"I never really liked oranges."

"Why? Oranges are nice and sweet."

"I just…never really liked oranges. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No… I don't think there is…"

xXx

Damn it, I cursed, splashing water on my exhausted face. It was the same dream again, the one that I was supposed to be afraid of, but I could never remember it once I woke up. Oranges, oranges—what was so scary about oranges that I had to have nightmares about it?

Water dripping down my chin, I stared at my reflection, almost as if waiting for something.

Eventually, I turned away from the mirror. My foot bumped something on the floor, and I realized that the boys' Christmas presents were still on the ground.

Picking up the plastic bag with Ivan's unwrapped sunflower and vodka, I decided that I might as well finish my Christmas preparations early . I didn't get very far, though, because the bottom of the bag was caught on something on the tiled floor. Frowning, I tugged the bag until it ripped free and placed it on the side, crouching down to examine what had gotten it stuck in the first place.

Somehow, a small piece of plastic had gotten caught under the corner of a tile. While slipping the scrap free, the tile shifted in place. Getting a little excited for a discovery so early in the morning, I pushed all the presents aside and tried to pick the tile free.

It took a few minutes, but I was finally able to ease the loose tile from its placement. Hidden in the secret compartment was a bunch of white packing peanuts. Curious, I dug around inside of it. My hand hit something solid, and I pulled it out.

It was a leather-bound book, hardly taller than the palm of my hand, about an inch thick. I flipped it over and read the name on the front cover—

UTOPIA

—and immediately dropped as if I had touched something vile.

U-Utopia?

I sat there for the longest time, staring at the journal sitting innocently atop packing peanuts, hardly believing what I saw. I—She kept a journal? Why the hell was it hidden under the bathroom floor?

I winced, feeling another headache creeping upon me. Curling in on myself, a wave of pain collided with the density of a building. Blackness swam before my eyes—I saw the surface of something light and wood—and suddenly the pain was gone.

As soon as I could move again, I slid the tile over the journal and compartment alike, moving the presents over it all so that I couldn't see it anymore. I stood up from the ground, closed the bathroom door, and got dressed.

Taking everything I needed to survive the day, I left the dorm room—determined not to go back anytime soon.

xXx

Bowl of cereal in hand (iced tea in the other), I found Matthew sitting by himself on the balcony.

"Hi, Mattie," I said, approaching him. "Can I sit here?"

"Good morning. Of course you can," he said quietly, a smile on his face.

I took a seat across from him and started munching on my cereal. We ate in silence.

Utopia's journal was sitting under the surface of my bathroom floor. What was I supposed to do with it? I could already feel the curiosity slowly creeping upon me. But if I read it, then would my memories come back? I was already having random headaches and pictures flashing through my mind—what would happen if I remembered all at once? Even if I didn't get a massive headache that split my skull in half, I would at least learn some things about my previous life. It was a journal after all, wasn't it? I nodded to myself. Yes, I was sure it was a journal.

So, should I read it when I got back? Or should I just throw the book away? Oh, why did this have to happen now of all times? With tonight's performance on my mind, I was hoping to have a relaxing Christmas Eve with my friends.

Okay, maybe I was over thinking this too much. But my melodrama aside, something about that journal unnerved me. I didn't want to read it.

"Tope?" Matthew's voice jolted me out of my reverie. He looked at me with concerned violet eyes. "You're not eating anymore. Are you feeling okay?"

I blinked. My bowl was half full with soggy cereal bits. I grimaced and pushed the bowl away.

"I didn't have enough sleep last night," I said. To my surprise, Matthew wasn't convinced.

"You don't look tired," he said.

"Really?" I said skeptically. "Then what do I look like?"

"You look like you're thinking too hard." His eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Is your head okay? It's only been a week and a half, but if your head is hurting, then…"

I shook my head (vigorously, to make my point). "I'm fine. I'm just stressed about today's performance. You're with Arthur, aren't you? How is your contest entry going?"

"Arthur was talking about dropping out," Matthew said, "But I think I've got a good idea on what to do." ("If he doesn't keep forgetting who is partner is," he muttered.)

I gave a small laugh. "Less competition for us if you two drop out, I guess. What about Alfred and Ivan? Are they dropping out?"

His smile turned rueful. "They both want to win, but they just can't work together. I don't know what they're planning to do, but they're definitely not dropping out. What about you and Natalya? Are you two doing okay?"

"I'm happy to say that I think we really have a chance to win this."

"She's not, um, trying to hurt you?"

"For now—no. But after this contest? I don't know," I said truthfully.

"Well, if she ever tries something serious, then either come to our room or go to Ivan's."

"Why Ivan's? Wouldn't that make her madder?"

"Ivan's room is probably the safest out of all of us." Matthew leaned in to whisper. "He has locks and bolts on his door to keep his sister out."

I tried to think back and remember if there had been locks on Ivan's door, but the memory slipped my mind. "I wish I could do something about Natalya and Ivan."

Matthew looked flabbergasted. "What would you do?"

"They just seem to have a complicated relationship. Isn't it sad that Ivan's afraid of his own sister?"

"Natalya's not exactly the best little sister ever."

"She loves him, and that's all that counts," I said, though very unsure. "Anyways! We should stop talking about her and Ivan." I laughed nervously. "Who knows, Natalya's probably listening in on everything I'm saying right now."

My comment made us both freeze. We looked around for any sign of the Belorussian but found none.

"Right," Mattie said, finishing the rest of his pancakes. "Do you want to hang out in our dorm until we have to go to the auditorium?"

I thought back to my own room and the thing that awaited under the bathroom floor.

"Absolutely."

xXx

~~~3rd POV~~~

Five fun-filled hours later, Tope found herself reluctantly standing in front of her door, knowing full well that she had to get inside, yet unable to ignore the chills creeping down her spine.

Down the hall, Natalya was just around the corner, watching her with dark blue eyes. She had already been to the auditorium, but had to turn back to track down Tope due to a required sign-in sheet for contest participants. And now, she was on the fourth floor of the dormitory building, staring in disbelief as her partner gripped the handle of her door, making no move to actually open it.

What the hell is she doing? Natalya felt the familiar urge to pull a knife on her. Why are you just standing there?

Tope—who felt another headache coming on—took a deep breath and finally turned the handle. She paused for a moment, and then went inside. Natalya slid out from her hiding spot and walked to the open door.

"You can do this," she heard Tope mutter. "…it's just a stupid book… Books can't hurt you…"

"Monster in your closet?" Natalya interrupted.

Tope jumped two feet away from the bathroom door. She saw Natalya leaning against the frame of her door, already showered and dressed for the performance.

The performance! Tope nearly slapped herself. Get yourself together, ya stoop! What time is it? How long was I standing there?

"I'm afraid so," she replied, heading over to the closet to grab her outfit. "Is there enough time for me to take a shower?"

Natalya's expression of non-expression remained the same.

"No. We're late."

Tope pulled a small pile of clothes out and ran to the bathroom.

"Perfect. I'll be out in a few minutes."

The Belorussian at the door sighed, her lip curled up slightly in disdain. Arms crossed over her chest, she made her way inside the room, stopping at the window to look over the winter fantasy that covered the field. There was the sound of wood, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Tope's quick figure hurriedly close a desk drawer and run back in the bathroom, locking it shut.

Natalya paused, looking at the desk drawer.

She turned away.

Why should I be curious about that stupid girl?

xXx

Literally, a few minutes later, Tope kicked open the bathroom door to let cool air flow inside, a white-hot hairdryer expelling the water from her damp hair. Once her hair was somewhat dry, she zipped on a purple hoodie for the cold.

Natalya was still looking out the window.

"Ready?" Tope asked, slipping her shoes on.

With a pompous 'hmph,' the Belorussian simply turned away from the darkening snowy view and walked past her partner, out the door.

Tope refused to glance at her desk as she locked her room.

xXx

~~~1st POV~~~

We were late for the visual art judging, but were able to slip inside quietly just in time to see Miss Ukraine (dressed in a beautiful red dress and a Santa hat) walk up to the microphone and announce to the whole school, "Congratulations to everyone who has made such stunning artworks! The winners for the Visual Arts category are Ludwig and Francis Bonnefoy, for their beautiful decorative cake! Their score will move on to the final round."

The two unlikely partners were brought upstage to accept their green ribbon. The whole auditorium was filled with applause, and once I saw their 4-tier Christmas cake—adorned with beautiful sugar ribbons and sprinkled with what looked like coconut for snow—I applauded even harder, mouth watering. It looked lusciously delicious.

Francis was winking and blowing kisses at the crowd, while Ludwig was standing stoic and silent, a brush of pink on his cheeks. I grinned, and then glanced to the seat next to me to see Natalya's reaction.

Unsurprisingly, she wasn't there anymore.

xXx

Once Ludwig and Francis stepped offstage, Miss Katyusha announced that there would be a short break while round two contestants got set up. I took this time to find where my friends were sitting (right in the center of the audience) and find out who had already presented. Felice and Eliza, and Yao and Romano all did paintings, so they were finished. Francis was boasting of his extravagant patisserietalents while Ludwig sat on the side, looking bashful as other students congratulated him.

"You're gonna share some of that cake with us, right?" I said innocently to Ludwig.

The German gave me a half-smile. "Maybe, if Francis even lets us cut it with a knife."

We glanced at Francis, still smirking wide with satisfaction.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

xXx

There weren't as many contestants in the 2nd round (which consisted of story-telling, poetry, videos, etc), so everyone was judged quickly. It was obvious that the real bulk of the show was the last segment—the live performances. Kiku and his partner the (Asian girl with long, thick hair) won the 2nd round with a fun, entertaining video about Christmas in Japan and Taiwan. Kiku admitted to us that he did a lot of the visual graphics. I was very impressed.

Katyusha walked onstage once again to announce to order of participants for the last segment, and that we had another ten minutes to relax. While listening for my name, I noticed that there were some important-looking people sitting in the very first row, next to the teachers' judging table. I assumed that they were sponsors for our school, coming to watch our performances.

"And last, but not least, Tope and Natalya," Katyusha said. "After that, our Headmaster will give us a few good words to conclude, and everyone is free to go to the dining hall for Christmas dinner! And because it's such a special night, everyone can take a small package of snacks to celebrate."

I pursed my mouth in impatience. We were going to be last!

xXx

I clapped along with everyone else as Arthur's last dove flew back to the stage, land on Matthew's arm, and disappear in a flourish of violet silk. The pair received a stupendous applause; their magic show was amazing!

As both boys walked offstage, their props were cleared away for the next performance. I blinked in surprise as the familiar, towering figure of Ivan walked onstage alongside his partner, Alfred. I hadn't even noticed that they had left their seats.

Cradled in the Ivan's arms was a glossy, dark upright bass; Alfred gave the audience a grin as they stared at the sleek, golden saxophone in his hands. They were going to perform a song!

http :/ www .youtube. com /watch? v=-Pyfb WCtGQc (watch the 7 spaces)

There was the dull sound of the microphone being tapped, and Ivan nodded to someone backstage. A few seconds later, the projected screen in the background came alive—and everyone watched as a few images of Ivan and Alfred popped up on screen, each on a different instrument. Drummer Alfred gave the camera a thumbs up and a grin, and counted off using his drum sticks. He softly tapped out an introduction, and the live-saxophone Alfred played a few high, sweet notes onstage. Ivan began plucking a hum of notes on his bass, and then started singing, "What do you want this year for Christmas…"

Wolf whistles sang out from the crowd, along with an appreciative applause, as the band of Ivans and Alfreds in the video started to play with their live counterparts. The drums beat out a steady beat; the keyboard purred out retro chords; an electric guitar tickled the melody here and there; a tambourine ratta-tat-tatted along to the rhythm. Alfred's saxophone played long intervals—smooth and sly, and Ivan's bass and naturally deep, tumbling voice lulled the entire audience into a tranquil swing. I imagined the song playing with a quiet Christmas fire burning in the fireplace, warm colors everywhere.

It was then that I took the time to truly admire the boys playing smooth jazz. Alfred's whole body seemed to move to the slow and steady beat as he fingered the notes gently. He looked quite the young man in his laid-back white collar and black vest, a classic black fedora tilted atop his head.

Ivan looked—dare I say—stunningly handsome in his high-collared, jet-black jacket, his casual tie and scarf swinging against the chest of his white collared shirt. The melody of the song flowed from Ivan's voice to Alfred's sax, giving Ivan the luxury of quietly moving his eyes over the audience. My heart skipped an excited beat when his violet eyes rested on me, the lighting of the stage giving them a gentle look.

"What can I give to you for Christmas," he sang once more, "that you don't—already have…"

I blinked, and our eye contact was broken.

Gradually, the song faded to an end. The video grew silent and Ivan let his last note reverberate across the auditorium, and everyone seemed to relax into their seat as Alfred's sax held out into sweet silence.

Silence—which was immediately broken by a thunderous applause. Many students stood up and cheered loudly, whooping in appreciation. I stood up too, clapping long and hard for them, a bright smile on my face.

Their performance was by far the best one so far! I wouldn't be surprised if they won…

I caught myself, and then resumed my clapping.

I'll just have to do my best, I thought. May the best performance win, boys.

xXx

A few decent performances later, the spotlight shone on another performance that stood out from the rest.

Two people I didn't recognize walked up on stage. One was a young man with startling white hair and red eyes, looking a little uncomfortable in his handsome black-tie suit; in his hand was a flute that shone like a star. His partner was a girl in a velvet-red dress that tickled her calves, random green trinkets twinkling on her wrists. Her choppy black hair bounced happily as she strolled charmingly to her place at the microphone.

"That's my brother with the flute, Gilbert," Ludwig answered me in a whisper. "The girl is…ah, Katina Michalis. I believe she is the Macedonian student here."

The boy—Gilbert—held the silver mouthpiece to his lips and breathed a few warm-ups into the auditorium. I marveled at his clear, ringing tone. If bells could sing, they would sing exactly like this.

Without warning, the boy suddenly plunged into a series of notes, his fingers moving carelessly up and down on their keys. The quick melody slowed down and got softer—so soft, that I (along with most of the school) found myself leaning closer to listen. A few hops and skips in the tone, and the girl began singing.

"Silent night, Holy night…"

I remained breathlessly silent as vocals and flute danced endlessly as one. The girl had a singsong voice that reminded me of doves—soft and pure. The song reached its end tenderly, slowing to a sweet end. The girl held out her last note while Gilbert did a few last intervals, melody whirling into conclusion.

While the applause that followed wasn't as loud as its Russian-American predecessor, it came pretty damn close. I clapped well in appreciation, throwing in a couple whistles for fun. The couple onstage bowed a few times before obediently exiting off to the side.

Bowing low, I excused myself from my seat and walked around to the door that would lead me backstage.

After the next performance, the spotlight would be on me and Natalya.

xXx

Deciding to look for my partner while the current performance began setting up (a dance, I assumed from the way they were dressed), I travelled between stagehands and random props. But just as I turned a corner, I almost ran straight into someone walking at full speed. It was the girl in the beautiful red dress that just sang! I managed to swerve just in time to avoid crashing into her.

"I'm so sorry," we apologized at the same time. We both grinned. Glancing behind her, I saw her partner impatiently tapping his foot—the boy with startling white hair and red eyes, his flute packed away in its case and hanging from his hand.

"You sang very well," I told the girl very earnestly.

The girl (a little shorter than me, but very pretty all the same) offered me a great, big bubbly smile.

"Thank you!" she chirped. "Hey, you're Tope, right? Oh, I can't wait to see your performance!"

Shoot, what did Ludwig say her name was? Katrina? Ah, Katina!

"Thanks," I said. I slid my eyes from Katina to Ludwig's brother, Gilbert. "You played beautifully. It was amazing."

The boy stopped fiddling with his cuffs and smirked at me. "I was pretty awesome, wasn't I?" Without a single word of thanks, he trained a glare on Katina, switching from contempt to irritated. "Move it, woman. I need'a get back out there."

The boy pushed past both of us, and Katina let out an amused chuckle.

"He's mad just because I forced him to wear a suit instead of his t-shirt and jeans," she said, grinning at me. I grinned in return.

"Well, congratulations," I said sincerely. "You two did a really good job out there." I made a move to slip past her towards the stage. Another chirped, "Thanks!" and a quick goodbye, and the girl was off.

It was only when I was alone that I noticed the pale shadow leaning against the wall.

"Hi, Natalya!" I greeted her warmly. Past her, I could see the current performance taking their bows and their leave, the lights on the stage turning off completely to obscure the working stagehands. I rushed to help them carry our many props out from hiding and into the open.

The audience was murmuring excitedly as we finished. I ran to the other side of the stage opposite of Natalya to give our CD-guy the cue.

"Hello, Tope!" whispered a cheery voice. I glanced up to see Miss Katyusha next to me, eyes brimming with excitement.

"Thanks for helping us, Miss Katyusha," I whispered to her. "Are you ready?" Beyond the curtains, the audience had begun to hush themselves.

Katyusha nodded vigorously, smiling as bright as the sun even in the dark of the curtains.

The stage lights came back on—and suddenly, it was our turn to perform.

xXx

Katina Michalis (Macedonia) – belongs to AnimangaAquaYuriko on Quizilla. :) I hope you're doing well, friend.

xD I'm so sorry for the writer's diarrhea of words. The story kinda just wrote itself! Tope-Natalya tag team is coming up next, I promise.