenge myself. Slicing people in half using knives isn’t the right solution, despite how appealing the idea is. How am I supposed to show people the way I feel if they’re six feet underground? Therefore, my pranks must be safe and violence-free. However, they must be the most humiliating thing to ever roam this planet.

Roam this planet? Humiliation is an abstract noun, therefore not a real object. In which case, it impossible for it to–

I glance lazily at the bright red numbers on the digital clock. Yes, two a.m. Two hours have passed. A shiver runs up my spine, as I debate my mother’s reaction if she checks up on me in the middle of the night.

Both Mrs Hart and my own mum are heavy sleepers, but what if they’re thirsty in the middle of the night? What if they suddenly get awoken by a

sound and stroll sleeplessly around the house? If Mum notices my disappearance, my life is over.

So I quickly run to Jasper’s closet and pull out his fourth drawer. Inside that drawer is another drawer –I have no idea how it’s possible either– and open it to find three pairs of socks, neatly rolled into their righteous pairs. Ever since that eventful Christmas last year, where Casper admitted to getting nightmares about Jasper’s socks, the wonderful twin hid them out of sight.

Back then, I thought it was the sweetest thing in the entire world. Now, however, I realise it’s the only solution. Jasper would never be able to sleep, given Casper’s constant nightmares and need to explain them. There wasn’t any way around it.

It dawns on me how much I’ve changed. Just for a while, I hesitate before taking a pair of socks out. But then I realise I’d rather doing it than not, so I stealthily get a sock-roll and hide it in the pocket of my pyjamas.

When I packed, I truly added every single thing in my bag –toothbrushes, pencil cases, extra notepads, Band-Aids and everything normal people take on long journeys. Not to mention my pyjamas, in case I end up sleeping on the streets. I might as well be comfortable.

So when the sudden scheme of pretending I’m injured entered my mind, I immediately changed into my pyjamas. My sleek black outfit would be too obvious. Who enters another person’s house while dressed as a robber? Definitely not I. This new Luna is much smarter than everybody gives her credit for, despite receiving an average of a C-minus in all her subjects.

“Want some ice-cream?” Jasper enters the room, handing me a bowl of mint ice-cream while he himself feasts on the strawberry flavour. “It’s your favourite, right?”

“Thank you.” I grab the bowl, slightly touched he remembered. But then this happiness is short-lived, and his ability to humiliate me beyond reason clouds over his positive side. And now I’m angry. Outraged. Ready to burst. But I keep things cool. “Sorry about rolling you over the edge with the Eloise thing. I mean, just ‘cause she doesn’t like shopping centres–”

“She does.” He exhales loudly. “She loves them. I called her right then, and she said though she loves them herself, she found it creepy to find a guy liking it.”

I shrug. “Can’t blame her.”

“My problem isn’t that we’re different; it’s that we’re too similar.”

“Is that even possible? She doesn’t seem like you at all.”

“Yeah? We both like judging people from first impressions, have high expectations for ourselves, are sensible and logical. Our favourite ice-cream flavour is strawberry, we love shopping centres –a simple must– and have a serious addiction to pictures of llamas.” For the second time in the same ten minutes. “It was cool at first, finding out all these similarities. But it’s like looking in a mirror.”

Despite the seriousness of this situation, I burst out laughing. “I also assume you have a tough time winning fights?”

He groans and falls back in his bed, not noticing it’s Casper’s. “Don’t get me started. I never win!”

While he’s too busy complaining about his love-life, I transport innocently on the bean-bag. Between words of comfort and looks of pity, I concentrate entirely on my task. I’m not some sort of therapist; I’m a prankster. And with a slight flick of my wrist, I open the bean-bag and watch some of the filling fall out.

 “I’m gonna go get some more ice-cream. I’m not done.”

“You aren’t?”

He throws a pillow at me. “Shut up.”

Only when he exits the room do I find the courage to continue my plot. I press down hard on the bean-bag and watch more of the filling fall out. When there’s enough, I scoop it up and stuff it in the sock. It’s so tightly packed and modelled so efficiently, the ends of the socks look like real feet. And toes.

Then, I stuff it in Casper’s bag. Seeing as his locker’s near Eloise’s, she’s bound to witness the minute he drops his bag in horror. He’ll be screaming, sprinting and shrieking –all at once. Nobody but our two families know about Casper’s secret feet-fear, so it’ll definitely be the new gossip spreading around like wildfire. He’ll be humiliated; just like I’ve been for the past sixteen years.

Before Jasper can come back, I quickly relocate the beanbag over excess fillings, and hope if they ever find it, they’ll assume it’s merely a leakage. I sit there, looking as innocent as ever. Jasper doesn’t notice a change in the room. For the broken-hearted, their pity factors among themselves are so strong, they’ll hardly notice if a cyclone sweeps them away.

 “Where was I? Oh yeah, my horrible love-life.”

I cut in before he continues. “What’s wrong, exactly, about having somebody exactly like you?”

“I don’t know. It’s so confusing.” He sits on Casper’s bed, defeated, “I think it’s got something to do with me not… not being able to tolerate being around somebody so similar for so long. It’s my problem, not hers. But I can’t pursue this relationship, because I can’t stay forever with somebody like that.”

“You’re going to break up with her?”

“I’ll have to. It’ll be clean and quick, before either of us gets more attached. But I know exactly what I want: I want somebody who’s not like me; who’s different, and kinda stands out. Somebody who’s, to make things easier, the complete opposite of me.”

“What about me?”

He looks surprised as if he never considered it an option. I gulp. This isn’t how things are in movies. Usually when a guy leads with a sentence like that, he’s thinking of the girl in front. And they declare their love for each other, live a happy ending while we watch the credits roll beyond our eyes. It dawns on me how this isn’t a movie; or even a book.

This is life. And here in my life, Jasper bursts out laughing. It’s forced, I notice. But it’s laughter which breaks my heart into tiny pieces. It’s the very reason why I started the midnight prank war; a chance to get back at people who do exactly that. And with my situation still not changing, I ask myself: why bother?

I’m clearly not changing any lives, or inspiring people to be more considerate before laughing at others. Instead, I’m just giving myself false-hope of a better world which doesn’t exist. Aren’t I the dumbest girl in the entire world, sitting here faking laughter of my own while he’s babbling on about how awesome my joke was.

The world defeats me so badly, the tiniest little thing is a reminder of my old-self. She’s always be there, lingering at the back of my mind. The shy, quiet Luna who’s bursting with personality on the inside but isn’t pretty enough for the opposite gender to know. The Luna who’s always nice on the outside, even to those who’ve hurt her beyond reason. She’ll always be there, reminding me there’s no better version.

She is I, and I am she. There’s no escape from somebody I am.

But this new, energetic and confronting Luna –who doesn’t take rubbish from anybody– leaves her mark. A person who isn’t Luna –has  So I abruptly stop my false laughter, and so does Jasper after a while. And I’m staring at him, concentrating hard, and finally concluding little aspects of

the improved version are still running through my blood. Two people; one body.

“Why is it so funny?”

“It’s, well, you. And…” He shrugs, throwing his hand wildly as if unable to explain.

But this isn’t much of an answer for the new Luna; the one taking control at this current second. “Explain it to me. Why not me?”

And there’s silence. Which I definitely didn’t expect. My assumption was that Jasper would titter on about how impossible our coupling was. He probably would tease me about liking Scott, and needing him better. Or maybe some other conclusion which clearly states there’s no future between the two of us.

Suddenly, I’m not the improved version anymore. That part of me disappears as quickly as she appears. And I’m the old Luna, sitting in front of her best friend and love-of-life, fearing for her life. Scared, frightened and slightly nauseated at the idea of rejection. How embarrassing: would she ever get over this moment?

There’s no shield between us; no walls. For the first time ever, I bring another possibility of a coupling onto the table. Shockingly, he doesn’t reject it. But it still doesn’t stop me feeling different shades of embarrassment.

It’s definitely a shock when I notice the distance between us closing. Closer, closer, closer until our faces are so close they’re almost touching. I’m confirmed I hadn’t accidentally leaned forward; it was all his intention.

So I surprise us both by pulling back. I, who put the possibility of a futuristic relationship, am the one backing down. He had his chance while I still saw him as the love of my life; it occurs to me how there’s no spark anymore. No attraction pulling me forward.  Now that the idea of us dating is possible, I no longer have an interest in it.

“Sorry,” I say, getting up and hoping he doesn’t notice my hands shaking.

I exit the room before he responds. And then I travel through the night on my motorbike, crackling every leaf in my path. My entire night has been planned out: I’ll go home, make sure to put some extra branches and stuff in my bed to act as a model of myself. Then only faith decides whether Mum buys into it.

Tonight, a miracle happened. My entire life I’ve been awaiting this night, where Jasper leans in and we share the perfect kiss. A legend, a dream. An impossibility. And just as all my puzzle-pieces were fixing together, I

found the strength to find the darkness in the most happiest situation. This new version of myself finds darkness in the brightest people.

I now call her Shadow.

And when I’m on my motorbike, ignoring the growling dogs and exceeding the speed limit while debating ways to take down the entire town, something bursts in me. I believe it’s called pride. A kind of satisfaction when I’m no longer a stranger to the world of revenge, and is somebody else who’s been doing stuff like this for years.

I’m Shadow.

I still have three more people to prank.

Three unsuspecting teenagers who fail to recognise my great power over their emotions. Fear and humiliation. They’ll go hand-in-hand, swallowing them up like a hungry whale. Once and for all, they’ll see my side of the story; the one left untold, which is yet another example of the humiliation I face on a regular basis.

I’ve always been  invisible. The girl who fades in the background and stands awkwardly in the corner, waiting for her friends to arrive because she’s unable to spontaneously charm strangers. But not for long.

A hysteric giggle escapes my mouth. My hands covers it before any further noises echo, defeating the purpose of my super sneaky approach. Is this the first sign of madness? Will I wake up tomorrow and find myself laughing until blood spurts out from the back of my throat? Is this the road to insanity?

These thoughts are waved off with a shudder. I try not to think about where uncontrollable giggles and hoots may lead.

The next house, the closest to the Harts’ residence, is Mandy’s. I know this because she held a birthday party in fourth grade and invited everybody. Granted, that was also the same party I fell down the stairs and severely sprained my collarbone. I always seem to remember details for the wrong reasons.

As I’m taking baby-steps towards her home, I stop. Just for the briefest second. A flood of memories overcome me, but the one still remaining is where Mandy tells me Scott’s her half-brother. If this is true, they must live in the same house. I feel a smile large enough to damage my cheekbones spreading through my face.

Alas, another opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

My prank is tucked safely in my compact bag. I never considered Mandy and Scott living in the same house, so I dash to my motorbike to get Scott’s prank also. When I arrive at the door again, puffing but heavily energetic, I have both their bundles of torture.

This prank, however, consists of me pretending to be a pizza-delivery-guy. Mandy once confessed she watches calories, but can’t resist pizzas. This prank is more evil than the others, but I’m willing to go ahead with it; snicker at the amount of weight she’ll gain from consuming so many calories.

Scott’s one revolves around me sneaking to his bedroom and rearranging his DVD-collection, because I’ve never met somebody more obsessive

about their media. I’ll mess it up so horribly, not a single disk will be in the correct case. But I’ll have to be agile. Flexible. Silent.

Everything the new version of Luna Richards is.

I have the entire plan worked out. Seducing Mandy with pizza (and she won’t know it’s me because of my fake facial hair and blond wig), I will enter the house while she’s gobbling up fat and complaining about the amount of weight gained. This racket alone should wake Scott up, who’ll leave his living room.

Only then will I disappear from the front door and sneak to the side. The window’s open right now, seeing as it’s summer, and I doubt Scott will close it before exiting the room. Yes, I’ve got it all planned out.

I knock on the door, disguised as a teenage boy with the sideburns and green contacts. Mandy won’t recognise me, and even if the similarities continue to exist, the night is too dark for the truth. There’s no way to pinpoint “pizza-guy’s” appearance with my true identity’s.

My fist taps against the door several times. I’m so ready for this.

“Hello, pizza-delivery–”

“Kevin, it’s you!” The overweight woman wraps me in a suffocating hug. “Come, Darren,” she yells out in a hysterically happy voice. “Kevin’s back!”

This I did not anticipate.

“Good Lord,” says a bald man, standing there with boxers which reveal too much for my liking. His jaw drops so low, I wonder if it’ll hit the ground. “Could it be?”

He takes hesitant steps. One, two, three. Slowly at first but then they’re fast. Now he’s practically sprinting to close the distance between us. The overweight woman steps back, starry-eyed and lets who I assume is her husband take the final step. He eyes me up and down. And then wraps me in a hug.

“I’m sorry. I shoulda never let you wait at that bus-stop alone. Sorry I was drunk when you called me.” He squeezes me tighter. “But it’s all going to change. I’ve stopped drinking. You’ll never have to run away again. You hear me, Kev? Is it you? Is it really you, son?”

Part of me debates whether I should continue pretending. Perhaps I’ll enter their house and smile, falsely remembering this house. Why would I do that? Because I know what it’s like, having a surge of hope spread

through me. And then having somebody smash it like glass. Except this time, I’m the one smashing somebody else.

But I can’t lie to him. This broken family with its own grief, from what I’ve heard from Darren’s mumblings, and having somebody deceive them wouldn’t help. Plus, it’s impossible to fake this “Kevin” identity for more than a day –the maximum amount of hours Mum will wait before worrying about my whereabouts.

It’ll break their hearts when I tell them the truth. But it’ll hurt more when they discover –and they eventually will– I’m not their long-lost son.

So I pull away and give them an apologetic shake of my head. They seem to receive the message clearly without me stating the horrible words aloud. My mouth tastes bitter from simply thinking them. Excuse me, but I’m not your long-lost son. Or: Hey, hey, hey, dude. It’s Luna here, not Kevin. What terrible ways to break bad news.

Darren coughs. He’s hiding the fact he’s close to tears. “Sorry. We were… we were expecting somebody.”

Someone who’ll most likely never come back, are the words he doesn’t tell me. He doesn’t need to, because the entire atmosphere turns chilly. My hands instinctively wrap around myself. On this summer’s day the temperature seems colder than a winter’s. That’s how a simple change in mood can affect the entire world.

And I see this couple through the eyes of the old Luna Richards. Not this new version who’s obsessed with getting revenge, but the older one. The one getting humiliated on a regular basis, but still feeling compassion and sympathy. This new version doesn’t care about their personal life; she just feels annoyance for walking a distance simply to prank another one of her victims.

I leave the scene with a mumbled, “Sorry” before disappearing. Now I wonder what made me look like Kevin. Was he a pizza-boy? Did he have fake sideburns on his face? Chances are, I look nothing like him, but this couple is desperate enough to hold onto a bit of hope.

Any boy knocking on their house can be Kevin. Maybe, in their mind, he disguises himself as the postman and they check every day. Those girls from Scouts’ are what Kevin uses to “conceal himself” from the world. Did he have dreams? An actor, an artist, a dentist. No matter how paranoid their wishes, they continue clutching hope like thread about to snap.

Without it, they’re broken.

I see now, this new Luna isn’t better than the old version. Perhaps the old version was weak, feeble and allowed people to step on her. But at least

she had a heart. This new one is obsessed with revenge, doing everything in her power to get it. Sure, she’s more victorious and earns respect in the blink of an eye. However, she’s just not me.

There’s no way I’m backing out of this, though. The Midnight Prank War remains. I’ll still run around town, pulling the most childish –and sometimes serious– pranks on unsuspecting victims. But I’ll do it with an open-heart. I’ll be the new version through the eyes of the old one; only then can I truly get the best of both worlds.

As I zoom through the streets under the faint moonlight, I can’t help grimacing. Even when I’m commanding the world to respect me, the initial purpose of beginning the Prank War in first place, some random confuses my disguise as their long-lost son. Then the whole thing goes downhill, and I’m left humiliated.

When I arrive at Eloise’s house, I pull on the brake function with more force than required.

I must be the universe’s personal joke.

*

“Want my heart? I want your heart, heart, heart. We’ll never be apart, apart, apart.”

She’s wiggling her hips while drinking another glass of milk. When even the milk wavers as a sign of utter horror, she gulps it down mercilessly. It’s like watching a lion fight against an ant.

How is Jasper still dating that? Her horrifying shrieks erupt my eardrums. Although I never pay attention in science, I recognise high frequency when I hear it. And that is it. Although her voice isn’t half bad, her pitch is way off; she sounds like a dying seal, putting it in the nicest way possible.

Maybe I should scribble that website Mum uses to “warm up” her vocal chords on a piece of paper and slip it through her window. She’ll read it, use it and marvel at my expertise. But this plan is dismissed. She mustn’t ever know I’m here.

Just to play it on the safe side –although I can’t say the same thing about Jasper’s hearing abilities– I won’t slip in a piece of paper. Although I’m pretty much torturing the entire world by not knocking her dead this instance. She wants to be an engineer; we already have enough of them, we don’t need her.

For the second time in the same night, my initial ploys change. My first instinct was to send her an email from a fake engineering company, claiming her resume was perfect. Then, when she gets all excited and

replies with inquires about when she’ll start working/training, there won’t be a reply.

Not for three days; days where she’ll log onto the computer first thing in the morning and won’t leave, just in case she receives a reply. She’ll be like me when Dad first contacted me from Italy, where he’s working right now, and asked if I’d like a plane ticket.

Turns out, he didn’t discuss this with his new wife beforehand, and she refused to “ruin my life” by watching their new happy family. And I swear, a million rocks fell on me. Stones which would be of better use if thrown at Belinda, the mother I’m glad I never had. What kind of stupid name is that, anyway? (It’s actually a nice name, but it doesn’t suit her squinty-eyed, wart-covered nose and blemished skin).

Now, however, I have a new approach to targeting Eloise in a hurting way. First I take out my iPod and record her singing, saving it as a file. Thankfully, the internet doesn’t appear to be down today, so I compose a new email and attach the sound-file. It takes forever. My eyelids almost close.

Using the small keypad, I type in my most professional voice. My tongue hangs out of my mouth, but I can’t help these animal-like gestures; I’m too giddy about this new scheme. And finally, I put in Eloise’s email-address which I already gathered beforehand for the prank.

I hit send.

What I didn’t expect was Eloise to log onto her laptop that very second. My eyebrow raises. She has no discipline, waking up in the middle of the night and checking her laptop, But who am I to judge, running around and pranking all my closest friends? It’s definitely not a disciplined approach from my eyes either.

Her eyebrows knot together. And when I theorise she’s checking my email, my heart flutters. This is it. She’s going to open it, listen to it and then sob in horror as it all becomes a figment of the imaginary past. My eyes widen like I’ve just had fully caffeinated coffee.

Unfortunately, what blares through the speakers is simply a matter of:

“Ellie! What’s up? I finally worked out how to run Skype.” Jasper’s voice. “Do you like my username? LlamaJasp? Get it? Llama and Jasper mixed together?” She looks as disgusted as I feel. “Anyway, miss you loads. Bye!”

To my surprise, the creases on her face smooth out. She puts on a cheery smile and verbally transfers some other message about how funny he is, and how their love will never break. Gag. What a faker.

She then groans loudly and stuffs her laptop under her bed.

“I hate llamas!” she yells out, kicking her legs in the air like a tantrum-throwing toddler. “I freaking hate them!”

I’ve found somebody as dramatic as me.

Though extremely tempting, I disallow myself to remain more than ten minutes in front of Eloise’s house.

Thankfully, she has no clue about my excessive stalking. If so, a restraining order would be placed on me –it’s kind of a surprise how I don’t have one already. But it’s funny watching her complain about her life. It occurs to me this is how she releases negative energy, and although unique, it seems to work judging by the smile plastered on her face every day.

Others such as myself destroy tension by running around in the middle of the night, pulling lame pranks on people in order to accomplish something great. And for the fifth time in the same night, I wonder why I’m doing this. Obviously I’m not completely confident about this idea of mine. It’s a cloudy area where I’m not sure what to do.

I want to do it; this much I’m certain about. But where’s the point in it? And most of all, what separates me from all the other teenagers who’re out “just ‘cause they can.” Sure, I’ve been humiliated countless times and would love to be avenged. Although I must ask myself: is it worth all this effort?

Regardless, I slip away from Eloise’s window at last. She turns the lights out and although still churning in her bed, she’s no longer on her computer. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to witness her expression as she opened up the email I sent her. Karma thinks I’ve had my limit, therefore not permitting me to watch as she gets struck.

This I can deal with, I guess. So I slink away through the darkness, going to the house of my next victim. Tomorrow she’ll open her email. She’s find one which will change her life –or so she thinks. It will be a reply of Dad’s “come anytime, wait, sorry, you can’t” incident. Perhaps I should be worried my prank hits a little too close to home. But I just don’t care anymore.

My dream, my forgotten past and hopeful future. It’s all mine. And nobody, especially my own so-called friends, will let it be otherwise.

That’s the kind of attitude I needed years ago.

*

The sun’s starting to rise. I can see it all the way from here. It’s the second or third time I’ve observed the daily event personally. How is it I miss something happening everyday so often? With that thought hanging in the air, I make a mental-note to check out the sunrise more often.

It’s strange how all my friends seem to be awake. Jasper and Casper’s situation was understandable, seeing as it was Friday night and only twelve o’clock. But Scott’s appearance isn’t his best at six a.m. in the morning, and his long face implies he hasn’t had a hint of sleep.

Dark bags under his eyes, his lips twitching and hair messed up in a gross way. I can’t believe I ever liked him. And it also occurs to me how hard he works every day, removing evidence of his sleepless nights. This might be his first all-nighter, but I doubt it.

Then my entire judgement changes when he opens up his drawer, unwraps something and holds it between his fingers. My breathing stops. He stands up and slumps to the window. Immediately, I snap my head down far beneath it and pray he won’t look down. Please don’t look down, please don’t look down.

Faith must love me right now. He opens the window but doesn’t put his head far enough. Most of all, he doesn’t gaze downwards to see an awkward girl hunched up, trying to conceal herself. Not that he can put his head out in first place. There’s a table blocking the window, and he had to lean over to open it.

But when I raise my vision back up, they focus on the tube in his fingers. A cigarette. The way he’s skilfully holding it, blowing it so lovingly is enough to confirm it’s not his first it. He’s a smoker. And ridiculously good at it.

All the fumes blow through the window, attacking me. I try my hardest not to cough. And then realise how lucky I am Jasper’s not here. With his endless asthma attacks, he’d end up in a coughing fit requiring him to catch an ambulance. Our location would be revealed before Casper can say “No!” to the feet-monster his mother warned him about.

Just like that, my mind’s somewhere else. I think about Jasper and that moment we had a couple of hours. Has it been hours? It feels like centuries have passed since I first strived to get revenge. Time passes quickly when I’m on the go, trying to make this an unforgettable night.

Though Jasper has forever ignored me, broken my heart by dating Eloise, the night just isn’t the same without a companion.

Scratch that: without him as a companion.

That was the initial plan, wasn’t it? Me and him running through the darkness, while I bribed him with shopping vouchers. Then we’d go through difficult situations together and he’d realise his undying love for me. We’d have that perfect kiss with only the moon as our witness.

Eloise would be barking mad in the morning, Mandy would roll her eyes and Scott would realise his non-existent feelings for me also. I’d be stuck

in a love-triangle with two guys fighting over me. Isn’t this how I foolishly dreamed our night would precede? Reality’s a whole lot different than my fantasies. I don’t like how unpredictable my life truly is.

Swallowing these feelings, I reach out and pierce the net of the window. My pen pokes a tiny hole. I drag it across, creating one large enough for me to put my fingers through. Scott doesn’t turn around to face the window; he lets the entire room fill with poisonous smoke, and I wonder what I ever saw in him. He’s so damaged.

My fingers slip through the hole in the net. I grab a bit of the bag and somehow pull it towards me.

Suddenly, he turns around.

For the second time in the same ten minutes, my heart feels like it’ll explode. Just as quickly as before, I duck down beneath the window pane, praying he didn’t notice. His steps thud towards the window. Turns out my praying was only wishful, because the very next thing he does is look underneath the window pane.

Only then do I realise what an idiot I’ve been. When he came towards the window, I should’ve made a run for it. Perhaps obscure myself among trees that look black in the night, or hide behind another brick wall. He wouldn’t have the energy to chase me. After all, it was probably just the wind from his perspective.

But these thoughts are no longer useful. He looks straight down. And whatever shine I once saw in his eyes isn’t there; they’re blank, hollow like somebody scooped life right out of them. When he glances forward properly, he bends over. And vomits. Straight on my t-shirt.

I’m not sure whether to run away or slap him in the face. Of course he goes out and does yet another thing to humiliate me beyond reason. It’s in his job description the universe gave him, and he’s not about to lose it without a fight.

Just as I’m debating marching straight into his house and yelling at him, I stop. There’s silence. No thudding of footsteps down the stairs, no footsteps at all. The smoke fumes are no longer fresh; they’re fading. I sense these things for a couple seconds longer. Then I stand up, face to face with the window and sweating with cautiousness.

He’s not there.

For a minute, I debate running. Away from here forever. If he’s not in there, he’s either in the bathroom or coming down to gobble me whole. I doubt he’ll enter the bathroom smelling like that for his mother to

discover in the morning, so it leaves the former option. Yes, he’s coming down. I just know it.

But I’m proven wrong. Just as I’m about to spring back to my motorbike, I feel the window luring me. Calling out to me. So without thinking a second longer, I stand on my tippy-toes and truly take a glance at what Scott’s room looks like: posters of bands peeling off the walls, stationary on his desk in complete disarray and a table-lamp shining dimly next to his crumb-filled bed.

What catches my attention most, however, is the absence of him standing up. Instead, he’s on the ground in a foetal position, his mouth a little too relaxed to pass off as snoring. I tap on the window. For the present second, I don’t care if my entire Prank War crumbles into little pieces with my discovery; I want to check he’s okay.

So I rap against the window again. No answer. I then knock so loudly, I’m able to wake up a bear from hibernation. He remains still. My heart’s on a trampoline without safety nets.  It just confirms his unconsciousness.

There’s no way I’ll be able to carry this out on my own. Panic. I’ll just find a way to mess this entire thing up. Fear. He’ll be dead by the time the sun rises. No hope. I’m the least courageous person I’ve ever encountered in my short life. No wonder the universe hates me so much. Right now, there’s not another person I abhor more than myself –not even Eloise.

Because I’m the girl who’s watching an unconscious boy from his bedroom window, unable to do anything. My hands hang limply at the sides. A million reminders of my helpless state rings in my mind like a song-bird. Then it no longer sounds friendly. They turn into screeches, howls and every other high-frequency notes I can think of.

My hand slides to my handbag. I fish my mobile out, going through my list of contacts.

Jasper’s the first on my list. I can’t contact him for the awkwardness in our encounter. Casper would freak out more than I am, so he’s definitely not on the list. Eloise: hate that girl. Mandy I don’t know that well. And my mother is definitely crossed off; if she ever finds out about my Pranking night, I’ll be grounded for the rest of my natural life. Not that it’d stop me, but she’ll make sure to tell all her friends about it –and the minute one of them catches me, my graveyard gets shredded.

But there’s one last number on my phone. Cedric’s. I know this guy less than Mandy –at least with Mandy, I’m able to list some memories we were both involved in. This Cedric is a complete stranger; not to mention, he’s probably swamped with exams already without a pesky tenth grader asking for help –and at 6.am. in the morning, too.

Mandy once told me about how her parents sleep in on Saturdays, which is why she’s always late to soccer. Assuming she’s talking about parents shared by both Scott and herself, waking up at eleven-to-twelve o’clock in the morning might be several hours too late. Not to mention, I’d live with the guilt for the rest of my life. I can’t let that happen.

So I dial his number. Cedric answers on the third ring.

“Hellllllo?” His “l”s are slurred like anybody woken up at six a.m. would be.

“I’m really sorry to wake you up, but I really need your help,” I blabber in a hushed voice. “I’m at 39 McGrove Street, Scott’s house. You know Scott? Yeah, well, he’s one of my Prank victims and I think he’s unconscious. I caught him smoking a cigarette when I came by.”

I hear him yawn. But his next words are confident, and not sleep-deprived at all. “So if he’s unconscious, wouldn’t it mean he’ll regain it later on?”

My jaw drops immediately. The shock must somehow transfer over phone, because Cedric adds a sheepish, “Sorry, I know nothing about Health and Science. English for the win.”

“According to my last Health class, there is such thing as an overdose on tobacco. And just like over-consumption of alcohol, your brain shuts down. We need to get him in an ambulance fast, but I’m afraid I’ll screw up without somebody with me.”

“No worries. I’ll be there in ten.” 

Cedric arrives within the next ten minutes.

He arrives on a bicycle, which looks extremely dull in comparison to my amazing motor-bike. But now’s not the time to feel smug about transport vehicles, because a fellow schoolmate of mine is dying in his bedroom. I think. It occurs to me how embarrassing his situation would be if he was so tired, he fell asleep.

How would I ever explain myself to Cedric? Not to mention, Scott himself would put a restraining order on me. I’ll be ”that creepy stalker girl” who probably went over to his house to smoke pot, but after he refused, I knocked him out with a shoe and reported him as “fainted.”

What makes the situation even worse is how there are people, horrible people, who’re willing to seize every opportunity to make my life miserable. They’ll make up rumours; start a Facebook page on how much they hate Luna Richards. And I’ll be forever alone, nibbling at crumbs people throw away in the trashcan.

I really can’t let that happen.

So before any of this has a possibility of happening, I wave my hand dismissively. “I don’t think it’s that serious, Cedric.”

“Really? You sounded quite serious on the phone….”

 “But that was merely shock. I don’t think it’s that bad; honest.”

 “Okay, fine. I’ll just take a look anyway.” He looks though the window. “He definitely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping.”

 “I didn’t think so either!” I add a giggle which sounds hysterical, even to my own ears. “But now we’ve worked it out, maybe we should go? Let him do whatever he’s doing in peace?”

 “Luna, the guy might be dead for all we know.” He turns to me. “What’s wrong with you? Why’re you acting so strange?”

If he shifted his eyes away two seconds ago, I’d hold my head up and childishly declare there’s something wrong with him. But the way his blue eyes are shooting invisible darts gets a reaction from me. It’s like they’re glass reflecting whatever glare I give him –and his ones work a lot better than mine.

My eyes fall to the ground. I have to tell him. It’s not like he’ll completely misunderstand the situation; he’s used to being shamed too. However, I

don’t think he’ll appreciate my cowardly approach towards an unconscious boy.

 “I don’t want… I don’t want you to tell anyone. About The Midnight Prank War, about this. Because if you do, people will make stuff up about what they think happened, and I don’t want that to happen.”

To my surprise, he starts laughing. “That’s it? I thought you hated me or something.”

 “What? No! I don’t hate you. Why would I call you up in the middle of the night if I hated you?”

 “Why would you call me up if you didn’t hate me? It’s the perfect prank, isn’t it? Like, for a moment, I kind of considered sleeping in and letting you deal with it alone. But it sounded like an emergency. And I didn’t want to be the one responsible for another person’s death. So I got up; I swear, that’s the only reason I got up.” He sees me raised eyebrow and adds, “No offence. I like you and everything, but sleep comes first.”

 “None taken –mainly because I agree with you.”

The words “perfect prank” repeat in my mind. All along, I’ve been searching ways to terrorise these people, but never considered waking them out. This was supposed to be a secretive thing; one that nobody traces back to me.

But what if I had Cedric ask them for help? Maybe I’m drowning and left my mobile on the beach, and he’s searching through my contacts for somebody who can help. He can ever pretend not knowing how to swim. It would be, indeed, the perfect prank.

I doubt he’ll agree to work with me, though.

We then awkwardly look through the window once more. No stirring, no snoring. He’s definitely not asleep.

 “We need to call an ambulance. Fast.”

 “But what’re we supposed to say? As we were casually walking by his house at two am, we looked into his bedroom window and saw him unconscious? What does that label us as, stalkers?”

 “Don’t worry; I’ve got an entire story worked out.”

I hold my breath and dial triple-zero. Not once do I ask Cedric what his “story” is, just in case there’s an unseen flaw in his ploy. Only then will all hope be lost. And right now, hope is the only thing keeping my sanity.

Without hope, I’m merely a stalker girl who wanted to smoke pot before knocking down the boy who said no.

The ambulance arrives, needing a siren at six a.m. in the morning. From this early in the morning, the roads are blocked and traffic-jammed. I wrinkle my nose. It’s amazing how little I notice while sleeping in every day of the week.

Suddenly, Cedric grabs a notebook from my bag and scribbles, “He’s in there” in very big writing before taping it to the window. I truly do have everything in this bag. For a moment, I feel proud.

But I’m interrupted by Cedric grabbing my sleeve and pulling me down the other side. Seeing as they live in flats, there’s a through-road. That’s where we run; away from the ambulance. Then he pulls me towards a brick wall, hiding us from the view of the ambulance but allowing us to see them.

A rather stocky figure exits the vehicle before closing the door behind him. His partner, who’s taller and slimmer, exits using the other door.

They approach the door and knock. No answer. My mouth goes dry; I didn’t think for a second that Scott’s parents wouldn’t be home. What if I left him like this, expecting his parents to take care of it? He wouldn’t have lived, being unconscious for this long.

The drivers are just about to leave. My heart thumps. They haven’t noticed the note stuck on the window. Cedric notices this too, and picking up a loose rock from the gravel, he flings it as far as possible. It doesn’t go far. He looks slightly disappointed at this poor toss, and I secretly wonder if he truly can throw further.

Fortunately, the paramedics notice the rock. They cautiously step around the rock, only to be face-to-face with the window.

The stocky ones stares at it. The taller, lean one reaches over and pulls it off. At the same time, they both look through the window.

That’s when it all begins. They’ll get Scott out of that house, hopefully alive.

 “C’mon, let’s go,” says Cedric, pulling at my sleeve again. “There’s no point staying here anymore.”

 “I still have one person to prank.” I sound like a whiny toddler, but this is my night. Although with the sun fully shining, it’s no longer after dark. “Mandy, I…. I didn’t have time–”

 “We’ll get her. I know Scott fairly well –not exactly a friend, but just someone I know. And he always gets to school at around six. His parents leave work at five and make a lot of racket, so it kinda wakes them up.”

 “But not today, right?” I make a face. “What did you have in mind for Mandy?”

 “I don’t think it’s right to interfere with your pranks. It’s your night, remember?”

There’s silence. We look at each other. Just stare for what seems like forever, but I don’t feel awkward enough to pull back. He obviously doesn’t, either, because he’s not making any effort to spring back. Our eyes are locked.

That’s when I have my first realisation: Cedric is the perfect guy. He’s my perfect guy. And yet, I don’t feel anything. He’s sensible but has a crazy side, has his own stories of utter humiliation, but most of all, he just gets me. What more can I want?

That’s the thing: I want Jasper. Perhaps it’s a sort of obsession chasing me over the years. It’s undeniable logic in three words: he’s the one. An idiot who ignored me all these years, but took me seriously when I spoke up. I spoke up for myself and he listened. Perhaps he can’t take subtle clues about me desperately in love with him, but he doesn’t ignore what’s directly in front.

So I’m the first one to look away. “Cedric, you’re awesome and everything–”

 “But you like Jasper?”

I gawk. “How did you know?”

 “Just how you always smile when you mention his name.” He grins. “Like when we were first at the coffee-shop, you said every one of your friends’ names in a spiteful manner. But when you said Jasper, your tone kinda changed.”

 “Am I that obvious?”

 “Unfortunately so.” He shrugs. “No hard feelings, okay? I think you’re awesome, Luna, but I’ve had my eye on somebody else too.”

 “Who?”

He shakes his head. “Not telling.”

Despite curiosity biting away at every part of my brain, I keep my mouth shut. He obviously doesn’t want me to know; so I won’t ask him. And naturally, for the fifteen-hundredth time in my life, I stop myself from speaking up.

Maybe that’s just my problem: I can’t speak up. Perhaps blaming other people for embarrassing me is a way of ignoring the fact I have flaws. I too have things I’d rather not expose to the world. My lack of understanding regarding how little I sympathise for anybody else, my overdramatic personality and the unfair ways I pin down blame on innocents.

Thinking about this doesn’t enhance my mood. Seeing Scott unconscious wasn’t a pleasant highlight, either. Cedric admitting he has a crush on somebody else is a relief, but I selfishly hoped he’d do the cliché, “I need you and only you” routine.

Unfortunately, something I still fail to recognise is how different reality is from my impossible fantasies.

 “Thanks for coming,” I say to Cedric. “Believe it or not, I had no idea what to do.”

 “No worries. Thinking in pairs helps make a problem smaller.”

 “It does.” I pause. “What do you think I should do about the Jasper-situation?”

 “I’ll be honest: I’m one of the worst romantics you’ll ever meet –mainly it’s Wyatt chasing them away, but I think it’s my personality as well.”

 “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself.” But I can’t help grinning. “You’re not that bad.”

 “Thank you. You just made my entire life. In all seriousness, I think you should just leave Jasper alone.” He sighs at my bewildered look. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but he has a girlfriend.”

 “But a couple of hours ago, he was this close to kissing me.”

Cedric stops at his tracks. Immediately, I do too. He turns to me, blocking out the sun from my viewpoint. “Do you really think he would’ve gone along with it?”

 “What? Of course he would.”

 “So he would cheat on his girlfriend?”

 “No–”

 “He was just caught up in the moment, Luna. He doesn’t like you. And I’m not saying this to hurt you, I promise. You chased this guy for so long: it’s time to give up.”

 “But he didn’t know how I felt back then.”

 “If he returned your feelings now, what’s stopping him from calling you? From telling you he broke up with Eloise and he wants to be with you instead?”

Cedric uncovers something I’ve buried. A strong pang of pain strikes my chest. Despite everything my brain’s frantically saying, ordering the heart not to fall apart. Not like this. Not over some stupid guy. But it’s the most painful moment of my life. It’s like my soul escaped and is watching me from above, in third person.

Not just because of Jasper, but because of how it applies to every one of my friend. If my mother wanted to be with me, she wouldn’t take up such a busy job; if my father loved me, he wouldn’t have left; if Casper remotely liked me, he wouldn’t have left the Prank War for Eloise –not without fighting against himself.

Poof. I’m no longer in love with Jasper. It should be magic; I should be running around, free from these feelings holding me down. His face appears but I block them out. This should be my moment; the minute I realise I’m no longer dependent on crushes.

Why should I chase somebody like this? No matter how much I hate her, Eloise deserves a loyal boyfriend. And I have no business sticking my nose in their business, trying to break them apart.

It isn’t magic. It’s ripping me in two halves. There isn’t an easy way to let somebody go out of force. If possible, it’s more excruciating falling out of love than holding onto hope of them returning unrequited feelings.

But I’ve got to let go sometime.

Why not now?

 

The next day is the worst; I’ve never been this tired in my life.

As always, I’m sitting in a seat all myself while Jasper, Casper, Mandy and Eloise all sit at their usual spot. Scott wouldn’t be there: he’s too busy fighting for his dear life after losing consciousness early this morning. None of his friends know yet, but Mandy will get a shock when she wakes up.

When Cedric disappeared at around six-thirty, telling me he had an exam today and needed to dash, I snuck back to Cedric’s house. The window was broken in efforts of saving a person. Although broken glass surrounded the area, I managed to sneak past all of it. Then entered his bedroom.

From there on, I crept to Mandy’s room and opened her closet. As suspected, about nine alarm clocks were lifelessly sprawled across. I picked up all nine and set alarms, all at different times throughout the night. One at one am, another at one-twenty-five and many others randomly chosen.

This prank can’t take place today, seeing as Mandy’s already out of the house. But when she comes back, she’ll be woken up so many times throughout the night, it’d be hysterical. It was inspired by Cedric’s comment about a possible “worst prank ever.”

But this was all part of the Prank War. After finishing up on Mandy’s last prank, I had to ride my motorbike back to my house. Thankfully, Mum’s a loud sleeper and my absence went by unnoticed while I threw on my clothes, washed my face free from evidence of night-stalking and woke her up. She grudgingly got up for work and I ran all the way to my bus-stop, somehow making it on time.

Although I’ve never been more tired after racing from house to house, I watch all my devious pranks in action.

On the way to school, Eloise checks her email on her phone and jumps in delight. She hears somebody saying, “This was sent in by a person who wants to be anonymous: they love your voice and we do too! You’re a potential candidate for Singing R Us, Australia’s most popular singing show. We’ll get back to you in a day and confirm whether you made it or not. Good luck and keep singing!”

Obviously, this wasn’t said using my own voice. I used a pitch-changing app on my phone before sending it. Eloise seems to buy it and, as I suspected, looks at Jasper starry-eyed.

 “I can’t, adore, believe you recorded my, adore, voice and sent it to, adore, them.” She hugs him so tightly he’s about to suffocate. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I almost feel bad for the falseness in this offer. Almost. That girl hated me from the very beginning; a simple prank shouldn’t be enough to lose her mind. Yes, she deserves to feel pain once in a while.

Jasper looks awkward. He knows he shouldn’t take the credit, but doesn’t know how else to explain. So he goes along with it. Then looks up staring directly at me. It’s not a mistake or a flinch of eyes because his eyes continue staring at me; burning me down. I’m the one who looks away, unsettled by this sudden connection.

When we arrive in font of school, I’m the first one to run out the door. That bus suffocated me. Too many familiar faces, too many people I know. Even with the Prank War taking place just a couple of hours before, I feel uncomfortable with my peers. What did I expect? That suddenly I’d arrive at school, strutting and be a role-model for everyone around me?

Shamefully enough, that’s exactly what I expected. And confusion is the only thing on my mind when reality doesn’t meet my expectations.

“Luna.” I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Can we talk?”

I turn around. “There’s nothing to say, Jasper. Sorry I almost made you cheat with your girlfriend and sorry for being desperately in love with you all these years while you didn’t notice.”

 “You were in love with me?”

“No, it’s just a matter of speech.” I roll my eyes skyward. “Maybe, I dunno. What is love, anyway?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. Do you think you were?”

“There’s a lot of things I don’t think about. But I’ll tell you something: I’m over you, Jasper Hart. I’m sick of chasing somebody to get burnt down everytime. We can be friends or whatever, but I think Eloise would get jealous. So that’s definitely not an option: your girlfriend comes first, right?”

He lets go off my shoulder. I turn around and keep walking with a straight posture, despite the fact my heart’s pumping way too much blood. Although pathetic, the only thing on mind is a romance movie I once watched: where the girl says she doesn’t love the guy, walks away and the male-lead chasse after her. They share the perfect kiss.

But for the second time in the same month, I realise this isn’t fantasy. Not with fictional characters who’re predictable and a playwright choosing every movement, every eye-twitch.

This is reality. My reality. And I have no control over it.

*

“Tomorrow’s Father’s Day,” says our art teacher, her perfect bun falling loose. It doesn’t stop her smiling. “We’re going to take a break from assignments: I have way too many artsy stuff, and need to get rid of them. So make cards instead.”

The class cheers. Nobody likes art as a subject; despite being considered as one of the laid-back subjects, it’s one of the most time-consuming. But it has such a high OP mark, everybody’s trying it out.

“Luna’s going to ace this, aren’t you, Loon?” says Raine Smithers, grinning at me with her both dimples showing on her cheeks. “You used to love creative stuff back in ninth grade, I remember.”

She’s not exactly a friend, but a not distant enough as an acquaintance. But right now, she’s possibly the only person who hasn’t yet seen my dramatic side. This makes her my best friend.

Eloise snorts. “Yeah, if she doesn’t, adore, molest the cardboard and glitter first.”

“You’re really laughing at your own joke,” says Raine, sighing. “And it’s not funny. Molesting is a serious thing.”

Eloise is silent. I can’t help smirking. Raine, in her dominant but polite tone, can take down anybody in this school. I give her a grateful smile while she waves it off with a, “Don’t mention it” kind of look.

The teacher turns to Eloise, her smile not faltering the slightest. “Eloise, would you like to choose first?”

“No.”

That’s the wake-up-call she needed. The smile vanishes straight away. For the first time since starting high-school, I see her looking her fifty years. “Why not, Eloise?”

“Because I, adore, don’t want to make a card.”

Straight away, Eloise exits the room without saying another word. As this is not her OP subject, she’s not compelled to straight in class. She can

pick and choose which parts to do and whatnot. So the teacher doesn’t seem too alarmed, although the “no” definitely caught her off-guard. She must be one of those people who’re not familiar with rejections.

“Dorothy, would you go and bring Eloise back to class?”

“But this isn’t her OP subject,” says Dorothy, although everyone in the room knows Dorothy couldn’t care less about Eloise’s rights: she just doesn’t want to go after her. “She has her own choices to make. And when she does, it’s up to us to let her go her own way.”

I sigh. “I’ll go after her.”

Mrs Day looks surprised. “I didn’t know you were a friend of Eloise.”

Oh, I’m actually not. She’s some girl a guy I used to like dates now. In fact, I gave her the worst first impression by accidentally touching her thigh at assembly. Now, she refers to me as the “molester” while I consider her as the witch who stole my future husband. I’m no longer in love with him, though, so everything’s all good.

Except the fact she recently became a victim of my Prank War, and now I’m sniggering while imagining her frustrated face. When she doesn’t get a response for three days, and afterwards, receives an email rejecting her, she’ll be mortified for weeks. Especially after this company would state the reason for the rejection as, “Horrible, screeching sound that hurt my ears.”

That’s everything I don’t say.

“We’re best friends,” I lie.

Mrs Day nods, although she obviously doesn’t care. I power-walk out of the classroom and see Eloise sitting beside the Girls’ Toilets door, her head hunched to read her phone-screen. My hands instinctively fall into my pockets. I really don’t have time for her petty mood-changes.

“Look, I don’t know why you keep making molesting-jokes, but I’m willing to forgive you for them–”

“I don’t, adore, need your forgiveness,” she spits. “I’m going to, adore, be on television. And you’re going to, adore, watch me and weep.”

The first rule of being a prankster is to move as discreetly as possible. After all, nobody needs to know it was me behind all those mishaps. Instead, it’s better if they blame the universe for sending people down roads.

Just on my first pranking-scheme, I break the golden rule of all pranksters alike.

“It was me, okay? It was me who sent that message. I recorded your voice and sent it. It was a prank. Not real. Never going to happen.”

I expect her to stand up. Scream. Shout. Pull my hair once and for all. Perhaps report back to the boy of my previous dreams, telling him what a horrible person I am. Come to think of it, I’d prefer everything over what she’s doing now: crying.

She tries to hide it, though. At first, I think she’s having an asthma attack by the way she’s panting –I watched Jasper have them, and they all stared like this. But instead of being unable to breathe, tears flow down her cheeks. She turns away from me, obviously not wanting me to see her like this. Not at her weakest point.

To be honest, I don’t want to see her like this either. I prefer thinking Eloise as some sort of robot who has no feelings, making insensitive jokes and accusing me of being somebody I’m not. But this sensitive side makes it difficult to place her down as a villain. What’s more, I’m the reason for her tears: it’s most guilt-filled feeling in the world.

 “Don’t look at me,” she chokes.

“Believe me, I don’t want to. But I can’t leave you like this.”

“I’ll go back to art-class.” She closes her eyes. “Can you answer one question, though?”

“Uh, sure.”

 “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“How did you know my father was the owner of a huge music company? That fame got to his head and he began doing stupid things?”

“I–”

“How did you know he’s in jail for raping a thirteen-year-old?”

“Honestly, I–”

“Was it the molesting jokes?” At this point, her eyes are open wide and puffy, settling her accusing glare at me. “Were they too obvious? Did you see through them? Was I trying a little too hard to fit in?”

Then she starts crying again. She sinks back to the wall and buries her head. She doesn’t let me see anymore of her tears. And I, with my hand awkwardly placed on her shoulder, really don’t want to see her cry anymore.

For a whole three minutes, I sit, dazed with these new discoveries. How had I hit so close to home? It definitely wasn’t intentional: I didn’t know any of these things. They must’ve been biting away at her brain for a long time, having such horrible family-problems tied down to her. That’s why she so willingly told me everything, even without confirming whether I knew or not.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

She doesn’t stop crying. Nor does she look up at me. But she’s not pushing me away, so it must be her form of saying she trusts me.

It occurs to me how she didn’t use the word “adore” once within our tiny conversation. For somebody seeming so obsessed with the word, it must’ve been difficult not to use it. Then I realise we’re all hiding behind masks. She must’ve faked some sort of identity, using it to hide away her true-self –a side she’s afraid to show.

I want the old Eloise back. The one who always drives me insane, throws spiteful comments at me and is ready to drown me whenever water is nearby. The one with a nice enough side so that both of the Hart boys are head-over-heels for her, and Scott who’s eyeing her with approval.

She obviously doesn’t like her true identity either: that’s why she bothered faking a second personality in first place. But I’ve seen it; I’ve talked to this new Eloise.

And just like that, Eloise is no longer a backstabbing, cold-hearted beauty.

She’s a heartbroken, insecure human.

Just like the rest of us.

The ending of the day has arrived. 

I’m walking back to the bus-stop, awaiting he vehicle to take me home. Suddenly, I feel a rough grasp on my elbow. The person spins me so I’m facing them. 

“How could you?” hisses Jasper. “Telling Eloise that apparently I told you about her father being in jail.”

I look at him. “But you didn’t tell me about her father being in jail.”

“Yeah? Well, explain that to her. Now she won’t even talk to me.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I hope you’re happy.”

“It’s not like you guys would last,” I mutter under my breath.

Unfortunately, it’s not as hushed as I anticipate. Jasper twirls around and glares at me. For a whole ten seconds, we’re simply staring at each other with unspoken spite. This must be what a one-on-one war feels like, using only our eyes to try and defeat the opponent. 

This gets boring after the first seven seconds –plus, my eyes begin watering from keeping them open for too long. But blinking is admitting defeat: there’s something I refuse to do, especially when I’m clearly not in the wrong. Just because his girlfriend is an overdramatic brat doesn’t give him the right to blame all their petty fights on me.

I never knew about her father surviving in jail. This was something coincidentally done. It occurs to me how ineffective it’d be if I’d pulled this prank on Casper; he’d probably admit he’s a horrible singer and whistle for the rest of the day, in hopes of entering some futuristic whistling talent-show. 

There’s no denying I hit a nerve. It’s hard not to feel wicked. The girl stealing the guy of my dreams is hurt because apparently her boyfriend told me her biggest secret? Excellent. Simply excellent. There’s no sarcasm or the slightest bit of compassion there.

But then I think back to her, crying her eyes out. And the image of the old frowning, cranky and immature Eloise disappears. What an illusion she pulls off. That statement of not feeling pity for her disappears, and I’m left sighing. How can I pain somebody and feel mighty good about it? 

I take back the conclusion of not sympathising, and drown myself in a pool of guilt.

Jasper’s the first one to blink. He tries to cover it up, but I raise my eyebrows in the smuggest way possible. This is my victory, and he knows it. It doesn’t stop him being a horrible sport about it, though, as he grits his teeth and says something about me being rude. And ignorant. 

Funnily, these words describe the boy blaming a third-person for relationship problems. He has no right to storm up to me and accuse me of something I didn’t do. It seems common senses struck him for once, because he walks away with hands still clenched.

I frown at this. One year ago, any hints of Jasper being angry or peevish would be overlooked. My brain was so used to him being perfect. But was it all just an illusion? Did his flaws convert themselves into beauty, simply because I found an undying attraction for him? 

I take a huge mouthful of air and hold it for a while. After feeling slightly nauseated, I exhale and disremember my previous train of thought. The most effective way to avoid topics I’d rather not mentally discuss.

One thing this isolation from my friends taught me, is how lonely the bus-rides are to and from school. Different kids of all shapes and sizes, ages and genders, boarding the same bus. None of them care about the lonely girl in the corner, glancing sleepily out the window and wishing somebody –anybody– would sit next to her.

This must be the definition of loneliness. Deciding nobody’s going to steer away from their comfortable friendship groups and talk to me, I unzip my bag, pull out my music-player and put it on full-volume. Sadly, I don’t even like music much: it’s merely a distraction from how empty and pathetic my life is.

Why did I ever begin the Prank War? The whole plot sounded so much better in my head: a girl with serious problems against the world, trying to find her place. She strikes when the moon is above and savagely takes down her opponents with a flick of her wrist. As fast as a leopard, agile like a lion: she’s unstoppable.

Once upon a time, it was the coolest thing ever. Most superheros may have natural born talent or abnormal, amazing abilities, but this girl had determination. With this determination, she could take over the world. 

That’s the thing: once the Prank War was over, I imagined this girl to be strong. A role-model. She changes the way people look at things; a genuine hero changing the world.

Instead, that sassy, admirable female lurking in the darkness vanishes. That illusion’s gone. In her place, a weak human tries to bring justice to the table, but fails at every attempt. This new version strikes in the

darkness, but in a clumsy, unprepared and disgusting manner. There’s nothing heroic about her.

She’s just another teenager with first-world problems, thinking humiliation is the end of her life while others starve to death.

Not so glamorous now.

“Excuse me, can I sit here?” 

I remove my earphones, a little too quickly. “Of course!”

The girl sitting next to me smiles. “I’m Hayley. Year Nine.”

“Ah, Luna. Year Ten.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“So how was your day?” I blurt out.

“It was great. I applied for a scholarship to Medical school.”

“Oh.” There isn’t much else to say. “That’s awesome.”

Actually, “awesome” is an understatement. Here is a girl, one year younger than me, knowing exactly what she wants in life. What’s more, she’s willing to run around and apply for random things, just to get what she desires. How am I, who’s one entire year older, lounging around without knowing what I’m having for dinner? 

It’s a depressing thought. Why don’t I have my entire life planned out? If only I had some motivation as to who I want to be. Or possibly a hunch of what I’d want in ten years’ time. But the future remains as obscure as always: unpredictable to a painful extreme. No way of knowing what my next move is, or if I’ll regret my actions in the future.

So I’m forced to feel admiration. And a pinch of jealousy.

“Yeah, I hope I get in.” She goes through her backpack. “It’s really difficult, apparently.”

It occurs to me that, without her small-talk about future professions, she’d be another awkward stranger. So I press forward the conversation and tell her about my spontaneous, untamed life. She looks at me in surprise; to her, it must be impossible for somebody not to know, especially when their future is approaching so fast.

“But you have to have something you’re interested in!”

“Nope, not me.”

“Don’t you have any hobbies? Anything you’re particular proud of? Or have you ever done something and thought, ‘Hey, I wanna do this for the rest of my life.’”

This feeling crossed me once upon a time. The, “I could get used to this” thought struck me like lightning. Only, that applied to when I raced from house-to-house of listed victims, pulling a prank to humiliate them immensely. Hearing their blood-curling screams or simply watching them coil in fear: it drives insane giggles from my throat.

“No,” I lie. The truth is far too savage for her innocent ears. “I guess I just don’t know. Hopefully I’ll find it.”

“I hope so too,” she says, a little too quickly. As an explanation, she stands up and points out the window at a sign. “That’s my stop. Sorry.”

“S’okay. See you.”

“Bye!”

She jumps off the bus and begins walking in the opposite direction. I wave at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Immediately, I feel stupid to consider she’s a friend: it’s just a stranger trying to make small-talk, that’s all. For the rest of the trip, I plug my earphones back in and tap my fingers to the rhythm of the music. 

Jasper and Casper attend violin lessons, so they don’t catch the bus today. Eloise isn’t here, but I don’t particularly care about her reasons. Mandy always gets a ride back home, and doesn’t catch the bus. Scott’s the only one I catch glimpses of coming home, but he’s too busy in hospital from excessive smoking.

I fish out my mobile and punch in a number. After the third ring, I end the call. It’s a bad idea to call Cedric. He was the spring pushing me forward, the motivation for the Prank War. He’s of no use to me: so why waste time by maintaining a broken friendship?

When I get home, the house is suspiciously quiet. “Mum?” I yell out. No answer. 

As I approach the fridge, there’s a note:

Luna,

Sorry to be leaving you so soon! A friend of mine is helping me set up a cupcake stall, so I’ll be a late today.

There’s no way I’m leaving you alone. I’ve already made arrangements with Angela, and you’ll be staying at Jasper/Casper’s house. 

Take care!

Mum

xoxoxoxo

My stomach lurches. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with the disgusting salad. A few hours with the Hart twins is enough for them to tie me down, grab a knife from the kitchen and stab me repeatedly for the pranks I’ve pulled. My mother has no knowledge of my after-dark deeds, and having her find out after attending my funeral isn’t my order of plans.

Regardless, Mum’s going to call up Mrs Hart and confirm my location. In order to prevent the endless worry, I gather my music-player, a book and hope nobody bothers me. But each step I take towards their house, more horrible thoughts circulate my mind. 

What if Mrs Hart decides I’m a nuisance and asks me to leave? Worst of all, what if Casper and Jasper –both who’ve known previously about the Prank War– tell their mother? 

But I know those aren’t the problems troubling me. 

How’s Jasper going to act around me? What’s our relationship, now that he almost tried to kiss me that eventful night? Is he still angry at me for the petty issues Eloise brought up? Does he need a punching-bag to stand spinelessly as he attacks them? My fists clench. I march to the door. If he’s looking for a punching-bag, I’m so not it.

As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. 

“Oh, Luna. We’ve been expecting you,” says Jasper in a cheerful voice. He motions me over. I close the door and take cautious steps towards him. Seated alongside is Eloise, clinging to his arm and shooting me a quick grimace. “We’re watching Robo-Mouse fall over. Sit down.” He pats the spot on his other side, hints of our earlier argument invisible. 

At the exact same time, they burst out laughing so loudly, I’m afraid their organs would pop out of their mouths. Eloise’s face is streaked with tears. What scares me is how they’re actually genuine. There’s nothing laugh-out-loud funny about a robot-mouse getting run over by a tractor, but I’m sure they disagree.

Deciding I can’t watch anymore of this soppy, tear-streaked love scene, I stroll to Angela Hart’s bedroom. Neither of them notice I’m gone. It’s like I never entered the house.

“Oh, hey Mrs Hart.”

“Hey.” She brings a bottle to her lips, and says, in response to my widened eyes, “No alcohol, Darl. Just green tea. Alcohol makes me vomit: I seriously can’t see the attraction.”

“Me neither.”

“Eloise. She’s a nice girl, eh?”

“Sure,” I lie.  “Do you know… about her and Jasper…?”

“Dating?”

I nod.

“It’s kinda impossible to miss. She’s a nice girl, I guess,” she repeats. After she chugs down more green-tea, she turns to me with an absent look in her eyes. “I’ll be honest: I hate her.”

“What?”

“Sorry, was I a little too blunt? Must be the tea talking. Anyway, maybe she’s the most charming girl in the world, I dunno. I just can’t see anybody else with Jasper but you.”

If I had green-tea in my mouth, I would’ve spit it out also. “Are you kidding me? Mrs Hart, no offence, but you’re insane. There’s no future with us.”

Perhaps my words were harsh. However, the last thing I need is another person confirming our possible future. Jasper and I did have a chance together: he had an opportunity to claim me as more than a friend. But he refused to see me as more than a sister. For that, it’s his loss. 

And now he’s moved on, forgetting our near-kiss. In a twisted way, he chose Eloise over me: choosing to disremember whatever went on between us, and focussing on their life instead. He likes her better. I’m just a sister-like friend who jumbled up in the wrong equation.

Mrs Hart stays quiet. I feel immediate guilt for lashing out at her.

Just as I’m about to apologise, she says, “I know you’ve liked him for a while. Casper knew for a long time too, but he pretended not to. It’s like Jasper has some sort of shield stopping him from seeing what’s obvious.”

“But I don’t like him anymore. Really. I woke up one day, and realised he’s moved on. That’s what I’m going to do as well.”

To my surprise, she laughs. “Do you think it’s that easy? Can you honestly say you have no feelings for him whatsoever?”

My mouth opens. Then closes. I hang my head, not giving her an answer.

I don’t have to: she sees right through me.

 

It’s strange witnessing pranks go according to plan.

While I’m on the bus to school, I see the effects of my last two schemes. Mandy sits next to Casper, absolutely exhausted. Her eyes have dark circles under them, and suspicious white stains on her t-shirt. Most likely toothpaste she hurriedly applied.

Hints of cornflakes streak her hair, which Eloise removes with pinched fingers. It’s almost laughable to see what she looks like without makeup: a normal person. Although the toothpaste and cornflakes are taking normality to a whole new level, she doesn’t look half as glamorous.

 “Looking good, Mandy,” hollers a boy at the back of the bus.

 “My step-brother’s in the hospital. Shut up!”

It’s impossible to sound shriller than she did right then. A strange feeling bubbles up in my chest: one of guilt. A word I thought I’d never use post-Prank-War. But I stay silent. There’s no way I’ll give hints of me being the one planning out her horrible week. She’d never talk to me again.

Or worse, she’ll tell everyone else. And one by one, all the victims of the Prank War will connect the dots. No longer will I be the pranker: instead, I’ll be the victim. The one everyone attacks. Which, I suppose, isn’t much different from the universe humiliating me beyond reason. But somehow it seems worse in my mind.

Nobody told me guilt feels like this. A horrible, sick feeling that swallows me up. It’s as if several motors are set into my stomach, running at full speed. It gets worse as my victims become more defeated.

Jasper has the most pained look on his face, as Eloise turns her face away and ignores every attempt at explanations. Although it’s not part of the initial prank war, I’ve left my mark on that couple. After about three attempts at explaining things, and being ignored by her fake laughs, he finally averts his gaze upwards. To me.

Our eyes lock. You did this, he says. He doesn’t open his mouth; he doesn’t have to. The gears in my stomach are about to burst. This wasn’t part of the Midnight Prank War. After-effects were supposed to bother my victims, not me. Not only is the universe completely against me, but so are my friends.

There’s no greater form of loneliness.

My mind flashbacks to the conversation Mrs Hart and I had. A shallow, forgettable conversation for her drunken-self, but a strike of realisation for

me. Perhaps the reason I’m so against Eloise is because Jasper’s dating her. Sure, she started the mutual hatred by accusing me of being the rapist her father is, but it’s my fault for fighting fire with fire.

By adding more fire, I’ve done nothing but made a bigger fire.

Merely to hear my friends’ conversations, I walk down the bus aisle without a second glance. They don’t look at me; they hardly acknowledge my existence. Instead, they talk amongst themselves about private lives. Something I would’ve been part of once upon a time.

But ever since the stupid, stupid idea of having a Midnight Prank War occurred to me, it’s me against both the world and human kind. Fighting by myself; the lone knight standing amongst a battlefield.

I grab a tissue from the front of the bus, where the box lays. The bus-driver scowls at me for walking while the vehicle is moving, but doesn’t say anything. For this, I am thankful. If he yelled at me, my once-friends would immediately beware of my presence. My best hope for discovering something confidential is to blend into the background.

 “I can’t believe he’s in hospital,” says Mandy. She sniffles. “How couldn’t I have seen how stoned he was? He’s my brother, for crying out loud!”

Eloise opens her mouth to possibly remind her Scott is a step-brother, but thinks the better of it. She closes her mouth. Sometimes, comments are better unmade.

 “I’ll get you some foundation,” says Casper. Everybody turns to stare at him. “What? I have a drama performance today.”

 “Whatever you say,” Eloise chirps in, ignoring her last realisation of how unnecessary some comments are.

Casper glares at her. But the glare doesn’t last long. His hands unsuspectedly wrap around the sock ball I put into his bag. The minute he realises what it is, he repels faster than two magnets of identical poles. His eyes are bloodshot, his chest heaves.

All my friends gather around him. They look equally worried,

 “That’s the most evil thing anybody has ever done to me,” he finally says, when he stops spluttering random noises of shock. “Why… what… how…?”

 “It’s okay,” says Eloise, putting her arm around him. “What’re you so afraid of feet and socks for anyway?”

 “You don’t understand.”

 “Casper, tell her,” says Mandy, motioning to Eloise.

 “What? No.”

 “How can she possibly understand if you won’t tell her?” Mandy snaps. “She’s not a mind-reader!”

There’s a moment where Casper makes eye-contact with both his twin and Eloise. It’s a long moment, causing me to feel light-headed. Finally, he sighs out of defeat.

 “My Aunty Leia. It’s not a big deal, but when she was little, she accidentally walked on me. She had socks on and stuff. She was brain-damaged and couldn’t hear me screaming. The only I remembered, among all the shock, was the shape of her feet. And those creepy pink bed-socks.”

 “Oh God,” whispers Eloise. “Does your mum know?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just a weird quirk according to her. Anyway, there isn’t anything telling would do. Aunty Leia died last Christmas. So yeah. I’m left mentally scarred, that’s all.”

Another uncomfortable silence rises like a hot-air balloon.

Jasper’s the one to break it with a, “The person who did it was so insensitive.” His eyes immediately flitter to Mandy, who recoils.

She didn’t know how deep Casper’s hatred of feet went.

 “They might not have known the history behind Casper’s dislike for feet,” Mandy puts in, staring accusingly at Eloise. “But they tried to stir him up. That just makes them a terrible person.”

 “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m one of the good guys. I agree whoever did this clearly can’t see an obvious line. They’ve crossed it badly.”

My hands clench. I can’t take this anymore.

 “It was me, okay?”

They all turn to me. Surprise, shock, confusion. Their eyes all scream, “How long have you been here?” but I’m sure they’d hardly care about my answer. What matters most is how their best friend, Casper Hart, is responding to a traumatic incident. Solutions run through their minds as to how to help him, or how to avenge him.

A confession must be the last thing they’d expect. Especially from a former friend-turned-stranger.

 “What are you talking about?” asks Casper.

I exhale loudly. The entire Prank War has gone down the drain. Anything I say from now onwards will be used against me. Even if I pretend the confession was a joke, it won’t take them long to connect the dots back to me. I’m the culprit. I’m the murderer. I’m the guilty-party. And no half-hearted joke will ever change my status.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have confessed. A part of me screams: foolish girl, you should’ve continued pretending! Why’d you have to ruin it all with a confession? Truthfully, I’m not sure if I could pull it off any longer. No, I’m certain this entire Prank War would fall to pieces.

Mainly because I’m not the kind of girl who likes deceiving people. Perhaps I was too caught up, trying to make up a new personality but forgetting who I really was. The new Luna would have no trouble toying with emotions, watching victims fall to her feet. With her motorbike zooming in the distance, she’d shoot a mysterious smirk at all passing pedestrians, who’d just watch with a dropped jaw.

But this old Luna –the person I really am– has emotions. I have emotions, a sense of what’s right and wrong. Perhaps that’s why I wanted to change so badly: my personality practically screams I can be manipulated! No wonder the universe finds such amusement tormenting me. It’s just another game. I’m just another toy.

Another toy who can’t keep her mouth closed. Naturally, all her inner guilt and dirtiness spills out in a single confession. This girl tries to explain to her friends, who she then chooses as victims, how horrifying her life was. She always starts her sentences, but can never finish them.

Fragments of sentence beginnings fill the air:

 “I just wasn’t thinking clearly…”

 “I shouldn’t have done this, I know…”

 “Maybe we can start again? I’m really, really sorry…”

But none of them have endings. Instead, the minute she reaches the climax of each sentence before deciding it’s not good enough. Nothing sounds good. Everything makes the event sounds melodramatic. Words diminish what I honestly feel on the inside. The pain, the unfairness seems completely disgusting.

Because I can’t explain, they don’t listen. They look the other way, not making eye-contact. Mandy purses her lips, looking down at the floor. She accidentally kicks Eloise’s foot, who then grimaces before tapping Mandy’s foot back. Like some sort of secret, unsaid bond between the two of them. One without me.

But I stand there, regardless of what they’re saying. Casper’s tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for me to leave. I’m not exiting this scene without at least trying to make a difference to their set-minds. These goes on for a whole two minutes, before the bus halts to a stop. As somebody standing up, I almost fall over.

Jasper grabs my wrist in time. We lock eyes for the slightest moment, before he too removes his fingers before I can blink. It’s almost as if he regrets saving my fall. For me, that’s the absolute limit. The final straw indicating I’m not only unwanted, but better off dead.

Without taking another glance backwards, I walk back up the back of the bus. I sit back in my seat. Surrounding people don’t notice my slight departure, and the loudness of their happy chatters swallow me.

Although it doesn’t compare to the heart-wrenching guilt, it’s a confirmation of how alone I am. These people will never accept me back, unless I do something drastic to earn their trust back. They’ll never forgive me for my impulsive, childish decisions. But how am I supposed to respond? That I didn’t mean it? That it was all a mistake?

When The Midnight Prank War was on my mind, I was somebody different. A girl who didn’t care about emotions, the future or anybody but herself. Somebody who created a wall between her and everybody close, and not only destroyed that wall with a huge attack, but also damaged the person on the other side.

It’s a harmless event. Something I hoped would let the world see my perspective for once. But instead of a positive conclusion, it resulted in me being isolated. Forget them forgiving me: I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from my foolish mistake. No wonder the universe hates me so much, although right now, its hatred is nowhere as large as my own.

Hayley, the friendly girl who started small-talk yesterday is nowhere to be seen. Everybody else seems occupied with their own business. I’m alone. This is the way it’s going to be for a long, long time.

I close my eyes. What is it like in America right now? Is the weather any good? Maybe I’ll visit there and never come back. A fresh start. One where my friends don’t feel as if I’ve betrayed them beyond reason.

Truthfully, I had no intention of crossing lines. It just happened. Mandy looking that awful in the morning everyday? Her main pride is her

appearance, and I ruined it for her. Eloise, whose privacy I poked by pretending to be a singer –coincidentally involved with her father’s jail-sentence. Casper, whose sock-fear has a darker background than a simple personality quirk.

And finally, Jasper. The boy of my dreams who’s fading away so rapidly, I find it difficult to merely picture his face. My once-best friend only has Eloise in his life; admittedly, I’ve never seen him happier. Yet, I’m the one trying to break them apart.

That’s me. I’m the bad-guy. The villain. I’m that obstacle all the heroes, my victims, have to pass.

When I scroll through my contacts list on my phone, I sigh. All the numbers belong to victims of the Prank War. All except Mum –and a boy who encouraged me to proceed the Prank War in first place.

With shaking fingers, I text:

Hey. Luna here. Can I talk to u?

If he says no, my life is over. There will be no-one left. My mother will claim it’s “just a phase,” but it isn’t. Without friends, I have nothing else in life; no future, no reason to stay here in Australia. Maybe I’ll get a job in America. Or play bag-pipes with the awesome people in Scotland.

Or maybe, just like always, I’m being overdramatic.

My phone buzzes.

Meet me at the café beside school at 5.

              When I walk into the cafe, my heart starts pounding.

It's the same awesome place for high-schoolers to enjoy after school gatherings, but it's no longer light-hearted for me. If I make a bad impression on Cedric, say a single thing wrong, he'll stop all contact with me. Then I'll truly be alone; not another name in my contacts' list to run to.

That thought alone causes a series of shivers to run up my spine. No, I can't let Cedric see a repulsive side of me. I must act like the the most amazing human being to simply keep him as a friend.

Part of me blames him for the Prank War. But then I realise how stupid I'm behaving: my acceptance of his idea isn't his fault. From what I've been badmouthing about my friends, he automatically assumed my friends weren't that important -that I could live without them. Three days ago, I thought I could. That's the main reason I started the Prank War.

Although I didn't intend on them ever finding out, I still figured that, if they did, I'd be welcomed back with open arms. Never did I consider they'd shun me out. That Jasper would rather me dead than save me. How stupid am I: would I ever forgive somebody performing such monstrous pranks on me, just to “have some fun”? Of course not.

My breathing starts going irregular. Just thinking about the million ways I can mess up stings all my neurones. If remain another minute with myself, I might go insane.

Luckily, Cedric shows up in the nick of time. He gives me a flat smile, holding up his hand. There's something a little off about him. Although it shouldn't strike me as anything out of the ordinary -perhaps he's just having a bad day?- it causes my heart to beat faster. Something has definitely changed since the last time I saw him.

Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. Yes, that's it. Maybe I expected more of a happy reaction from him, but when I didn't get it, I ended up pretending it's his problem. When in fact, it must be my own: thinking somebody's happiness can deflate.

And even if his has, so what? Why do I care so much?

“Luna,” he says, but his smile looks a little shallow to me. Artificial. “Nice to see ya again. What's up?”

My friends have abandonned me. My Midnight Prank War didn't have the expected results. I feel extremely alone, and I really need a hug. But I keep these freakish thoughts to myself; if I dare expose them, he's bound

to desert me in this isolated cafe. I exhale loudly and mumble something about schoolwork burying me.

“Tell me about it.” He laughs. “I can't wait for university. But I probably won't get in...”

Suddenly, a waitress comes around. She gives me a quick smile, but her eyes remain on Cedric. “Are you that guy who plays Peter Harris in Dawn of the Onion-Monsters?”

“I wish,” says Cedric, her sharp feminine features clearly catching his attention. “And you are?”

“Paprika. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with this young lady -before, you know, I questioned your possible role as an actor.” She titters, and I can't get her British accent out of my mind. It's extremely catchy. “You're in your final high-school years, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“My father owns an university in Brisbane -Griffith. You heard of it?”

Cedric's eyes widen. “That was my second preference.”

“Brilliant! I'll sneak you a good word.”

“Not that I'm complaining, but why sneak in a good word? You barely know me.”

“Stranger-kindess is so uncommon these days. I'm wanna turn that around.” She flashes her perfect teeth before handing a small card over. “It has my contact details on it. Just give me some personal details and I'll try my best.”

“Wow, um, thank you.”

“No worries.”

Cedric clears his throat and turns to me, shock still visible on his face. “Now there's something you don't witness everyday.”

“Tell me about it.”

How convenient that she overheard Cedric saying exactly those words. If she'd arrived, say, a minute later, she wouldn't have felt obligated to help him out. But it wasn't just timing, either. Even if the timing was right, there's no way “stranger-kindness” would be the primary thought for a

random person. In fact, if it had been anybody but this woman, the conversation would've never happened.

Some people just have all the luck.

If that's not enough to make me grumble, what happens next blows me away. A man with hints of a moustache grins widely at Cedric, before rushing to him. His apron clearly indicates he's a worker, but the “manager” tag attached to his white shirt recognises how he's at a higher position than most other employees.

“You, my friend, are the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth person to sit on that seat.” His eyes are gleaming so brightly, I wonder if they're light-bulbs about to fuse. “I congratulate you, my friend! And as a thank-you for coming to this cafe, have a coffee on the house.”

Cedric's smile is so wide, his gums show. “Really? Thanks!”

While he's opposite me, drinking his free coffee savouringly, I glare at him with folded arms. Two coincidental, lucky things happened to him in a mere span of five minutes, whereas I'm a sulking customer lowering the appetites of almost everybody in this cafe. That girl who encourages people standing in line to take their food away instead of eating here, simply with a facial expression sourer than lemons.

Then there's Cedric, whose brown hair is combed and hanging is perfect curls. He stops, mid-sip, and says, “Is there anything wrong? You've been looking at me strangely.”

I sigh. This is it. He's going to realise what a loser I am and lose all contact. Heck, I wouldn't want to befriend myself: that's how awful my personality is. A boring, sore-loser who's dramatic at the worst of times and can't express her feelings like a normal person. Pen-and-paper or regular private conversations with a best friend aren't enough.

No, I must adventure through the darkness and get revenge on my victims. Who do I think I am, a superhero? At the end of the day, I'm just plain Luna with no friends. Which automatically means no life. And Cedric here is figuring this all out, just now, as he bites his lip.

“I need to tell you something.”

“That you don't wanna be my friend? S'okay. I was trying too hard, anyway. And it's not like my normal friends want anything to do with me.”

“Yeah, about that: I'm really sorry.”

“Don't me. Sure, you suggested I do the whole Prank War thing, but it's ultimately my fault for doing it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. You didn't know about the negative things it'd bring.”

He hesitates. Something flickers in his eyes. “That's the thing: I did know. And for that, I want to apologise.”

“What?”

“When I first met you, you were getting humiliated by a photographer on School Photos. I saw that. I remembered you. Because you were exactly like me. So I kept tabs on you. And that's... that's when I developed my theory.”

“Your theory?”

“My theory is that the universe distributes love and hate equally. That fate's a lot like energy: it cannot be destroyed or created, but it's somehow always there. So I had this idea that, if somebody with good luck lost it, somebody who has nothing on their side -neither the universe or people- would receive it.”

“Let me guess: I was your target?”

He nods.

“But I don't have good luck. I have horrible luck.”

“You have horrible luck when it comes to the universe. When it comes to relationships and people, you're one of the luckiest people on the planet. You didn't realise it; you wanted revenge on them, anyway.” He avoids my eyes. “It was a lot easier for you to do stupid things.”

“When you heard me complaining about my life, you knew, didn't you?”

“That your social life was perfect? Yeah, I did. I couldn't understand, for the love of the universe, why you didn't appreciate them. So I wanted your luck: I didn't have neither the universe or people on my side. I wanted it. I wanted it badly.”

“Is that why so many lucky things are happening to you?”

He half-smiles. “I guess. And I wouldn't be surprised if you never talked to me again. When I say I'm sorry, I mean it. I didn't think it'd make me feel so horrible, taking away somebody's luck away from them. But I do feel

horrible. If I could give back your luck, I swear I would. I just don't know how to make the universe hate me.”

There's a silence. He tries catching my eye, as if eye-contact might make the apology seem more genuine. But I do everything in my power to avoid his eyes. This isn't a time where I should be allowed to communicate: I'll just end up screaming without purpose. Just to feel something, I guess. And not only will he disappear faster than a cheetah, but I'll be left empty.

I don't want that. Not today, not ever. My best instinct is to zip my lips and think; register his words and not convert into a blubbering mess.

From the very minute I opened my mouth, he knew my life was perfect. Maybe the universe wasn't on my side the majority of these years, however, my friends were. My hard-working mother balanced all these jobs and baking-stalls simply to raise me properly, send me to an educational Christian school and keep me away from bad influences.

Even if Jasper found an undeniable attraction to the woman who brought me to life, it doesn't change her role as the perfect mother.

Eloise, although extremely judgemental, is one of the most intelligent people I know. All her over-the-top rapist jokes was a defence mechanism, and shouldn't be considered when judging her. Jasper's head-over-heels for her, so she must have a brilliant personality as well. I'll never truly know her: we started off on the wrong foot on a level so high.

My other friends -though I haven't seen them as anything but victims for a long time- are equally amazing. Sure, they have their quirks, like Casper and his hatred for feet, but they were always there.

Even at times I felt alone, these friends of mine always brightened the mood. It's not fair to conclude they're selfish humans unwilling to lend me an ear: when was the last time I properly listened to their complaints? Never. They were never close friends to start off with, but they're the best I possibly could get.

I had the perfect friends, and I ruined my chance with all of them. Within the span of two days. And now, I've got nobody left but a boy planning my future for selfish reasons. If there's one person to blame, one person to shove down in anger, it's the one opposite me. Oh, how I wish to bring over a giant cake with candles and shove it down his throat.

But I manage my anger. A little too well, because I end up saying, “It's okay. I forgive you.” Wait, what am I saying? Of course I don't! “I understand what you did, and though it was wrong, I probably would've done the same thing.” Deliberately sabotage somebody else's life? I'd like to think I'm kinder than to pull off such a dirty stunt. “And the last thing I need is to lose my only friend, so, yeah. I forgive you.”

“Really? Are you really sure, or should I keep an eye out for mysterious pranks during the night?”

I laugh. And suddenly, I'm glad I've forgiven him. It's a strange feeling; one where I feel like the upper-man, the one having enough wisdom to grant forgiveness. But instead of expressions of power, I'm filled head-to-toe with giddiness.

“Yeah, I'm really sure. The Midnight Prank War, although it caused me to lose practically all my friends, made me realise how petty revenge is. It's overrated. I don't need it. Instead, if injustice is done, I should cry and river, build a bridge and get over it.”

Cedric blinks. “You've definitely changed.”

“Nah, I haven't changed a bit: I'm just an improved version of my old self.”

That's the closest to complete honesty I'll ever get.

 Scott can barely prop his neck upwards to look at me.

I regard this fact -the reality of his helplessness- and fake a smile. He's still lying on his back in the hospital bed, turning his cheek towards me. Just like all the others, he's trying to avoid looking at me. Not him too. I foolishly thought he'd be grateful for saving him from those dangerous fumes. If they'd got any worse, he would've been unconscious.

An over-dosage on cigarettes. It's like some horribly-written television drama, only it's real. This is all happening at this present moment. The fact he's in bed, his stomach pumped out and stitched together with breakable thread isn't laugh-worthy. It's rare to get an over-dosage of tobacco. But this obviously proves how, despite how rare something is, things still happen to people I know.

“I can't believe you did that.”

“You can't believe what? That I came to your house, looking for Mandy for help with science, and found you unconscious instead? That I saved your life? Yeah, I can't believe I did it either.”

“No.” He tries to sit up, but an expression of sheer pain crosses his face. To avoid feeling that endless pain again, he slams back down on the bed with a thud. “You ruined everything.”

“I did what?”

He doesn't reply. It doesn't stop an endless amount of steam escaping my ears. A cartoon character resembles me most at this present moment. My hands clutch tightly around the cardboard box of chocolates I brought along, although at this pace, I sure won't be handing them over. It doesn't seem as if he cares about chocolate.

In fact, from this moody and whiny side of him, I doubt he cares about anything else but himself. A stupid teenager stuck in a hospital for dangerous hobbies and blaming me, the lifesaver, for bringing him to the hospital.

Just because he got into a lot of trouble by his parents doesn't make me any less heroic. What's his punishment: not being allowed to party for three weeks? Four? It's quite possibly the most fairest punishment, if not a little on the soft-side.

“I'm grounded for five weeks,” he says, as if reading my mind.

“I think that's more than fair. You shouldn't be stupid enough to over-dose. Whether you do drugs or whatever isn't any of my business, but

at least have some friends over to catch you if you -oh, I don't know- end up unconscious on your bedroom floor.”

“You just don't get it-”

“Guess what? I'm not a mind-reader. Don't you dare keep repeating, 'You don't get it' if you're not going to explain it to me.”

“Fine. You want it explained? I'm addicted to tobacco. There. I said it.”

“Are you kidding me? I kind of gathered that much. Nobody smokes that much unless trying to feel some sort of spark in an addiction.”

“Yeah, well, it didn't work. I learned my lesson and blah, blah, blah.” His face darkens. “But if I could do it all again, I would. Again. And again. And again.”

I resist the urge to push him. “Insane. That's what you are. I'll make an appointment to a psychiatrist.”

Just as I'm about to exit the room, he calls out, “Wait.”

Although it'd be extremely fulfilling if I could just keep walking straight ahead without a single glance backwards, I stop at my tracks. That temptation is resisted; a sick person has enough problems without me infuriating me. So, resignedly cursing my brilliant sense of justice, I turn back with my eyes on the floor -simply to point out that, indeed, I don't care about his personal life.

“How's Eloise?” he says, surprising me with the softness in his voice.

“She's fine. Why do you ask?”

“Can't I ask a question without being asked another question in return?” he snaps. Then he sighs. “I'm dating her. We started dating a couple of days ago. I know it's hard on Jasper -with the break-up thing- but I'm sure he'll move on. Find somebody more suitable.”

“What are you talking about? Jasper's still dating her.”

His eyes widen. In fact, the news ignites a clear reaction as he tries to sit up, but again scrunches his face up in pain before falling back to his pillow. “What? She broke up with him five days ago. She told me so.”

“Nope. They're still going strong.”

Though my words are cool and collected, I'm mentally screaming. Shrieking. Ready to march to Eloise's house and demand an explanation

about why she's cheating on the guy of my dreams. The one who I imagined as the perfect prince; the only guy I wanted to date for the last year or so. How can she chuck him away so casually, like a broken toy?

But I stay positive. I don't let Scott see the mental breakdown I'm undergoing. Jasper will always, always be my number one -even if there's no future, and if I pretend to be over him. The new Luna thought love's a easy piece of pie. If she misses out on one piece, she'll easily move on to another found in an endless pie.

Only the old Luna, the one who I really am, realises how much longing can hold onto that piece of pie. Or, to make this analogy a lot more serious, love for somebody. Unrequited love is hard. But holding onto not a thread of hope is more difficult. That new Luna doesn't understand. Not that I'd expect her to: she's nothing like me.

Instead of badmouthing Eloise like the new Luna would, or simply keep a facade while ploying revenge, I kneel down next to Scott. His eyes water up, and he keeps rubbing at his eyes. I die a little on the inside, though I have no clue why he's crying.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.”

In order to brighten up the scene, I ask him questions about Eloise. He launches off in a surprisingly large amount of stories -all so positive and dazzling, it's difficult not to feel admiration for his female. Or envy she has somebody noticing her “rocking fashion sense” or “intelligence worthy of an international award.”

He concludes his many stories with, “She was there for me. She knew about the smoking, and she started getting me all these things to try and quit. I was doing well, but now... but now I blew it.”

“Has she called you?”

“She has. But only to tell me she wants to talk to me in person, not over the phone. So I'll have to wait until I get out of here.”

“Oh.” Then I pause, briefly pondering whether I should ask him a question. He's probably going to be on a lot of drugs, suffer mental damage to some extent and hopefully endure memory shortage: so why not? “Do you think she's perfect? It's a stupid question, I know. But she gets all the guys without trying. And it makes me feel, I dunno, kind of hopeless.”

He smiles. “I was actually hoping you'd ask me this question. Yeah, Eloise has ninety-nine percent of qualities you'll never have. She's talented, funny, and extremely smart -everything you'll never be.”

“I'm sorry, lemme rephrase my question: I feel inferior, please do not tell me how your girlfriend is better, and feed me info on why she's horrible.”

“Glad you made that clear. Now I have no choice but to tell you that, fortunately for you, there's one percent of a quality she'll never have: you are extremely passionate.”

“Are you kidding me? That''s my brilliant quality? I asked you to raise my self-esteem, not push me deeper into the ground.”

“Hear me out: Eloise told me about the time you ran after her during Art, and she spilled about her father being in jail.”

“So?”

“So, you didn't have to. I'm pretty sure no other person would've, especially after being treated the way she treated you. But you ran after her.”

“That doesn't explain anything: it was just some random impulsive decision.”

“The fact it's an impulsive decision furthers my point. A true impulsive decision would be to let her run away. But on the inside, you just had to chase after her; find out what was wrong. That's what makes you stand out, even if you don't possess the same talents as many other people.”

I have to admit, it's flattering to have somebody compliment me. Although I would've been happier if he left out the part of me being incapable of ninety-nine percent of the things, but a compliment is always welcomed with open arms in my world, regardless of any added insults attached.

“Thanks, I guess,” I say to Scott, trying not to smile. “You lowered my self-esteem with that pep-talk.”

“Anytime. Remember, I'm always here to remind you how you're miles below my girlfriend in status.”

“She's not your girlfriend; she's Jasper's.”

I close the door before he can reply. Although it's cruel, I think he should accept Eloise is with Jasper now -and just because she lied about them breaking up, and ended up cheating on Jasper doesn't mean they're official. He shouldn't get his hopes too high.

My phone buzzes. I pick it up. “Hello?”

“It's Eloise. Can you put Scott on the phone?” There's panic echoing loud and clear in her voice. She keeps swallowing, as if her mouth's run out of saliva. “I need to tell him something.”

“Tell him not to tell me you guys are dating?”

There's nothing but silence on the other end. She mustn't know how to phrase her next words perfectly, as to explain everything on her mind and still defend herself. How can she explain her cheating ways without being recognised as the obvious villain? At any other time, I would've loved to watch her stutter aimlessly on the phone.

But today, my heart reaches out for her. She made a mistake. Unfortunately, it's in the past -the least I can do is to not remind her of it. When Jasper finds out, which he will eventually without me blabbering, he'll be mad enough for the entire continent of Australasia.

“I tried to dump him,” she says, her voice small and desperate. “I tried to do it so, so many times before. But every-time I would, he'd do something awfully sweet -like he always does. And it stops me.” Her voice is breaking. She finds some need to continue explaining herself, because she adds, “He even gave up some chance at medical school to stay here with me. How could I say no to that?”

Easy, I think immediately, voicing my opinion. I'd easily break up with a guy after they did something sweet, with a, “You are a brilliant person, but I think we should move on.” Although it'd break both his heart and mine, it'd hurt a million times more if I let him stay -say, rejecting an opportunity for medical school- here for me, while I'm out cheating on him. That's injustice on so many levels, life's much easier if I just dump him: let him lead his life, find the love of his life while I do the same.

One-percent. Scott said I have only one percent of qualities Eloise doesn't.

“Eloise, next time you talk to Scott, can you tell him one-percent is nowhere near the true value of my talents?”

“What are you talking about?” But the confusion doesn't take long to convert into a voice of utter pleading. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, and that Jasper's your friend-”

“Despite how much I hate you for not having the courage to break up with him, I won't say a word.”

“Luna?”

“Mm?”

“You've had a crush on Jasper for a while, haven't you?” As if reading my mind, she adds, “I kinda noticed how different you are around him. So I made an assumption.”

“For a long time, yeah.”

“Then I don't understand you. Although I shouldn't encourage you, isn't this your moment to shine? Where you break the bad news and be his shoulder to cry on?”

“I can't stand the thought of hurting him. It's a curse.” I chuckle. “Some might say I care a little too much.”

“I can't believe you did that,” says Mandy, stunned. “For somebody who put me in complete, utter humiliation, I'd never expect you to behave so... maturely with Eloise.”

“Oh, you heard.” It's not a question. “I wasn't thinking straight. Don't worry, I have enough immatureness fuelled up for the rest of eternity.”

She grins at this before pouring more soft-drink. There’s some set-rule about disallowing guests drinking straight from the can, and therefore shares soft drinks. It’s a little maniacal, but I’ve witnessed a lot of weirder things in my lifetime. Casper’s existence along strikes me as an odd presence, not taking into account all his other strange quirks.

Mandy somehow forgives me for the whole Prank War. Maybe it’s the “letting-Eloise-off-the-hook” thing which caught her sympathy, but it doesn’t change the fact Mandy’s generally just an awesome person. Why can't Jasper date her, instead?

But the minute I think the thought, I retract it. Although she's a lot better than Eloise, in my opinion, I'm selfish enough to consider myself his only option. Perhaps I may never stand a chance. It's still nice to hold onto some false hope.

In fact, I have no idea why I'm staying this long. The skies are red from the setting sun, and I glance at the large clock on Mandy's wall. This is when I'm supposed to leave Mandy's house, heading straight towards Jasper's house. He's the next on the list to apologise to, and hopefully Casper will be around to receive an apology, also.

How selfish was I, trying to break them apart? Sure, Eloise is a cheating witch who's going to end the relationship anyway: but I don't want to stand in the way. If things fall apart, I'll be the first person he blames for ruining their broken relationship. He'll never accept any defences, and will continue to avoid me for the rest of eternity.

Having Jasper ogling my mother is tolerable, along with him completely ignoring me for a stupid prank. But hatred? I can't stand that. That's why I have to get there as soon as possible, before Eloise breaks the bad news. Chances are, she doesn't trust me with her dirty little secret, and will break up with him before other sources reach him first.

What will he do then? He'll be too busy grieving, unwilling to talk to anyone. When he'll finally accept comments from external sources, it'll be too late: I'll be the little ant carrying all the blame, until I finally fall face-first with the overload. He'll be that grumpy lion who ends up squishing lambs and eating them for breakfast, and by that time, I'll already be six feet underground.

It's a strange thought. I cock my head to the side, wondering if I actually thought it. Mandy turns to me with an odd expression on her face. “Are you okay?”

I blink. “Yeah, I'm fine. No offence, Mandy, but I really have to go. Mum's expecting me-”

Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

“Package for you, Miss Amanda Perkett.” A balding man with a monobrow hands over a parcel. His teeth are nice and straight, making up for his overall face. “I need you signature here.” There's an indication to a small graphic pad.

She nods and scribbles her signature there, before shaking the parcel. Then she grins when she sees the tag. I don't know why she's grinning: all I see is a random jumble of words which make no sense. Milady Oven. Is she some sort of houseware? Perhaps she's a secret spy from Mars, an electronic device converted into a human. No, that's just ridiculous -but maybe that's the whole point. A person suspecting an overall difference in this human sets themselves up for utter foolishness. Imagine, accusing somebody of being an alien -that'd receive a million odd looks.

My theories are, thankfully, cut short when Mandy opens the package. There's a letter smouldered in coffee. I turn away, realising it's probably a private letter. To my utter joy, she turns around and shows the letter to me. All plots to sneak to her house in the middle of the night, simply for a glance of that letter vanishes.

Unfortunately, all I see are random words put together in no order. Instead of periods, there are dashes between peculiar-looking words. Realising I can't read whatever code language this is, she explains, “It's an anagram letter. The start says 'I love Mandy'.”

“Wait, you can read this?”

She looks embarrassed. “Yeah. I've always had a way with words. But only Scott knows: it's like my hidden talent. Come to think of it, I have no idea how this admirer of mine knows.” She reads out the letter to me.

Dear Mandy,

I think you're absolutely stunning.

When I reveal to you who I am, please take me seriously. I can't stress that enough. Yes, you know me, but I need you to see me in a different way.

Yeah, I like you. A lot.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

“It's so sweet!” she exclaims, hugging the letter to her chest.

I take a hesitant step backwards. Sweet? No offence to Mandy, but if a mysterious parcel came to me in the middle of the day, from an anonymous person, I'd be reporting the incident to the police -not hug the letter and splutter cooing noises. Not only does this person recognise Mandy's secret talent, but he also knows where she lives.

At least, I think it's a he. Maybe Mandy has an interesting female friend who thinks she's cute, and wants to take things a little further. After all, “I need to see you a different way” can mean almost anything. It doesn't help that Mandy has no clue who this person. Yet, she pours herself another glass of lemonade, humming a sunny song and her eyes shine.

It's like she's a completely new person, just from one sweet-yet-creepy letter. That secret admirer is extremely lucky Mandy's reacting the way she is.

Lucky.

That word gets stuck in my mind.

“Hey, Mandy, nobody knows about your anagramming talent but Scott, right?”

“Yeah. I'm kinda ashamed of it, actually: it's not the first thing I tell people.”

“Say Scott told one of his friends?”

“Scott doesn't have many friends. The only one he ever brought home was Cedric-” Her eyes widen. “You don't think...?”

“I don't think. But I say it's a fairly good chance.”

I politely thank her for the soft-drink and the wonderful company, but she doesn't notice me. Instead, she's looking all over the kitchen table trying to find the cordless phone. Without another word more, I exit her house. Cedric's going to be one stunned fellow when life doesn't go according to plan. Despite the evilness in the deed, I can't help grinning.

My legs are oddly jumpy as I head towards the Harts' residence. Perhaps because I'm afraid of whatever rejection Jasper offers me; and I know he will, because he's never the type to talk things through. Then it occurs to me how it's my duty, as his friend, to tell him about Eloise's cheating.

How cowardly would I be, standing in the background while he drowns himself in more misery. Should I have the courage to stand up to his cheating girlfriend? He'd tell me instantly if somebody was doing me backstabbing injustice. But I trust him.

Ever since the Midnight Prank War, I question whether he takes my word for everything. Or maybe it's just an excuse to avoid telling him bad news. If Jasper cries, I don't want to be the one too see that. I like seeing him as the jerk who chose romance over friendship, not the sensitive side -if I see it, I'd fall for him all over again.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. I'm surprised people in New Zealand can't hear it. Is this a good idea? Going to a boy's house after sunset, especially when they hate me beyond reason? Clearly there's only one answer: no. But I'm doing it anyway. I press the doorbell and await my doom.

Mrs Hart opens the door, and smiles when she sees me. No shock or confusion; it's like she's expecting me. Somehow, that unsettles me rather than welcomes.

“Looking for Jasper?”

“Uh, actually, for Casper.”

Now she looks surprised. But she doesn't object, and before I know it, Casper's at the door. He's wearing knee-length shorts and a red t-shirt with a shark on it. His hair's infested with ants, and I feel extremely grossed out. This repulsion is hidden to the best of my ability, as I blurt out, “I'm sorry.”

He doesn't respond. Instead, he exits his house and grins at me once we're safely out. “It's okay. Eloise told me about how you promised not to tell Jasper about her cheating, and I saw how you changed -in a good way. You made a mistake: I forgive you.”

My jaw drops. This definitely isn't what I expected. “Is there anybody who doesn't know about my 'sacrifice'?”

“Jasper,” he says, as if blatantly obvious. “Eloise told almost all of our gang. She was really touched, I guess.”

Although I explained my intentions of not making Jasper cry, Eloise obviously mistook my goodwill for her own selfish reasons. As if I'd ever

refrain harmless information concerning her pride. Unfortunately, this information can hurt Jasper. There's a risk I won't take. But if everybody wants to believe Eloise is the reason, and if they're willing to forgive my foolish mistakes, then who am I to argue?

I sigh. Although it seems like the easy way out, I know I'll have to reconfirm my position with Eloise. She obviously doesn't understand how I'm willing to throw her in shark-infested waters. Perhaps that'll cause me to lose respect from all my victims. But I'll be caught out eventually, so why not be hated for the truth?

These thoughts are so level-headed and mature, I stun myself by thinking them. Would I have gone along this train of thought before the Midnight Prank War? No, I'd be too busy feeling sorry for myself and whatever way fate decides to torment me in. Back then, nothing beats the humiliation of the world hating me. Now I realise just how lucky I am; how petty and shallow I used to be.

“That's great,” I finally say. “But I'm not doing this for Eloise.”

“I know. She told me. Even if you're doing it for the wrong reasons, you're still keeping a secret.”

“Oh.”

There isn't much else to say. Casper wordlessly heads back to the door, motions me to enter and then closes it behind him. It occurs to me how, despite all these friends claiming to be supportive, none of them have the courage to tell Jasper he's being cheated on. Even his own brother.

Hang on. This isn't right. While Jasper's out getting wonderful presents or searching ways to please Eloise, he's being cheated on. Maybe I don't have the guts to watch him cry, but what kind of friend am I to keep quiet about something so major? It never occurred to me how hurt Jasper would be after learning we all knew, but did nothing about it.

There's no way I can let that happen. He'll probably blame me for their relationship falling apart, most likely. But at least I won't feel guilt if he ignores me. Whereas if I don't tell him now, I'd lose him forever.

I grab my phone and dial a number. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

“Eloise? It's me, Luna. Sorry for going back on my word, but I'm going to tell Jasper.”

“You what?”

“Sorry. You can turn everybody against me if you want, but I'm not gonna let Jasper get hurt.”

With those words hanging in the air, I end the call. She doesn't reply. Or send me threatening text-messages. So it's definitely a good time to take a step forward. Then, one step after the other, I finally read Jasper's room. My facial muscles are relaxed, but my breathing is jagged and my muscles tense. This is it. I can't mess this up.

I knock on the door. “It's Luna.”

He opens it, holding the door wide open with a dry smile. “Hi.”

“Hello. There's no right time to say this, but Eloise is cheating on you.”

To my surprise, the smile doesn't disappear. “I know. It's kind of obvious. She knows I know. So she didn't find the need to tell me. Thanks for telling me anyway, I guess.”

He's just about to close the door, but I stop him.

“You don't forgive me, do you?”

“No.”

I want to remind him about how he's the one choosing some girl over me, but I stop myself. One fight at a time is more than enough. “Eloise told me something about you refusing some sorta medical opportunity.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

“Are you insane? My God, Jasper, why would you do that?”

“I don't have to explain myself to you.”

He slams the door in my face.

*

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Luna, this isn't funny.”

It's dark. Two a.m in the morning and I have a tight grasp around Jasper's wrist as I drag him out of the house. It's understandable why he's a little peevish; his bed-hair flies out in all directions, and his eyes are swollen from lack of sleep. He also has no idea what I'm doing.

“The next train to Brisbane is in fifteen minutes,” I whisper. “I have a cousin next to the university; we'll stay there for two nights.”

“Why do we need to go to an univer-” Realisation dawns on him. Suddenly, he's wide-awake. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not.”

“Why even bother?”

“'Cause, unlike Eloise, I care.”

He doesn't make any attempt to resist when I tug at his sleeve.

 

He’s staying over at my cousin’s house. Technically, it’s a hotel with plenty of spare rooms, and the minute somebody books a room Jasper’s staying in, he has to resort to another. But I believe it’s a pretty fair condition to hold.

My hand wraps around my mobile. Although I realise he’s sleeping right now, there’s hope he might wake up and thank me. In the middle of the night. What wishful thinking. I doubt he’ll wake up tomorrow morning, remembering I’m the reason he’s at Brisbane.

These thoughts whirl my head as I sit on the train, next to a sleeping man and opposite to a woman reading Jane Austen. Through a series of gentle bumps, the train edges back to the place I call home. Before Mum wakes up, I’ll be at my house and fast sleep. She won’t have a chance to confirm any suspicions of me disappearing.

Although all this positive thinking lightens up my mood, I feel proud but unacknowledged. Because of Eloise, my best friend was about to give up the job of his life. Thanks to me, he’s at Brisbane with many chances of getting the job of his dreams. I should be happy for him. After all, I made this all fall together.

But I know that, when he’s back home, he’ll take his girlfriend back. I’ll be the second-choice and the lonely girl sitting in the background, whilst he exchanged gooey looks with Eloise. What’s more, I’ll be the outraged female unable to tolerate it, and will probably do something stupid –perhaps more idiotic than the Midnight Prank War in general.

The train stops. This is where I get off.

Feeling utterly gloomy, I step off the vehicle. What’s Jasper doing right now? Is he sleeping? Maybe he’s awake, calling Eloise and telling her about a slight delay in their plans. Honestly, I don’t want to know –any possibilities with a chance of happening will hurt me.

It’s better if I don’t know.

*

When morning arrives, I sit up in my bed, yawning. The mobile phone on my dresser taunts me. Not a single missed call or message; he must’ve forgotten completely. He’s probably on his way to buy stationery for the interview tomorrow. Did he forget how he got to Brisbane in first place? Am I simply a figment of his imagination?

Anger boils in my blood. That ungrateful boy can ignore me all he wants, but I’m not going to stand back and watch. With intentions of confronting

him, I pick up the phone and punch in his number exceedingly hard on the keypad. 

The phone rings once. Twice.

“Hello?”

“It’s Luna.” The anger somehow rises. It might have something to do with how his greeting was so casual, so irritating. “You know, the second-option when your girlfriend isn’t your main focus?”

“I never considered you a second option.”

“What? Not only do you ditch me after the Prank War, but you never talk to me. Remember when we used to be best friends? Scratch that –remember when we actually used to talk? I wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot.”

“Look, I never chose Eloise over you.”

“Then why were you trying so hard to impress her? Why was I the crazy insane one who thought a Prank War could fix it all. Friends are loyal; you obviously aren’t one.”

“That’s ‘cause I wanted to be more. My God, Luna, you’re such an idiot.”

“Don’t you dare bring my failed classes into this!” But all the anger dissolves, as quickly as it overcame me. There’s a momentary pause. “What do you mean you ‘wanted to me more’?”

“I liked you, okay? I just never was honest with my feelings., and didn’t realise it in time. I went over to your house frequently, trying to convince myself the reason I went was ‘cause I loved your mother’s baking.”

“Must’ve been a lotta convincing.”

“Yeah, it was. I spent all my time wondering why I went over to your house so much. That’s when I started to stop. And then you… you dragged me into the Prank War. And though it was the most ridiculous, stupid thing I ever heard, I somehow ended up more attracted to you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t. That’s when I realised I had to get away. Move on with my life, because it was just a stupid crush with no prospect. Eloise seemed decent enough, and we actually had a possible future together, so I started dating her without realising I hurt you.”

“That really wasn’t nice.”

 “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“As for us having no future, I thought that too.”

“I kind of figured. That night when you came over with supposed food-poisoning, you asked if I considered somebody like you. And that’s when it all fell into pieces: I couldn’t run away from the fact that, yeah, I considered somebody like you. Way too many times. And it occurred to me, you must’ve thought about it too, but were more honest with yourself than me.”

“And then I turned away just before anything could happen.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

There’s a pause, and I try running over everything Jasper said. It all falls according to his behaviour, and new knowledge awaits me. One thing causes me to scream out of happiness internally: he liked me. All those times I thought he visited because of my mother, he actually came around with denying feelings he liked me.

Of course, I’ll never tell him I assumed he liked my mother. That’s just too embarrassing; just like the rest of this heart-to-heart conversation. My cheeks are flushing just listening to him. How is that possible? Does this mean I’ll do every embarrassing thing possible when we’re actually face-to-face?

I break the silence with a cough, before adding, “Why are you dating Eloise, then?”

“I was afraid that, if I didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d spend too much time with you again. And that really isn’t good when you’re trying to get over someone. But if it helps, I broke up with her in the morning.”

“Are you still trying to get over me?”

“Luna, you woke up in the middle of the night, dragged me on a train to another city just so I could pick up a career I threw away.” He laughs. “You’re making it pretty difficult for me.”

“Mum’s calling me,” I lie, just to end the conversation and stop the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ve gotta go. See you later?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

I hang up the phone, my heart still not beating at its normal pace. When I fall into an abundance of pillows, the entire conversation runs through my mind. Did he just confess to me? Did the boy of my dreams just admit to having feelings for me as well? Am I dreaming? I pinch myself –hard- and then wince. Nope, this is definitely reality.

In fact, I’m in such a brilliant mood that, when my mother enters the room, I tell her everything. She doesn’t interrupt me, which is a good thing, but I suppose she’s afraid we might grow distant if I can’t talk to her. One thing leads to another, and I end up telling her about the train-to-the-city thing.

Her eyes widen. It’s as if she can’t speak for a moment, before exclaiming, “You went on a train? With only Jasper? You could’ve been kidnapped! You could’ve…” She says a lot of things, throwing her hands wildly, but I zone out. Now’s definitely not a good time to inform her about the Midnight Prank War. Finally, she exhales a deep breath before saying, “You like Jasper, don’t you?”

Now I’m on full-alert. “Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

“No, as in more than a friend.” When I don’t answer, she grins. “Luna has a cru-ush!”

 “Shut up!” I smack her with a pillow, but can’t help grinning. “Yeah, okay, I liked him for a while. Now that he likes me back, I’m over the moon. But I’m afraid to date him: what if the attraction disappears? What if we no longer share a spark and end up not even as friends?”

Mum thinks about this for a while, and I can’t help feeling an avoidable gallop of joy. Here we are, discussing boys like most mothers and daughters do. Yet, it seems so foreign: like I’m in some sort of television show. My mother hardly has time to talk to me, let alone discuss male specimens.

But I’m not complaining, regardless of how pointless our topic may be.

“I would never date a guy-friend,” she says finally. “It’s far too complicated. But if you go ahead with the relationship, you two will always have a soft-spot for each other, even if you split up and everything. I guess that’s a major advantage of dating friends.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

The sudden romantic confession is still registering in my mind. It’s best not to interrupt this vital process and make hurried decisions. So while I’m allowing my brain to properly digest all that’s happened in the last five

minutes, I do a happy-dance on the floor. There’s enough brain-cells to confirm this is one of the best moments of my life.

The universe doesn’t completely hate me, I realise. Now I feel almost ashamed for concluding the world’s out to get me. After storing many pessimistic thoughts in my mind, I assumed the world’s just an unfair place where there’s no balance –either one has fully bad luck or fully good luck.

How I see the world is how it’s going to be. I doubt that, just because I lost the respect of all my friends, Cedric received my apparent “good luck.” He just truly believed in the concept, and with a new confident approach to life, he’s a lot luckier than he used to be. There are going to be bad days where things go wrong, even for him –but at the end, it’s all up to him.

A boy I’ve liked for a long time liked me too. If I hadn’t found the courage to phone him, if I believed the universe would send me bad luck regardless, I would’ve never found out. Chances are, he’d never find the courage to confess to me. And everything would remain between us, unsaid.

That’s what would’ve happened if I believed my life’s bad luck. There are going to be good days and bad; they come hand-in-hand. So it’s best if I take every opportunity to be me –phoning Jasper would rage bubbling in my blood is very Luna-like– and sometimes, things won’t work out. But I won’t wonder if things could’ve been different.

My cell-phone rings.

It’s Eloise.

“Luna, I wanna say sorry for being such a cow and setting horrible first impressions. I was just having a rough year.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“You do? Phew. Thank God. It was just biting at me all day yesterday. Anyway, Scott and I are going to have a party today. Wanna come?”

What would the real Luna do here? A party full of noisy teenagers hollering, yelling, shouting and getting drunk. Although it sounds like a generic idea of fun, I’m just not in the mood today.

 “Thanks for the offer, Eloise, but I’m gonna have pass.”

“No problem. Catch you later!”

“Bye.”

It occurs to me how, a week ago, I would’ve ran to the party. Although it still wouldn’t be my scene, as a failed attempt to be the “new and improved” Luna, who’s more completely the opposite than “improved,” I would be attending. Getting drunk, dancing around like a weird horse and falling unconscious in the middle of the night.

That was the desperate version, not an improved one. I’d insist otherwise back then. A lot of things have changed, I realise. Not only will I never attend somewhere which isn’t “my scene,” but I’m actually comfortable with who I am. A quirky, awkward girl with a big heart.

No longer do I refer to myself as the universe’s worst enemy. In fact, fate has nothing to do with the choices I make and the things that happen. At the end of the day, I’m not facing the world alone nor turning against humanity in general.

It’s just me against myself.   

I’ve always had the worst of luck when it comes to romance.

Unfortunately, I still do. Just the other day, Jasper baked a cake for me because he’s sweet. It was slightly on the burnt side and I expected food-poisoning, but it was surprisingly edible. On the disadvantaged side, he didn’t realise I was allergic to peanuts –which he added a lot of– and I needed to be rushed to the hospital.

It’s not only me who’s a complete failure. Eloise and Scott spend all their days ditching school, smoking and rebelling whenever they can. I’m happy for them, but I do wish they paid more attention to how much schoolwork they’re missing out on.

Mandy and Cedric are that gooey couple. However, they too have their problems. There are times where Cedric forgets she’s no longer his best friend’s little sister, and messes up her hair. Mandy’s one of those girls who, if her hair is ruffled, turns into a red-seeing monster. Poor Cedric has to deal with all the slaps and lashings.

We’re our own little team, Jasper and I. Casper’s always around, but he’s the third wheel. I’ve noticed how, recently, he doesn’t sit with us anymore. He plays football, joins debating teams and does more things he completely fails at. Perhaps to escape the fact he’s lonely. It’s difficult not to feel sympathy for him.

The universe doesn’t completely hate me. Jasper’s extremely annoying sometimes, and there are moments where I just wanna knock him dead with a shovel. But he’s just a symbol of how not everything’s bad in life.

Cedric the werewolf and Mr Chewbuckett the teacher may be some of my failed romances, but I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me –why let it pass me by? There’s no point staring back at the past; instead, I can reshape my future into something extraordinary.

 “Embarrassing moment: mine,” says Jasper.

I almost forgot we made that up. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. Embarrassing moments are no longer my focus.”

“Okay. If you don’t want me to say it, I won’t.”

Barely five seconds pass before I blurt out, “What?”

“A poem of mine is published in the school newsletter.”

“That’s awesome!” I snatch the crumpled piece of paper and read the poem.

 

Roses are red

Violets are blue

It was never your mother

It was always you.

 

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I’m sorry for feeding

Peanuts to you

 

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Your mother’s baking

Kills all I knew

 

Dedicated to Luna Richards, on our five-week anniversary.

 

To his surprise, I burst out laughing. Instead of raging at him for ruining my life, I just end up cackling like a witch. He ponders whether my brain’s damaged. I can’t give him a direct answer for that question.

When I finally calm down, I say, “That’s gotta be the quirkiest yet romantic poem I’ve ever read.”

“That’s exactly what the editor said when she selected it for publication,” he says. “And I was really worried you’d be mad. I’m surprised you’re okay with it.”

“So am I.”

I guess a lot of things changed. When I first started thinking of doing The Midnight Prank War, my main goal was to turn into somebody different. A better version of myself; a confident girl who didn’t care what others thought, and when the universe threw lemons at her, she threw them right back.

Little did I know, back then, this girl was here all along. That confident, wonderful person who still has emotions and knows the difference between right and wrong.

All I needed to do was find her.

Now she’s here, I’ll never let her go.

“Luna,” says Casper, avoiding my eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

He glares at Jasper. “Alone.”

“What, are you confessing your love to her or something?” says Jasper, snorting.

But his eyes aren’t smiling. There’s an uncomfortable aura attached to his words. I guess twin rivalry will never quite disappear between the two of them. Even after all these years, I thought something had changed. Maybe they’d matured? It’s disappointing to think I'm wrong.

First it was Eloise, and now it’s just general things. Things like the first one to finish cereal, the first one to “win” me –although I hardly see myself as an object, and will happily knock them out if they state otherwise. Who cares if I’m dating Jasper? I’ll always find somebody else better.

I assume that’s not the correct approach to dating. Hmm.

“Jasper, just go away.”

“No,” he says. “I’m staying right here.”

I sigh. “Sorry, Casp. I’m not moving.”

“God, you’re so lazy.”

“Then stop making it an issue and tell me whatever you want to.”

Casper grits his teeth, clearly not comfortable with his next words. Jasper leans forward instinctively. Whatever he has to say, it’s definitely juicy.

“I… I’m dating someone.”

“Who?” Jasper and I say in unison.

“Is she cute?” I yell out.

“Are you sure it’s a she?” Jasper says, equally fast.

Casper raises his palm. We both stop. “Yes to the first,” he says. Then he turns to glare at his giggling twin brother. “And no to the second. No, no, no.”

“Just asking,” says Jasper, still giggling. They’re hysteric, unnatural, and quite frankly, girly. If anything, I’m willing to bet his laughs are higher than my own.

“Shut up,” I say, whacking Jasper on the head. Then I turn to Casper. “Who is it?”

“You know Raine Smithers? Well, I saw–”

He never gets to finish his sentence. I’m standing on the bed, jumping and throwing my hands up in the air, screaming like there’s no tomorrow. That’s how happy I am. Of course he’d choose the girl who I’ve always admired from afar –the girl who defended me, when Eloise threw insults. The one who’s always nice to me, even when the entire school thinks I’m a freak.

Jasper, too, is grinning. That intense brotherly competition disappears. Just like that.

“That’s epic,” says Jasper, still unable to stop grinning. “Actually, that’s legendary. She’s so–” He stops, sees my death-glare, and quickly finishes with, “–Nice.”

At this moment, I’m too happy to care. The one girl in the entire school who I don’t have any bad memories with is who Casper’s dating. Maybe I’m just a proud mother goose. Could it be possible I’m happier about this than Raine and Casper themselves? Yes, it’s very possible.

Especially since now I don’t need pranks: the world’s finally turning in my favour.