In life, there are people who tend to not care about their own birthdays. Sometimes, one doesn't even notice the special day when it comes and goes each year. Birthdays are just another date on the calendar, same as any other.

This is not the case with Hafsa.

She's a firm believer that for that one special day of the year, the universe shifts its entire center of gravity, and the birthday boy or girl becomes the center of it. So naturally, when her date of birth rolls around each September, her expectations for the day are high. Luckily for her, her immense popularity makes it so the grandiose celebrations of her dreams are usually satisfied. She has been showered by praise, accolades, affection, and (more importantly) presents by her fellow students without fail since middle school.

Hafsa is very much looking forward to her birthday this year. Given how phenomenally shitty her days have been, a 24-hour period of endless glorification from her peers would be very much appreciated in lifting her spirits. The fact that it takes place on the third day of the new semester is a blessing and a curse, too. Having to spend it in the academy, bogged down by the new barrage of classes and subjects to study is a pain, yes, but it gives her more unrestrained access to her worshipping fans. While she can't spend the whole day gallivanting about with her friends, it is also starts the new academic term on the right foot, so to speak. Not just for her, but for those celebrating as well. The day is not only the start of a new term, but also a new year for her!

So because of this, she needs this birthday to go well. Her sanity rides on it. And so, as silently and contagious as a virus, she spreads the news of a party. Gossip of such quality and craftsmanship is of course spread in such a way that goes completely under the faculty's noses; after all, it would be during a week day after students had just returned from months of folly and rest. The risk (on Hafsa's part) is calculated and accounted for. The students would certainly not think any less of her for organizing this little get-together, and their opinions are what most matter. Additionally, the party would not be of the massive scale that is typically associated with a cheerleader. They are still on campus. But still, there is no harm in a little gathering in the gymnasium. It would conveniently take place during cheerleading practice, where any number of students are allowed to join so they can "spectate", or so goes the school rules. Coach Charlotte, the only staff member who knows of the scheme (and approves of the affair) will also be mysteriously absent from that evening's training.

This gossip circulates the entire student body on the first day of the semester, and is fully integrated in people's schedules by the second. As the key of this plan is to avoid rousing suspicion, a limited number of invites is crucial, so only sophomores and some select exceptions are welcome to the 'cheerleading practice' this time around.

The members of the student council were invited, of course. Despite how rocky her current relationship with the vice president is, she's not a monster. Or at least, she isn't going to look like one. As long as he keeps his distance, the evening will proceed without a hitch.

Desmond does indeed plan to stay as far away from her as possible. Even if his entire track record contradicts it, he is not into masochism. He would much rather avoid the entire ordeal altogether; going through the whole rigamarole of throwing herself a party in the gym seems like an exercise in self-obsession that only Hafsa could pull off without a scratch to her reputation. But Desmond has to think about his reputation too. Not showing up to the president's celebration would definitely come off as callous, even for him. Even if Hafsa would rather he fake an illness or something like that, he'll at least do the decency of loitering about for a while.

For some reason, Brian insists all non-presidential members of the council meet up beforehand and walk in together. Something about the spirit of camaraderie and support. Desmond knew just as well as anyone that he Brian's reasons are usually far simpler; showing up with friends is 'more fun'. And so, all three males meet outside the male dorms, in between the herbie and carnie buildings.

The first thing Desmond notices is that he seems to have overdressed. While he bothered to brush out his wool, find his only pair of uncreased pants and even tuck in his shirt for once, the other two haven't even changed out of their school clothes. The only thing that remains unchanged is his backpack.

"Looking sharp, VP!" Brian shoots him with imaginary bullets from his finger guns.

"What?" Desmond bleats, trying to maintain his cool. "Isn't this a party? People are supposed to look presentable for parties."

"Perhaps, but this is still under the guise of cheerleading practice." Solomon retorts with an exceptionally amused expression. "Gatherings like these are very casual. I take it you're not used to student parties?"

Brian bounces in front of them, sensing things could go very wrong here."Hey, these are my best clothes too! My finest t-shirt!" He stretches the fabric of the tee, displaying the graphic (some video game logo) proudly.

"Whatever, I'll just go back and change." Desmond grunts.

"If we delay, we'll arrive unfashionably late. It wouldn't look good for the student council." Solomon interjects and with a smile, adds: "Don't worry. You look… cute."

Solomon and Brian begin making their way to the gym, with a steam-powered ram stomping after them.

They soon reach the double-doored entrance of the venue. A warm and lively mood seeps through the gaps, which confirms the presence on the other side. The three males open it and are greeted with the overlapping chatters and laughters of the 'cheerleading practice'. Almost all second-years accepted the invite and are making themselves very much at home. Chatty students sit across the many bleachers while the more hyper animals help themselves to the balls, ropes and other sports equipment the cheerleading squad is 'lending'. There is even a generous spread of snacks and drinks on fold-up tables. Some other non-sophomore faces blend in and out of the commotion; faces the student council recognize have some connection to the honored serval.

Speaking of…

Solomon, being the tallest of the three by far, scans the area in search of the birthday girl, and it doesn't take long to see her in the center of a rather large cluster of animals. A radiant smile shines on her face, laughing at something one of her fellow cheerleaders said. He beckons the other males to follow him until they breach the dense horde, and all come face to face with their president.

Her smile grows even wider. "Hey, guys! You made it!"

Desmond wanted to say something about how a 5 minute walk from their dorms to the gym is not technically "making it" material, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Haaappy birthday to you!" Brian sings (or what can only resemble singing) and rushes to give Hafsa a hug, triggering a wave of cheers from the surrounding onlookers. The feline jumps in surprise, but soon pats his back in return. "Birthday gift for the birthday girl!" Without much preamble, he grabs a small wrapped package from his pocket and hands it to her. A move lacking in tact, but still very much Brian. "I don't really know what females like, so I tried going for something fun. Go on, open it!" He coaxes.

The serval gingerly unwraps the gift, revealing a small wooden carving of a butterfly.

"You told me once you thought butterflies were pretty, so… I had a buddy of mine make it." The bird explains, somewhat shy.

Hafsa can hardly hear the explanation. Instead, her pupils grow into giant black circles and pulls the pigeon in for another hug. "It's so sweet! Thank you so much, I love it! I'll put it on my desk back in the office!"

The other animals applaud the successful gift giving. But eyes soon fall to the remaining two. Solomon clears his throat, signaling his turn.

"Brian doesn't go easy when it comes to birthdays…" he chuckles. "I'll follow suit. Happy birthday, Hafsa."

He extends his offering, wrapped in a sleek black paper and even smaller than Brian's present. Hafsa eyes it curiously and looks back at the caracal, who nods, giving his approval to open it publicly.

Beneath the wrapping is a small mauve box, which when opened, contains a delicate platinum-colored necklace. It glints coyly from the box's padding, like a pearl inside an oyster. The audience erupts in an uproar from the outrageously tasteful (and expensive-looking) reveal.

As Hafsa expresses her very fervent thanks to the caracal, Desmond begins to panic, knowing full well he did not bring a present. He assumed they would hardly be speaking throughout the evening, and wanted to spare her of any unnecessary interaction, especially forcing her to thank him over a gift she would rather not receive. But he underestimated the crowd, and worse yet, the peer pressure.

Sure enough, all eyes fall on him now. Including hers. It's been a while since they he looked into her eyes. They're lit up, both by the bright gym lights and her own excitement, making the brown of her irises almost a deep amber color. Yet he still finds unease in them, given away by a sudden flicker or two of her round pupils. Unease… because of him.

"Uh… Happy birthday, President." He mumbles, lowering his gaze. He fumbles for his backpack and feels around blindly for something, anything that could be used as a present. Then, he touches it.

His jaw clenches. This is the only thing he has to offer her. He doesn't want to, but it's the only thing left to give.

"Here."

He hands her a strawberry-flavored energy bar.

"I've given you a lot of these this year. But this is my last one I'll give you. So I guess… that's the real present."

He smiles and walks away. The other animals murmur among themselves.

"What was that all about?"

"Some kind of inside joke?"

"I didn't know the vice president was such a cheapskate…"

Hafsa looks down at the energy bar. It had clearly been sitting in his bag all summer. Her grip tightens.

What a horrible present.

Desmond decides to spend the rest of the party doing his classic "I don't want to be here' strategy. It's been perfected throughout the many years of attending parties he wanted no part in.

Step one: find corner to sit in. He opts for the the lowest bleacher next to the rightmost wall of the gym. Far away from Hafsa and crowd, and with a grew view of the other jocks shooting hoops he could dissociate to.

Step two: make chitchat with the passing animals so you can claim to have socially interacted later. He had already had brief conversations with familiar faces, including Elmer before he ran off to play dodgeball with some other bulls, and even Priya, who apparently received a special invite despite her freshman status.

Step three: leave.

Seeing as that it is still too early for step three, he resolves to work on step two some more. A handful of animals sit around him, clearly engrossed in their own conversations. All save one. A Pallas cat slumped over the bleachers below him observes the animals on the court with an expression somehow even more morose than his. Or maybe that's just how Pallas cat's faces always are. Those felines seem to have the worst case of resting bitch face in the animal kingdom.

"Hey. You play?" Desmond initiates, motioning towards the students running around the hoop.

The cat just barely moves her head to meet his gaze from the corner of her eyes.

"No. But they remind me of bugs so I like watching."

…Ooookay. Guess that's a no on the conversation.

"I heard you gave Hafsa a candy bar as a present. Is that true?"

"Word gets around fast, I see." The ram deadpans. "It was an energy bar, but that's the gist of it, yeah."

The Pallas cat snorts. "That's hilarious. I'm voting for you next year."

"Thanks?"

"Sure. I'm Molly. Hafsa's roommate."

This piques his interest.

"Really?"

"Has she never mentioned me before? Typical." She grumbles, more to herself than to him.

"I doubt she talks much about me either." Desmond offers.

"Hmm… I guess not. So I'm guessing you two aren't very close?"

"I guess not."

Molly shrugs. "Shame. Thought you'd know what's up with her."

"What do you mean?"

"I just get the feeling she's been acting weird ever since school started. She's usually creepily perfect and cheerful all the time, but now it's like… surreal. I think she's been replaced by an android and it's only a matter of time before she attacks me in my sleep and steals my brain for experiments."

"Do robots do that?"

"Robots don't but androids do."

"… 'Kay. So basically, she's behaving unnaturally?"

"Sure. More like she's behaving too naturally. Like Hafsa but on crack. It's creepy."

Desmond sniffs. "I can definitely see that. Maybe she's just… happy to be back?"

Molly shudders. "Ew. What kind of high schooler wants to go back to classes? She's gotta be… at least 70% android."

"Wouldn't that make her a cyborg?"

"I like you."

Hafsa waves goodbye to the last cluster of students as they leave the gym. Now all that's left to do is clean up the gym and lock up. She promised the other cheerleaders she would be doing all that herself so as to not inconvenience them with the party. She starts by sweeping all the empty bags of chips and sweets into one big pile on top of the table. She spares a minute to admire the mountain of crinkly plastic (and sheds an internal tear for her now non-existent allowance that paid for it) when suddenly, a shadow creeps over it. Looking up, she sees Solomon's hazel eyes.

"Need some help?" He asks, holding up some empty garbage bags. "I found these in the back."

"No way!" Hafsa puffs up. "Guests don't help clean up. Go back to your dorm and let me handle it."

"Hm, how reliable." He teases. "As if I'd leave you alone like this."

Hafsa opens her mouth to protest, but quickly realizes that nothing will dissuade the male now. Instead, she takes on of the garbage bags and begins dumping the trash in it.

"Did you have fun?" She asks eagerly.

"Of course. It's clear everyone else did too."

"That's good to hear. Oh, and… thank you again for the gift. I really hope you didn't spend much on it."

Solomon smiles. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I don't have the best sense for jewelry."

The serval raises a brow. "You didn't deny the spending."

"Your ears are playing tricks on you, President."

She shakes her head but can't help imitating his smile.

"Desmond's present was rather strange."

Just like that, Hafsa is no longer smiling.

"It was an inside joke. Don't worry."

"I see… Well, as long as you're not offended."

Hafsa gazes inside the garbage bag, now half full with junk. She grabs the energy bar from her pocket and quickly tosses it inside.

"No, of course not."

AN: Thanks for reading! Yay, I'm alive. I apologize for the massive hiatus I took, but I hope to redeem myself soon with a barrage of updates.

I don't think I've explicitly explained this before, but despite Noah's Arc being a boarding school, students don't wear uniforms. A couple of years back, there was a big student movement to remove mandatory uniforms because it silenced student individuality (and all the other standard arguments against uniforms). Since the main leader of the movement happened to be the kid of a very rich alumnus (who threatened to stop donating), the uniforms were dropped altogether, and the academy rebranded as an open-minded academy. There is still technically a dress code though, but it is not strictly enforced. Gotta love being a rich kid!

Take it easy and stay safe.