Hi! Sorry for not updating since forever. Enjoy!

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Act 41: Where Our Characters Became Infected With a Deadly Paralytic Disease

If the World Heath Organization ever came down to this particular high school that has been the setting of our tale, they would discover that a rather unusual affliction had befallen its students. The symptom included bouts of amnesia – thank goodness, only short-lived – temporary loss of motor functions or, on occasion, too much motor function, and a variety of bruises, abrasions and superficial abrasions on different parts of the body, not limited but including the head, feet, ribs and oddly the pinky finger.

This plague that had descended upon the school population because an environmental change combined with a known pre-existing condition as well as an accentuating factor, which were as follows:

Environmental Change: The Snow Queen looked different. And when I said different, I mean, 'absolutely, entirely, different with as much similarities as a platypus and the Communist Manifesto. '

Pre-existing Condition: Incredible Busybodiness.

Accentuating factor: Juicy rumours involving a dead 'ship', a possible sort of 'prank-gone-wrong-maybe-attempted-murder?' and a love-triangle so cliché that it would make Rom-com tropes cry.

The result of this was a neat dish of metaphorical pathogens that infected everyone and subsequently stricken the students with this new and alarming ailment.

One of the fellows who was about to succumb to this deadly disease was actually none other than our hero himself, who had surprisingly been able to wake up at an earthly hour and was pressed and fresh and ready for an unexciting day of high school life, bearing an expression of calm when he found himself colliding into the person who was walking in front of him. This wasn't really our hero's fault, actually, for though he had a remarkable affinity with trouble-making and mess-creation, he was not in any mood for silliness at the moment. No, the blame fell squarely on the student in front of him who had unexpectedly halted his steps, which resulted in Jack slamming straight into him.

"Hey!" The white-haired boy drew himself back, rubbing his smarting elbow and hissing. The student however did not provide any explanation or apologies. He didn't even move!

Scowling, Jack adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, tightened his grip on his stack of files and pushed past the fellow on the front. He made past five steps before he realised that almost everyone else around him had been immobilised, rooted to the spot and jaw-dropped. It took him eight steps to conclude that this was not due to aliens taking over the satellites and projecting a paralysing radio signal to neutralise the human threat and usher in the colonisation of Earth by their race. It took him ten to finally turn his head and check on what they were looking at.

And wow, what a sight it was.

Gone were the dull, studious colors, replaced with a resplendent combination of glaring white and bright blue. It occurred to him then that he had only seen her wear pants five times in his life, and definitely not jeans, which actually accentuated her figure in a flattering manner. Gloves had vanished and now bangles circled her wrists instead, clinking in time with her steps. The near-translucent cardigan barely hid the fact that the rigid blouses had been discarded for a tank top, and the serviceable shoes had been transformed into – holy! How high were those boots? The white-gold hair and the sapphire eyes made it clear that he had not been mistaken, but he couldn't help but question whether it was an illusion all the same.

The crowd only moved to part itself so that she could walk and she did so in the lofty manner that she had always done. But unlikely the stiff, expressionless stomp, there was a lightness about her steps and a smile on her face - the kind of smile that one would wear when they knew a delightful secret that you didn't. Confidence oozed from her every gesture and she swept past them without a glance, as if the weight of their stares was nothing more than a breeze on a summer's walk. Or perhaps in her case, a winter's walk. (Because she's the Snow Queen, and in this tale, that would make it obligatory to throw in a snow-related pun every few sentences.)

Jack stood frozen (see? See what I did there?) to the ground, with his neck muscles the only part capable of movement as his followed her as she strutted down the corridor, swaying side to side carelessly like one moving according to an unheard melody of a catchy Broadway-esque number. He only managed to recover his motor abilities when someone crashed into him, shocking him back into his sense and he gasped in a breath that he had forgotten to inhale.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he heard a dry voice mutter by his side, followed by a loud crunch as the burly blonde boy ripped a bite of the carrot in his hand. The choice of his snack earned a quizzical look from Jack, to which Kristoff just said, "What?"

"Carrots in the morning?"

"Why not? They're healthy, sweet, organic with a refreshingly clean taste and a neat work-out for the jaws," the junior student answered defensively, taking another bite. "And don't try to change the subject. You still look like a corpse that just been resurrected."

"I do not," Jack contradicted, feeling a surge of annoyance rising up him just the way blood rose to his cheeks. He marched up to his locker and stuck the key in, yanking the door a bit too roughly.

"I mean, I don't blame you. You're kind of a pale-looking fellow in the first place," Kristoff went on as if the other boy had said nothing. "And she was certainly dressed to kill."

Jack tried to shrug indifferently – 'try' because he was using his now-bruised elbow to keep the worksheets he had stuffed into the locker from spilling out while slotting his files in the gap, and also because he was trying genuinely not to care. He was supposed to be dating Anna. You know, the nice kid with plaits who seemed to match him so well in personality, liked everything about him and thought that he was the best thing on the planet after the Backstreet Boys and sandwiches. Who cared if her sister was drop-dead gorgeous? And had an incredible complex yet magnetic personality? And was fiercely passionate about what she believed in? And that he had totally crushed on her for more than half his life?

He sighed as the worksheets, despite his efforts, still spilled out on the floor like a waterfall. The boy peered down at his mess with a scowl before crouching down and scooping them up as quickly as he could. He didn't want to be late for class, even if it was just chemistry.

As he scurried about the deed, he glanced up at the blonde junior who was watching him with mild interest and still munching on the orange snack. "Well,-" Jack waved his hand frustratedly at the scattered sheets "-aren't you gonna help?"

Kristoff glanced at the mess, then back at his carrot, then answered, "Nope."

Jack rolled his eyes and huffed, straightening out the papers in his hand. He glared at the junior boy who blatantly took another bite out of the carrot. "Why do I even hang out with you?"

Kristoff opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it. Pursing his lips, he pondered for a good half-a-minute, then remarked rather ruefully, "Hmm, I have no idea." He considered the other boy with a critical eye. "What the heck is wrong with you?"

~~~0~~~

Act 42: Where Transformations Were Met with Some Distress

"Who are you and what have you done with Elsa?"

The blonde girl blinked, brushing back the bangs falling over her forehead. She wasn't completely adjusted to her new look and admittedly having hair flying wherever the wind blew was not as easy to handle as movies and shampoo commercials made it out to be. But she had made a decision and she was sticking by it. Besides, it was the first time she had ever genuinely liked whatever she saw in the mirror.

So when Elsa ran into her roommate while reapplying her maroon-coloured lipstick in the girls' bathroom, the Scottish-born girl just stared at her as if she were a bright red zebra wearing a sign saying "Long live the font of Arial, no matter what the weird green aliens say!"

Though she was not completely pleased with this less than approving response, Elsa merely drew herself away from the mirror and flashed Merida a bright smile. "Well, this is the new me, and a 'me' that I much rather prefer, thank you."

She then leaned herself over the sink and reattempted to transfer the silvery powder from the tin container that she had purchased online the night before (surprise! She had discovered the wonders of online shopping!) onto her eyelids. It had been ages since she had ever had to colour her lids and she had to admit that her skills were quite rusty. Still, she doubted anyone that was really going to pay attention to the lack of symmetry between the lilac hues around her eyes and if they did, she didn't really care. As of yesterday night, she had come to the conclusion of that perfection was severely overrated after all.

Merida watched her with the same morbid fascination that one would have in watching an open heart surgery, looking more and more incredulous every second. Elsa couldn't help the small smirk on her lips as she noted the other girl's expression. It was much the same as everyone else in the school when they saw her, and while she didn't want to be too caught up in people's opinion of her, it was certainly fun to pull the rug under their feet.

Finally, the redhead asked, "Soooo, need help with that?"

Elsa paused, hand stilled mid-air from painting on the silvery layer on her skin. She then gave Merida a long look through the mirror, corner of her mouth downturned.

After a moment to ponder, the other girl nodded. "Yeah, fine. I suck at all this lady stuff."

~~~0~~~

Act 43: Where Someone Flipped Their Lid and a Scapegoat Appeared

It only hit him straight in the gut after he sat down that the first lesson of the day was chemistry. Chemistry – that subject about molecules and compounds, with the periodic table and a measure of Math and Physics thrown in for fun every now and then. Chemistry – one of the two classes that he shared with her.

He thought of picking a seat nearer the front, reasoning out that it might the best place to avoid her gaze, but then the row was filled as other classmates scrambled in, just in time with as the bell rang. He glanced around the room while pulling his hoodie over his head. She was nowhere in sight at the moment. His eye however caught that of his redheaded rival, who glowered at him after their gazes met. Jack in return pulled a face, crossing his eyes, yanking the sides of his mouth apart with his fingers and sticking his tongue out. As childish as it was, it was effective at disgusting the other boy and Hans appeared about to rise from his seat to confront him when the chemistry tutor arrived, heels clacking on the floor efficiently.

"Alright, alright, shush all this clamor!" Weaseltown – ahem, Weselton's annoying drawl rang out. The noise settled, but only a little. "We've got finals to prepare for and I won't have any nonsense this morning."

Jack wasn't sure what made him shift his gaze to the back door, but he did swing around and there she was – the 'new' Elsa, still in the tank top and the ripped jeans and braid swinging loosely behind her head. She marched through into the classroom without so much as an announcement, but yet it felt that everything around him that was so familiar and dull just screamed her presence all the more. The bangles jingled as she dropped her books onto the only remaining empty table and slid herself into the only remaining seat, but by the way she did it, one would imagine that that was the best seat in the house and it had been reserving itself just for her.

Unfortunately, that meant that he wasn't the only one who had noticed her entrance.

"Ms. Arendelle," Weselton's snooty voice sounded extra snooty, with snobbishness and sliminess on the side, "you're late."

"I apologise," she answered, voice clear and unapologetic. He couldn't help but watch her, dazzled by the defiance of her expression and her manner. There was no reservation in manner, no carefully concealed emotion. Her disdain for the chemistry tutor was evident on every inch of her face.

That said, Weselton was by no means an observant one and he did not take the warning signs. He took a long sniff and stepped towards the girl. "A simple apology is insufficient to right wrongs, Ms. Arendelle."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that tardiness was indeed such an Earth-shattering crime." That rebuttal was unexpected, for the Snow Queen, for all her chilliness, had always known her place as a student. Retorts and comebacks were always under Jack Frost's 'List of Self-Induced Suicide', not hers. Yet, Jack couldn't help but feel that her behaviour, while a little jarring, was refreshing honest. He had guessed for a while that she had nothing but contempt for the Chemistry tutor, but she had never confronted the old man on it before.

"Well, that and your little display yesterday at the pool," the insufferable fool of a Weselton went on his snivelling, scornful manner, staring her down his long nose. Clucking his tongue and shaking his head, "Such terrible behaviour, and from one of my student too! One would think you were raised by mongrels, or bears, by the way you act. Simply atrocious."

"Much like your balding," the girl said without missing the beat, tapping her fingers impatiently along the table as she did. Though her voice was quiet, everyone in the class heard and immediately erupted in laughter.

Gazing around the chuckling class, the small man bristled, his face turning almost red as he smoothed out his toupee. His glare was so fierce that Jack was a little surprise that he hadn't burned her face off. "North is much too lenient with you. If I ran this school, you would have been expelled!" He clamped a hand down on her table with a sharp thud, silencing the laughter at once. "And I would have every school in the state no what monstrous girl you are. Rude, ill-bred – undoubtedly, it runs in the family. Why, just the other day when I took your sister in class, she was most unruly and-"

"Mr. Weaseltown," Elsa cut him off with a biting tone. Her face had turned white with anger upon the mention of her sister, and her hands which he had never seen bare before clenched the corners of the table as she rose off her seat.

"It's Weselton!" He snapped at her furiously. "Weselt-" then, there was something in her gaze that finally struck him dumb, and he stumbled a few steps back as she towered over him, the heels of her boots giving her a greater boost in height over his.

She cut to the chase immediately. "In all the years that I had been under your tutelage, I had been aware of your immense dislike of me. It's highly unprofessional for a teacher to show prejudice. It's an especially unbecoming behaviour for one of your qualifications." It might be a trick of the light, but the weasel-like man seemed to wince. "Of course, I understand that I must intimidate you with the very fact that I am and has always been smarter than you. " There's no arrogance in the manner she said it, because there was no need. It was completely true. "I understand that you're overinflated ego requires an outlet and I accept that you are always going to petty enough to nit-pick on the tiniest errors of any poor soul that comes under your authority. But Mr. Weasel-town?"

"It's We-" in the end, the man just gives up and sighs. His shoulders slouching and looking desperately unhappy, he said, "What?"

She looked him over, grimaced visibly, and finally said, "You're in your late sixties with multiple chronic ailments. Wearing heels not only makes you look ridiculous, it's accentuates the possibility of you developing bunions on your feet, especially with how far along your diabetes is. You're highly likely to have problem walking in the near future." There might be a slight note of derision when she added, " Just accept that you are … vertically challenged and move on with life."

There was complete quiet as Elsa's word continue to echo in the room, only broken by the fumblings the Chemistry tutor trying not to not to collapse into an epileptic fit, "Well, - I – well, - um – you id- um-" Weselton paused for a good while, then wheezed to the rest of the class, "Um, I am – goodness – I'm not feeling – Um, I need a moment, yes, um, a moment. I'll be back shortly. Please, well,-" he scrambled down the row, trying not to fall over the legs and bags that obstructed his escape "-well, revise, um, I don't know, something."

And he raced out of the classroom, with a notable limb in his step.

The class watched him go in awe, then turned to the blonde girl, who merely gathered up her things and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Glad to have that finally of my chest. That, and those heels are undoubtedly an eyesore, if I'd ever seen one." Noting the curious stares at her, she said blithely, "Well, I'll see myself out. Go do-" she just waved her hand in the air "-something productive."

With her piece said, she moved down the aisle, books under her arm and disappeared out of the door.

There was a unnatural quiet after Elsa had left the room. Finally, someone said, "Free period!"

And then class erupted into an uproar.

"No Chem!" someone hooted.

"No Weaseltown!" another yelled, while throwing some exercise sheets in the air.

"CLASS PARTY!"

"CLASS PARTY AND FOOD!"

"CLASS PARTY AND FOOD AND MEGA DANCE-OFF!"

"CLASS PARTY AND FOOD AND MEGA DANCE-OFF AND BRIDGE!"

Everyone halted their excited chittering to stare at the one who had thrown in the last comment.

"What?" that student asked, unabashed, pulling the deck of cards from his pocket and starting to shuffle it up. "You know you love it."

The senior year students were reduced to a throng of insane, rambunctious pre-school kids in the bodies of teenagers, plugging their phones into the speakers and blasting them with latest rave hits. Curtains were drawn over the windows and the doors were shut to keep the outsiders out. Tables and chairs were pushed to the side of the room and the projector was colonized by someone who watched to watch dance videos from the main computer, then by another who wanted watch prank videos, then by another who wanted to watch vegan cooking recipes.

Some people were already just going wild with the music, shamelessly moving their bodies in rhythm that wasn't quite on the rhythm with the music but no one cared enough to tell them that. Others left the classroom and came back bearing gifts from the vending machine in the form of chips, chocolate coated-tidbits and assorted of junk foods that their peers happily stole from them. Somewhere in the corner of the class, a small group of students sat themselves on the tables and began dealing out the cards for undoubtedly what was the greatest card game there ever was.

Only one white-haired boy sitting solitary at one of the tables had yet to plunge into the fun. He was playing with the edge of his exercise book, a doubtful expression on his face as he eventually set it down and turned to the first page. It wouldn't wise to waste the entire period away and it'd be a pity to lose his nice looking grades at this point. Not that, um, he cared. That much. Maybe.

Of course, the whole thing couldn't exactly go unnoticed. At some point, one of the cleaning staff noticed that an unhealthy amount of noise emerging from the creaks of the room, and this staff was none other than Phil, whom most just called the Yeti, possibly due to his large feet that could only be worthy of a Bigfoot like figure. So, 'The Yeti' decided to inspect this peculiarity and since the door wasn't locked, he managed to open it and found himself gazing upon into the technicolor disorder that was teen exuberance.

The students, of course, knew at this point they had been caught redhanded and stood speechless as the cleaning staff and themselves tried to decide what the best course of action was.

Of course, one of the boys was quick on his feet and immediately stuck a finger out at the white-haired boy sitting in the corner. "It was his idea. All of it, down to scaring Mr. Weselton out of here."

Jack's jaw fell open, aghast. He could gaze up his accuser with hate, and Hans merely smirked back, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

Phil grunted an unintelligible clutter of words that Jack knew were instructions to folow.

The boy let out a long groan, wringing his hands in the air. He knew that throwing in any defences for himself wasn't going to be worth it in front of the cleaner who had mopped the outcome of his pranks over the past few years.

"Let's get this over with," he murmured, shooting one last glare at Hans. His rival merely shrugged in careless manner. If he could, Jack would drag him back to the balcony of the pool and throw him in all over again – though he would much rather stay away from large bodies of water for the time being.

Phil nodded and took him off to his usual destination. North's blood pressure was probably going to act up again.

~~~0~~~

Act 44: Where The New Look Got Mixed Reviews

"-and don't forget, nominations for Prom King and Queen are open till tomorrow!" The voice of the Prom committee chair's voice rang out in the PA system. "Note that the titles are only open to senior year students, so all your underclassmen, stop throwing your names in! I know who you guys are! I have access to the school system, so don't think I don't know, because I do! You're making a huge unnecessary mess and wasting paper slips, so stop it!" There was a clearing of the throat as the announcement returned back to the brighter tone. "So! Sign up for yourself or anyone you think suitable soon!"

She had her class schedule drilled into her head ages ago, so she knew that it was an hour or more before she had to go for the next literature class. She sighed as she thought of it. Knowing her tutor pretty well, she knew that most of the paper would have been marked and given out yesterday afternoon. Not only would she receive a thorough dressing down for playing hooky after her little stunt at the pool, she was not looking forward to looking at that essay on 'prejudice' again. She knew that she had been very distracted whilst writing that. Not that she had been very distracted recently.

But the past was in the past. She never was that fond of her essays and she never liked all these silly tests, so who cares? It didn't matter. Nothing really mattered anymore, really.

"Elsa?"

Well, mostly nothing.

Anna was frozen stark stiff just ten steps away from her, eyes almost seeming to bulge out of their pockets. The sandwich that she had been halfway through munching was poised in mid-air, falling only as her own arms dropped in surprise. Her sister's expression was a mix of shock, admiration, conflict and uncertainty. Elsa supposed she could hardly blame her. After all, the last time the both of them actually saw each other was when the boy who had a crush on her became her sister's boyfriend. Understandably, any interaction between them was going to be awkward. No amount of make-up, boots and ripped jeans was going to cure that. It was no surprise that every fibre of her was thus screaming for her to flee the scene.

So much for 'don't feel'.

"Anna," she greeted in return in a simple, neutral tone. It seemed ridiculous how quickly she reverted back to her old self in front of her sister. Just a moment ago, she hadn't a care in the world and now she felt emotion threatening burst out of her every seam in her body. She could imagine Anna calling her hypocrite, or remarking snidely about her losing her temper with Hans, or taunting her about Jack Frost was like the best boyfriend in the world or something.

But her sister just stood there, twirling her strawberry blonde braid and gaping at her as if she was the Queen of England, coming to visit this dowdy, unimpressive excuse of a high school.

Elsa found her hands gripping onto each other tightly behind her back, not quite knowing what else to do. She wasn't even sure if she should meet her sister's gaze, so even few seconds her head dropped to her floor, then back up, then back down again.

"You-you look different," she heard Anna say in a small voice.

She lifted her head in surprise.

"It's a good different," Anna hastily added, a hint of a smile forming between the rosy cheeks. There was a slight shake in the voice though, as if this comment itself was merely to test how far the conversation was allowed to proceed.

"T-t-th-" she checked herself. She could almost feel the cold crawling out of her voice. She tried again with a small smile, "Thank you."

Anna's face changed like the sun rising over a gloomy night, almost turning brighter instantly. A wide grin opened up on her face. "I love the boots," she gushed with great enthusiasm, "they're very classy."

"They are, aren't they?" Elsa conceded in what she hoped was in a light tone, twisting her ankles about as she examined her own footwear. She was grateful that they had managed to veer away from dangerous topics, like when she had officially made an amazon account for the purposes of rapid consumerism, or the 'whys' of even picking out a new wardrobe. "I quite like the snowflake pattern on it. Seems to fit me."

"I like it too." Anna beamed with an overtly approving expression. A fleeting flicker of worry crossed her face, so she started just awkwardly, "So, um, is this like a one-off thing or-" she made a wild gesture, trying to get her to fill the blank in herself.

"Oh, err…" Elsa honestly didn't know. She had lived so long with a strict plan of how she was going to anything and everything of her every day, and now? Well, she hadn't even had clue on what she was going to do in the next five minutes. "Well, I'll see how it goes."

"Oh, um, great," Anna said, a note of relief at the end of that breath. She took a glance at her phone and then cringed. "Oh, great, I'm gonna be late for lab class." She glanced frantically at Elsa, then back at her phone. "Ummm."

The blonde girl jerked her towards the open pathway behind her, nodding willingly. "Oh, go on ahead. Please."

"Oh. Er, okay." The girl tightened her worksheets to her chest, not quite taking her eyes off her as she inched passed her, a heaviness in her every step.

It took a good minute or so before it really sunk into Elsa the truth of her sister's reluctance to leave right now. After years of the cold treatment, the fresh change was a welcome one and Anna wanted desperately to continue this conversation with the smiling, beaming sister, perhaps hoping to stay in what could only be a dream. Fighting against the instincts that wanted to make her room into the girl's bathroom and hide for an hour, the blonde girl posed a question with much uncertainty, "Well, um, are you free after school today?"

Her sister's eyes went huge once again, sparkling turquoise lighting up like candles on a cake. "Y-yes. Yes. YES! I'm definitely free after school. I'm so free! I'm super-duper free! I mean, okay, the volley ball team is holding try-outs, but phhhhhffff! I mean, volley ball? Me? I mean, I'm pretty mean in most games, and the captain says I've got a good swing, but I can't really aim that well and honestly jumping and running that much hurts lots, so I'm not really that that interested in go-" noting that Elsa's expression had turned into one that was bewildered, Anna cleared her throat and tried again. "Um, yes. I'm free. Why? Um, got, erm, a-a-anything in mind?"

"Well, um, I think I'm going to need more clothes," Elsa said, trying to make her voice sound even, "and I suppose I'll need some help in picking them out-"

"Yes! Brilliant! We can even get Prom dresses and everything!" gushed Anna before she could stop herself, almost jumping on the spot in her ecstasy. "Totally! Let's go! Um, I'm mean-" suddenly realizing how much ahead she was "-erm, if that's okay with you, if that's what you meant-" she blinked "-wait, what?"

"I think five-thirty would be good?" Elsa couldn't quite suppress a smile on her face.

Anna nodded so hard that the other girl feared it might roll off her shoulders any moment. "Great! Five-thirty. Fantastic! Superb! See you!"

Finally feeling the pull of conscience and her responsibilities as a student, Anna dashed down the hall to the destination that she was supposed to have arrived at five minutes ago. But, of course, she wouldn't mind being scolded. No, it was worth for the moment – the moment that her sister actually smiled at her.

But the blonde girl did not and could not completely understand the importance of the exchange. Not when she had been the one sitting behind the door, rather than the one knocking. She wasn't quite able to comprehend the lightness that she felt in her own chest as she strolled passed the lockers, over to her own metal cabinet where she dumped most of her homework. For all her vows to leave behind the concealment, perhaps that there were some parts of herself that she had concealed too well over the years and now, she could no longer recognize the masks.

Then – "You look… different."

The same words in an entirely different tone, and also an unwelcome voice.

The girl raised her head, pushing back the white-gold locks that threatened to fall over her eyes as she met the gaze of the dark figure looming eerily a few feet from her. The 'death glare' of his would have sent others shrouding in the darkness, but she had never feared, even before her 'transformation'.

"I see that you're out of class," she told the lanky, brooding fellow, brows narrowed together suspiciously.

"As are you." Pitch gestured to her with a bony hand, an amused hint of grin forming on his pale countenance. "An odd choice, for someone who's usually so …-"

"Goody-two-shoes?" she suggested, jaw tightening.

"I was going to say 'disciplined'," he said, and that was when she finally caught the note of irritation in his words. "It's not like you to be a break the rules."

"Pots and kettles, Pitch. You're presence here right now proves I'm not the only one playing truant." She slammed the door of locker for the emphasis. "And besides, you're hardly the authority of what I am and what I am not, are you?"

The challenging tone was not lost on him and he smiled wanly at her. "You haven't lost your tongue. Thank heavens for that." There was something almost scathing in the way that he examined her mode of dress, as its very presence offended him. "At least not everything about has gone southward into the depths of the abyss."

If she were wiser, she would step away from the conversation. She would leave Pitch and his bitter words behind her. But curiosity fuelled by pride drove her to inquire the deadly question - "What do you mean?"

"You've succeeded in conforming to the fashions of the school population and have successfully internalized the self-orientated lies of the 21st Century media," he sneered. "No doubt the rest what had made you unique would undoubtedly flushed into the gutters any moment, replaced by the plasticized artificially that seems to permeate this cesspool of a high school."

She rolled her shoulders back, taking a step towards him. "I'm hardly doing do this 'conform' into the population."

"Yes." He merely flashed a toothy grin at her. "I'm sure that is what you tell yourself."

Before she could prod him to explain himself, the door of one of the nearby classrooms opened. On instinct, her head whipped back and a surge of panic ran up her spine. For all her bravado, there was a part of her that still worried of the consequences. Sure, in her mind, she could tell herself that she didn't care, but rationality was a difficult habit to kick at times.

Fortunately, the ones emerging from the classroom were merely exchange students and they had no knowledge of her or her startling transformation, so they past her with a mere glance, continuing to chatter to one another in their own language. By the time she had heaved a sigh of relief and leaned herself back against the locker, Pitch was gone. All that was left behind only a small note stuck to her locker.

You know where to find me when you need me.

P.B.

She had to admit that while he didn't her, the things he said, well, they were certainly words that her old self could not help but consider.

She read the note once more and pulled a face. He said 'when', not 'if', as if her seeking his assistance was not an option but inevitably. She scowled and yank the piece off, crunching up in her hand. Then she paused, and smoothen it out. She then removed a pen from the side pocket of her bag and scribbled down an arrow at the 'P.B.' and then wrote 'Peanut Butter'. Elsa smiled at her little edit, before crunching the paper into a ball again and tossing it on the floor.

Of course, she wouldn't realize that later another student from her year would have the fortune of acquiring that piece of litter and immediately worked out who P.B. was and thought the whole 'Peanut Butter' thing was hilarious, and decided to start a hashtag called #PitchBlackPeanutButter.

But that's another story. Moving on-

~~~0~~~

Act 45: Where Our Hero was Made to Confront Certain Fears

Jack had been summoned to the guidance counsellor office's almost every year, but he had never gone. There was always better things to do before, like painting his rival of the week's apartment door dirty yellow or disassembly the heater in the guy's shower in the morning (he had no fear of cold water, so he wasn't affected). But now, he somehow no longer felt a huge inclination to do any of these things. Instead, all that rolled in his mind was how much content he could possibly be missing out by not being in class. It was great reluctance that he knocked on the glass door that North had pointed him to and he waited.

The door opened and the boy found to his surprise that there was no one in the gap.

TAP TAP.

Then he looked down and saw a short, plum man rapping his knuckles against the door frame. Jack realized that while he had never officially been introduced to him, he had seen this oddly cuddling-looking man with springy yellow hair walking around the school before.

The short man gazed up him and smiled.

"Um,-" Jack finding a tad odd that a teacher would greet him with such cheer "-hi?"

The counsellor gestured for him to enter, so he followed him into the office. It was almost like stepping into North's, except that the theme was gold and yellow. Pictures of planes and constellations were pinned along the midline of every wall and glittered wallpaper gaze the place a rather surreal, dreamy appearance. Jack sat down at the plush chair offered to him with a quizzical expression, and his puzzlement only increased when he saw the counsellor seat himself in front of a computer. The computer was hooked to two screens, one lay down on an incline before the consuellor, just behind the keyboard, while the other one faced Jack. Both were still angled such that Jack could still look at this peculiar fellow, whose title was 'Sanderson McSnoozie, B.A.".

Then words appeared on the screen - "Hi Jack! It's great that you've finally turned up for your appointments - haha. I'm Sanderson, but you can just call me Sandy. No 'Mr.' or 'sir' here. I'm not a teacher."

Jack blinked as he read the words, then glanced at the counsellor in bewilderment.

The man only made a secretive smile, before typing out the next sentence. "Ah! The mysterious method of communication! No doubt this has befuddled you! " Sandy flashed a smile along with his digital smiley as his fingers danced on the board. "Well, I kind of lost my ability to talk when I was younger, but thank goodness, modern technology has managed to mitigate some of that."

Jack pulled a face in sympathy after reading it. "Oooh, that's tough."

The counsellor shrugged, then typed, "Eh. Childhood trauma. What can you do about them?" He paused, looking at the boy across the table. "From what I understand from North, you've had an incident or two as a child."

Jack stiffened, unconsciously clutching himself by the elbows. The fluffy gold carpet under his feet was suddenly terribly interesting.

(Actually, a furry gold carpet is EXTREMELY interesting. Just think about it. Wouldn't you want to just have one in your bedroom so that you can sit on it and imagine that you're riding a magic carpet, with the magic carpet being so exceeding comfortably that you could even sleep on it? No? Just me? Well. Hmmph.)

He heard the tapping sound again from the counsellor and looked up to him. The small man jerked his head to screen, and there Jack read, "We do not need to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Well, yeah," the boy said, dragging his words out. He shifted in his chair. "Well, I'd rather not talk about it right now.

The counsellor nodded without a word, yet managed to convey his empathy to the boy. He then typed, "It seems that you've shown a remarkable improvement in your academic grades, so perhaps your performance at the final year exams would not be completely horrible. However, North wanted me to address your conduct grade. Apparently, the … 'deeds of mischief' that you have accumulated over the years has made quite a black mark on your report card. Even if your academics prove to be good enough, it is doubtful that even a community college would accept you."

Jack winced.

"However," Sandy quickly went on after seeing his response, "Not all hope is lost yet. Maybe we can try to fix it up a bit so it doesn't look so terrible. Who knows? We might even get you into a decent course once you graduate." He gave him a serious look, before continuing on, "I have a few ideas, but if anything is going to work, I'm going to need your full cooperation."

Jack sighed. He hated all these kind of things: the sucking-up, the poised posturing, the competitiveness, the 101 essays telling people why they were so fantastic. He hated it. But a wiser part of him – a part of him that he had done so well in burying for so long – told him that if he couldn't keep pranking around anymore. It was a sobering thought, actually, realising that the trickster had to restrained if he was ever going to make a decent living.

If he was ever going to make some use of this life he didn't really deserve to have.

Biting his lip, he then said, "Okay, what do I need to do?"

~~~0~~~

Act 46: Where Non-believers Ruled the Day

"Peer Tutoring? Ha. Ha. Hahahahaha."

Jack frowned at the non-believer. "Rude."

"What? It's hilarious." Bunnymund guffawed hard to prove his point, not caring that his roommate was sending a pointed look.

Both of them were making down courtyard, which had only grown in the amount of Prom-related debris – ahem, I mean, decorations accumulate all around. Students now lined up to cast their nominations for the Prom King and Queen, gossiping amongst themselves about the how dreadfully long the queue was, the possible candidates, the canteen food, how dreadfully long the queue was, what they were going to wear for the event when it finally came around, and also how dreadfully long the queue was such that they were all going to be late for class, but who cared? Queueing in line was better than going for class.

"I'm sure I could tutor people if I wanted to." Jack was clearly offended, weaving himself around the teenagers as he followed after the other boy.

"Sure," Bunnymund made a derisive noise as . "I'm sure your future students will all score 'As' in the 'Getting Thrown Out of Class' Topic."

The white-haired eyed his companion with a disgusted expression. "You're a really depressing person to be around, you know that?"

"Around you, yes," was the Australian student's unrepentant reply.

"Hey, guys!" That was a greeting from Tooth, who was manning the nomination slips today. Both approached the table where she was arranging the sheets in order and putting them into a small opaque chest. It was to protect the identity of the nominees for build-up purposes, Jack could only assume. "Thinking of nominating anyone? It closes tomorrow."

"With a queue like that?" Bunnymund angled his head towards the horrendous queue. "No thanks." He scrutinized the line of students, who were scribbling their desired candidates on given sheet while waiting in line. "Can't imagine why so many people are queuing up, unless they're all nominating themselves."

"I wouldn't be surprised," the girl muttered, dragging a hand down her face as she did, sighing heavily. She then turned to Jack, a smile lighting up her face as she saw him. "So, how are you? Heard you got in trouble again. That, and your girl got a major makeover."

She let out a low hum. "You know, she's actually quite pretty. I get what you see in her."

"Well, actually I don't like Elsa solely because of her looks. It's a bit more complicated th-" he broke himself off as he realized how he phrased his answer. "Wait. Hang a sec. Elsa's not 'my girl'." He crooked his fingers next to head for emphasis. "In a matter of fact, I don't really have 'a girl', unless you count Anna, 'coz we're sort of together." He pursed his lips together. "I think. We never made it official, or anything."

Tooth peered up at him with a wry look. "Why are you even dating her? You don't like her."

Jack groaned, flailing his arms in exasperation. "You too? Why does everyone think I don't like Anna? I do like her! Just as a, well, -"

"A friend." Tooth finished his sentence for him.

"A hope-to-be-girlfriend's sister." Bunnymund supplemented her own version.

"A companion to match your optimism," Tooth added, with a quiet smile.

"A companion who'd match your stupidity."

"A starry-eyed disciple to your shenanigans."

"A fangirl who'd overlook your propensity for self-destruction."

"The person who ultimately destroyed the perfection of the Jelsa ship!"

The company paused their teasing of Jack to glance at the student who had just thrown in the last line. The white-haired boy then remarked, "Um, you're not in this conversation."

"Yeeeeaaaaahhh."The intruder's shoulders drooped and she sighed while sliding away, shamefaced.

"Anyway,-" Jack turned back to his two friends, "-you-" pointing at Bunnymund "-and you-" pointing now at Tooth "-are incredibly discouraging people. I'm going to find Kristoff." With that said, he spun on his heel and stalked off.

"Poor boy." Tooth let a sympathetic huff. "He's too nice for his own good."

"Nice?" Bunnymund sniffed disapprovingly. "Well, I guess he's about as nice as a rash your back that you can't reach to scratch."

"Bunny." Her tone was chiding. She shook her head at the athlete, frowning at him. "At least he replies when I text him. You still haven't gotten back to me on the question I asked you two weeks ago. Are we going to wear matching Prom outfits or not?"

The Australian student when abruptly quiet, beginning to slowly inch his way from the booth. "Um," he stuttered, beads of cold sweat running down the side of his forehead, "I have, err, to … ."

And with that, he vanished down the corridor. Tooth rolled her eyes as she straightened out the nomination slips. Boys.

~~~0~~~

And that's all for a while.

The mentions of the 'awesomeness of Bridge' is based on my own High school experiences. Never really got into the game that much myself, but there were people around me who did nothing but play Bridge. Orchestral practices produced better Bridge players than musicians, I think.

Ciao till next chapter. And I wanted to end this at eight chapters. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.