22nd ♕

"I'm not going back with you!" Mom no. 1 screamed behind the closed door of my room.

With an equally loud voice, Roger replied, "You're going back with me this time. Three weeks is long enough. I've already given you time to think about things. Do not be stubborn."

"They might call! I have to—"

Roger replied, "Megan, they won't call. Can't you see it? Your daughter is not the princess-in-training anymore. Whose fault do you think that was? If you didn't irresponsibly open your mouth, George might have not been disqualified. Can't you see that? You ruined her life. That's what you did. If you should be eager for something, it should be apologizing to your daughter."

"Oh, don't you dare talk about ruining her life. I'm not the only one in that boat, and you know that. And you don't understand a thing. This is what I want. You don't know anything," Mom no. 1 sobbed.

I sighed.

It was as if her thoughts and intentions were a mystery. She had so much conviction. What we couldn't figure out was where she was getting all that.

Three weeks ago, Roger hadn't succeeded on taking Mom no. 1 home. She insisted on staying with us, hoping for another do-over. We already moved back from Burchett Hotel to our old house a week ago, since the news had died down. But that didn't stop Mom no. 1 from pleading Mom no. 2 to let her stay with us for several days.

As per Mom no. 1's request, the twins had also stayed with us. Hearing his parents' fighting, Jerald started sobbing quietly. We were watching TV, and he was enjoying it until the fight had started.

"Here, don't cry." I picked up Jerald and placed him on my lap, while I took a seat on the floor. "Do you want to play with big sis? Do you want to watch cartoons?"

His eyes lit up at the mention of cartoons.

I took that as a good sign. But as I was about to switch the channel, the interview I'd been waiting for had started. Covering Jerald's ears, so as to prevent him from hearing his parents' argument behind the thin walls, I said, "Just a minute. I just want to watch this."

"Good morning, Triavia!" Richard Reynolds appeared on the set, as the camera circled towards the audience and back to him. "You won't believe who are guests are this morning."

Cheers echoed.

"I know. I know. You've seen the preview. It's not a secret anymore," Richard hushed the audience. "Should I call them right away? What do you think, Julia?"

"I think it's time," Julia replied. The response was booming claps from the audience.

"Without further ado, please welcome Prince Arthur of Triavia and Ms. Lovely Webb, our first-runner up for the princess search," Richard introduced, extending a hand to the couple appearing on the stage.

"Cartoon!" Jerald started pulling my hair. There was something with this twin and my hair that they loved pulling.

"Give big sis ten minutes, okay? Please? I'll get you anything you want later," I bargained with him. "Look at the TV, the girl is wearing a pretty dress, right? It's like the color in cartoons."

"That is not cartoon," Jerald pointed out to me.

I knew that. "Well, you should start recognizing the royalties' faces, unlike everyone else in the family. It's a great start. What we have here is very educational."

"No. Cartoon," he complained. Jerald, thankfully, wasn't the screaming type. The yelling side of the twin was still fast asleep on his playmat, and that was something to be relieved about.

"I know. I'll get you a toy later, deal?" I offered again. "Action figures."

He gave it a thought. "Get me two, big sis."

"Okay. Now let me just watch in peace," I said to him, finishing the deal with a pinky swear. With the three weeks I'd spent with them, I had found out that it was all about bargain. And finding the cheapest toy store, because I didn't have that much extra money to start with.

But because of the bargain with Jerald, I didn't get to hear the first part of the interview. Art and Love were already sitting on the couch, with Richard and Julia sitting across from them.

It was the first time I'd seen Art in a while, except in pictures taken by the reporters. I couldn't believe I was resorting to the paparazzi' shots for the last three weeks. As a result, Jack would sometimes offer to ask one of his colleagues to secretly take pictures of Art for me. I told Jack, 'Thank you for being a sweetheart, but that is pushing it too far.' It was like asking your friend to spy on your ex and find out if he was still thinking about you.

"We've seen a lot of pictures lately," Richard said to the two of them.

"I hope they're good," Love replied with a graceful smile, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Such a lovely girl. Don't you agree, Prince Arthur?" Richard teased him.

I felt every nerve endings I had reacted whenever Art's face would be focused on the camera. I wasn't sure what it was, either jealousy or regret. Or a broken heart, slowly rotting inside me.

It was the morning talk show hosted by Richard Reynolds and Julia Steinfield, the same people who had once interviewed us together. It seemed as if it was just yesterday when we sat on that same couch. I turned up the volume, so I could hear it above the shouting galore happening in my room, where Roger and Mom no. 1 were still arguing.

Art nodded. "Indeed."

"Now that we're only two weeks away from the coronation, are you nervous, Love?" asked Julia.

"Every single day. I'm not even sure if I'm doing everything right. A time or two, Art would walk up to me and remind me of what I should do. I'm so helpless. As early as now, I'm terribly asking for your guidance," Love replied.

Love was glowing. The peach dress she was wearing reflected the color of her cheeks.

"At least you have a wonderful guy with you while doing all those tasks," Richard told her encouragingly.

Art smiled. "It's like a consolation. It's not easy being in her place."

"Art's a great guy," Love told Art, placing a hand on his right arm.

"Thanks. I'll try to believe it sometimes," Art replied.

They all laughed.

"No, but seriously, are you two going out for real? Like what the articles are all saying," Richard said, his enthusiasm perceptible.

"I think it's too early for that," Love was the one who replied. "We know what happened."

Richard nodded.

"I mean, I'm friends with her. She and Art were in love, and I just couldn't force myself in a picture that I didn't belong to, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, it is very complicated," Julia replied. "What can you say about that, Your Highness?"

"I'm sorry. I can't answer that," Art told him, shaking his head slightly.

Art didn't seem to be upset. He looked okay, and his smile was genuine. Art was still the person I remembered him to be. That light brown hair and striking sea green eyes. He was even wearing the red sneakers he once wore to our date.

It was weird how I could see all these things, and yet, the feelings had changed. The warmth before whenever I looked at him, it was now filled with uncertainty. An admiration that was out of line, and I didn't know whether I should get rid of it or let it play on. This was what I disliked about feelings. It was painstakingly incomprehensible and unpredictable.

The audience was silent.

"Well, some things are beyond our control," Richard said. When the camera shifted to the audience, some nodded. But most of them didn't respond, looking at their left and right.

Three weeks later, it wasn't because they'd completely written me off from history. But like what a certain article said, the void noise after the longest cry could also be deafening.

"A lot of things could happen in two weeks. The verdict hasn't come out yet, right? Right? So maybe it's better if we just let things be," Love suggested, breaking the uncalled for silence. "It feels weird mentioning her in third person. So, yeah, George, whatever happens, it's all right. Be it me or you or someone else, I'm sure it will all work out for the best. If I'm certain of one thing, Art, is that George wants you to be happy. Make sure you are. For her."

"That's right. We all knew that she wanted you to be happy, Your Highness. Currently, can you say that you are fulfilling her wish? For you to be happy?" Richard asked, turning to Art.

Art replied, "I am."

Good.

"Then that's great," Julia said, lightening up the mood.

A well-kept smile stilled on Art's lips.

"Well, look how fast the time flies. Thank you for being here this morning, Your Highness, and of course, this lovely young lady. We'll see you both at the coronation event that is going to take place soon. I'm sure we're all excited for it. Thank you for spending this Wednesday morning with us. This is Richard Reynolds..."

"...and I'm Julia Steinfield, and you're all tuned in..."

"George? What are you still doing here? Don't you have a class at eleven?" Dad asked, as he was on his way to the kitchen.

I turned around. "Yeah, I do."

"So what are you still—" He looked closer at what Jerald and I were watching. "So that's what you're up to."

"I know what you're thinking, Dad. I'm pathetic," I said, finally switching the channel to a cartoon show. Jerald was more than happy to climb down from me and go closer to the TV.

"That's not what I'm thinking." Dad placed the grocery bag on the kitchen counter.

I threw him a disbelieving look. "Nice try."

"Truth. I was wondering why instead of sulking in your room or avoiding that boy, you openly kept tabs on him," Dad explained to me.

"I just want Art to be okay. As long as he is, I'll be fine as well," I told him, getting up and straightening my oversized shirt.

"Are you having it easy? About this break-up?" Dad asked me.

I gave it a thought. "No. I also have my fair share of tears."

"You're not crying," Dad observed.

"I don't feel like crying with an audience. And there are worse things than crying."

"Which are?"

"How should I say this?" I said, turning my head from side to side as if I was searching for something. "It's like this hollow feeling inside. What was once there, it's suddenly gone. And you can't fill it up with other things. And it just stays there, empty. And you don't know if that emptiness would ever fade away."

Dad looked at me carefully.

"Okay, I'm being poetic all of a sudden."

He laughed. "I'll let you in on a little secret. That's just how it works. You function with a broken heart."

"Great. I'll take your advice and do exactly that. It will be easy and awesome," I said.

"Which means, you're saying that it will be the opposite of it?"

"Okay, you get the idea. And Dad, thanks for not creating a scene. I first thought you'd be as persistent about this whole thing like Mom," I told him. "Go to TV shows, hold interviews here and there..."

Dad narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "You can't possibly compare me to her."

"That much of an insult?"

"With everything she did, at least I'd realized things a few days sooner."

"Mom just went all out," I added, extending my arms.

"And I realized how much I've been missing out on your life. I'll try to make it up to you, for all the years I lived, in Hannah's nagging terms, by my own terms, as if I don't have a child who's relying on me to be around," Dad said, quoting and un-quoting with his fingers.

"Appreciate it. I'm also catching up with the fact that I see you every day for weeks now," I replied, catching his enthusiasm.

"We're not the best kind of parents, George. At least you didn't take it from any of us. You're a lot like Hannah, to be honest. It's not genetics. It's probably who you grow up with," Dad told me.

"Anyway, at least I could see that you're trying. Just look at that. You're up to making meals," I said, peering at what he was doing with a friendly curiosity. Then I felt the phone in the pocket of my jeans vibrate. I pulled it out and read the text. "It's from Pete. He's outside."

"Ah, my college girl," Dad said, watching me grab my backpack and check if I got everything. "Daddy will be here doing the laundry and taking care of the house."

I laughed. "Make sure you don't wreck it, or Hannah will be angry at you when she gets home."

"Taking care of the house should come with a manual or chords," Dad said back, walking with me to our front door. Pete was waiting outside when Dad opened the door. "Ah, so we meet each other again, Peter. You keep on coming here every day. You're not hitting with my girl, aren't you?"

"Dad, please, screening every visitor is not your job. Jack would do that," I reminded Dad, as I was getting out of the door.

"Leave it to me, Mr. McAlden," Jack politely told him.

"When it comes to my daughter, every guy will have to answer to me, too," Dad said to him.

Jack, who was dressed up in a casual outfit of jeans and printed button down shirt, replied, "Okay, sir. Peter, please, step forward for your daily briefing."

Pete was laughing his heart out. "Yes, sir. I would take care of her and bring her home safely today. I would make sure that George would enjoy her college days and would not feel left out."

"How about lunch? I've checked and your schedules don't match for today."

"Darcy would accompany her," Pete replied, standing straight with his hands behind him.

"Okay. We got it all clear," Dad said.

"Aren't you going to ask about Darcy?" I asked, amused with what these three guys were up to.

"Is Darcy a guy?" Dad said back.

"No, sir. She's my girlfriend," Pete told him.

"Oh, your girlfriend. Then I'm not gonna ask about her," Dad said, looking relieved.

"Gee... this is out of the world," I muttered.

"But I expect you to tell me if there's any guy stealing glances at her, all right? Are we clear on that, young man?"

"All right, Mr. McAlden. But honestly, I'm not sure they're going to do that," Pete faltered, carefully looking at me. "No offense, but George is back to being George. Same old clothes that's been handed down from you, I supposed. Aside from the rumors that she once wore a dress, there's very little guys would fancy. She's not even wearing any make-up. She looks like one of us."

"I feel insulted. I will wear a dress whenever I feel like it, and not because I have to impress your kind," I said. They didn't notice that I had put on some tinted lip gloss.

"But she's wearing her hair down. That's a sign, right?" Dad pointed out instead.

Pete turned around to me again. "That's right. Why didn't you tie it up like usual?"

"No reason. I probably got used to it," I answered with a quick shrug. "This is the weirdest sending off to school. And to think that I'm in college."

"It's because you've chosen the closest university to save up for dorm fees and transportation allowance," Dad replied. "You better get used to it."

"It's the best university around here," I explained. "Some are flying down all the way here to attend T.U.."

"Hey, wait." Dad snapped his fingers. "Isn't that prince of your also attending T.U.? Your... you know. I read that on the internet the other day."

I hesitantly nodded. "Yeah, but that's just a coincidence. I'd already been accepted when I came to know that. Plus, he's busy nowadays. I'm sure he won't come back to school until after the coronation and things."

"Wouldn't it be weird when you see him?" Dad continued asking.

"They might get back together," Pete suggested.

I elbowed Pete on his stomach. "Of course. Like, why not? After his coronation and they're betrothed by the kingdom. That would be so much better."

"Aww... little Georgey is hurting," Pete continued teasing me.

"Stop it." I held my hands up. "Sooner or later, yes, we will see each other again, unless Art would transfer universities. And I doubt he would do that. T.U. is also the closest university to the palace. And he's wanted in the palace most of the time. It's fine that way. I'm okay with it. How many exes do you think exist in Triavia? Plenty. And they're fine. So why shouldn't I?"

They didn't answer, looking unconvinced

"You sound bitter," Peter specifically told me.

"I am not. I'm fine," I said back.

Pete said, with a low voice, "You know what fine is? Fine is when you don't look up his name first thing in the morning. When you don't wait for all the TV shows where he was scheduled to be a guest. Fine is when you don't rehearse the entire scenario of meeting him again and what you would say and how you would react. And how you would look fine."

I guiltily swallowed.

He continued, "Fine is actually seeing him again and nodding your head in recognition and that's it, as if meeting a familiar stranger. Fine is not keeping your phone close to you all the time, waiting for a text or call from him. Fine is when your song plays on the radio and you dance along to it, not mope around."

"We don't have a song," I said.

"You don't?"

I nodded. "Nothing official."

"Well, then the last one's not for you."

"Okay, I take that back. This is my statement: I am going to be fine. Not now. Maybe when I'm not doing all those, okay?" I said, giving up my argument.

"Darce's doing too much cooing. You should hear these things sometimes," Pete explained.

"This is why I like hanging out with you. I personally do not agree that this could be solved by eating ice cream or listening to sad songs or watching chick flicks."

"Yeah, I also wouldn't do all those."

"Touché."

"Is it true he's dating the first runner-up, Jack?" Dad asked Jack. We didn't notice that they were also having their own conversation. Or gossip talk, actually.

"We're not allowed to talk about their personal affairs, sir," Jack answered.

"What's your hunch then?" Dad didn't give up.

"I can't believe you're discussing the tabloids right now. Bye, Dad. Have a fun day with Mom's family around. Come to think of it, Mom's also your ex. Even Roger's here. You shouldn't worry about T.U.," I told him encouragingly.

"We adults handle things better," Dad replied.

"I doubt that," I said with a devious laugh. "See you later."

"Have a fun day, George. Guys can wait later. Peter, make sure she doesn't encounter any asshole," reminded Dad, as we were heading to the limo the palace had instructed Jack to continue driving for me. It was impossible to use our bikes to school at this rate, anyway. A few reporters kept on following me, even if I had already been suspended and was only waiting for the final decision to come out.

I sometimes wondered what the reporters wrote about me. To keep my sanity, I didn't search the internet about myself. Just Art. Once in a while, I would be included in them. Those articles were the ones that I couldn't avoid.

There was this one article that showed a picture of me at the right part, walking around the campus as if I was auditioning for a zombie show. Then on the left, they showed a picture of Art smiling and waving at the reporters, while on his way to a legit photo shoot. If this was a competition of who was moving on better, Art won by landslide.

Only, they didn't know that when they took that picture, I was late for my class and had gone up and down the Arts Building in search for the classroom. It was a five-storey building, and the elevator was broken that afternoon. Art was only getting up a small staircase.

Jack adjusted the rearview mirror. "Are we ready to go? What time do your classes start?"

"Both eleven," Pete answered.

"Plenty of time," Jack subtly replied.

"I don't want to be late," I specifically added. "Please don't drive like we're strolling at the mall. He always does that, Pete."

"Life should be taken one moment at a time, Princess," Jack told me, as we were driving down the street, taking a right turn and spotting the first reporters to take a picture of our car.

"Your fans are getting lazy. Nowadays, we're down to three," Pete observed.

"It used to be more than twenty every morning at least," I said.

"Did they already hear the decision and was making you the news' daily dose of misfortune?" Pete continued his surveillance, spotting the second reporter at the intersection. "What do you think, Jack?"

"Usually, reporters only go along with the flow, which makes it easy to stir the news. But for some," Jack paused, pointing to the one waiting outside the main gate and who took a picture of our car entering the university's premises. Without traffic, T.U. was only five minutes away from our house, "they're the ones who realize that the flow isn't what makes an eyecatching story. That there's another possible flow and actually sees it."

"Were you a reporter before?" Pete asked Jack, in retrospect to his words.

"You should get used to it," I said to Pete. You would think that he lived a thousand lives with the way he saw things. "Right, Jack?"

Jack only smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment, Princess."

"And yoga," I added. "You should go to class with us. Jack enrolled me to his class. It's fun and enlightening. One or two sessions and you would think like Jack in no time."

I could see the hesitation in Pete's eyes.

"Unless, you're afraid of wearing tights," I said, teasing him.

"Actually, you could wear any clothes you want," Jack calmly told him, putting an end to my newly found amusement.

"You guys have fun. I can't see myself doing yoga," Pete replied dismissively.

"We're here. I'll get down first," Jack announced, as he parked the car. He got out and scanned the area. The reporters weren't allowed in the university, so at least I could avoid them here. But it didn't readily guarantee that the other students wouldn't sell my pictures to the press, especially the hilarious candid moments. Jack opened the car door at my side. "All clear, Princess."

"Thanks," I said, getting out of the car.

Pete was already outside, reading a text on his phone. "I forgot we have an assignment for Anatomy. I'll head up first, George. Text Darce for lunch. Her class finishes at 12:30."

"Bye," I said.

"What's your first class for today, Princess?" Jack asked, as we were walking towards the main building.

"Introduction to Architecture," I replied, pulling out the class schedule list.

"That's an interesting subject," Jack replied.

"They recommended it to me during enrollment." I put my class schedule inside the pocket of my jeans. Lenora gave me back all her clothes when I tried to return them last week. She said I should take it as a consolation gift, and that she was using it as a bribe if I ever wanted to consider modeling her fall collection. I told her I'd think about it, but I wouldn't promise her anything.

I was leaning to say yes to what Lenora had proposed. It wasn't a bad deal. I got to have free clothes and earn. I just had to be practical. Speaking of being realistic, I even thought of selling Lenora's fancy dresses online, but Lenora would hate me all her life if I would do so. For now, all the dresses and fancy tops were still in their respective suitcases. I wasn't ready to wear them again.

"Hi, George." A student waved at me, as Jack and I were walking in the hall.

"Hi," I replied. Everyone was giving me friendly smiles. It had been going on since my first day here in Triavia. I wasn't sure what their friendly gestures were for. They all treated me like I was their long-lost childhood friend.

"Why are they so friendly?" I whispered to Jack.

"You're still the princess-in-training, Princess," Jack replied.

"Didn't they know that I was suspended?" I was dubious that the students here were so civilized, unlike the reporters, who were always asking if I was crying myself to sleep every night.

"I believe they do, Princess."

"Then why?"

"Shall we ask them, Princess?"

I quickly shook my head. "No."

"All right. But we'd never know if we would never ask," Jack told me.

"I could live with that," I convincingly replied.

Jack nodded, opening the door for me. "About your broken heart, Princess, eventually, it will start to heal on its own. After all, the heart is the strongest muscle in our body."

I blinked. "Why are we talking about this again?"

Jack smiled. "No particular reason, Princess."

"Of course." I smiled stupidly, reminding myself that I should have gotten used to this by now.

The classroom was already full when we'd entered, so I took a seat at the last row. When the class had spotted Jack and I, the room turned silent. By now, almost everyone knew Jack. They also knew that he would stand at the back of the room in all of my classes. If I could get away unnoticed by using a disguise, Jack's presence would easily point me out.

Next time, I should probably arrive right before the class would start, so that they wouldn't feel intimidated by our presence. There were around thirty students in the room. The classroom had white walls and vertical glass windows on the right, which had a nice view of the university's entrance. There was a huge blackboard that covered almost half of the entire length of the wall up front, behind the small platform.

The professor was ten minutes late. He was an old man, probably in his late fifties. It was our first meeting of the semester, and I was excited. Scanning the room, the professor put down his laptop bag on the table.

At first, I didn't realize who was also present in this class. He was sitting on the front row, an open notebook on his desk. I couldn't believe it at first, but every movement he made during the entire class clearly pointed out that he was no other than Robin Marc.

I didn't know that he would also be attending Triavia University. Out of all the odd chances, why did we have the same class? It was bad enough that he had been present all throughout high school. That he had also leaked personal information about me to the media recently.

I didn't want to go through the entire ordeal of dropping out of this class. The professor was interesting and the topic he was discussing got my attention. But to see Robin Marc for the entire semester, would it be worth it?

Preventing myself from going to the front row and attacking Robin Marc in the middle of class, I focused on the professor instead. He gave us an assignment of bringing a picture or a print out copy of a historical structure design that captivated our attention.

When the class had been dismissed and the professor had left, I stood up and went to Robin's desk, slamming my hands on it. A few students were still in the room. They were startled, and they started whispering to each other.

Robin was shocked when he saw me. He was probably the only one who didn't notice me walk in the room with a huge bodyguard following behind.

"George!" Robin said. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," I said back, breathing evenly.

Robin packed up his things, a little too quickly. "I have another class."

"What? Are you running away?" I said, preventing myself from doing anything that I would regret. Jack stood behind me, watching.

"It's really nice seeing you, George." Robin cringed back.

"My urge to hurt you right now is so strong you should be terrified," I spoke through gritted teeth.

"George, this is not funny. I'll go first. You should try—"

I kicked his shin.

"Ouch!" Robin yelped, holding his right leg up.

"Stop messing around with me. If you think that I'm still that high school girl you played with before, think again. People change. And sometimes, they do it for the better," I said angrily, grabbing the collar of his shirt. "I'm fed up with you. You are a liar. You are a piece of shit, and you won't amount to anything more than that."

"You won't get away—"

"I'm dead serious. Don't think for a second that I'm not," I said to him.

"George! Shit! Don't..."

"What don't?" I liked the sight I was seeing. Robin didn't know whether to calm me down first or nurse his leg.

"Don't do this," he groaned. "This is too much. You could be sued for assault."

"After everything you did, you could still say that," I said, shaking my head.

"You and Love, you two are such a pain—"

I cut him off by kicking his other shin.

"What the hell!" Robin yelled, shifting his attention to his other knee.

A crumpled piece of paper was thrown to Robin's head. Surprised, my eyes searched the room, looking for who did it. I saw the other students in my class holding crumpled paper in their hands. They didn't leave the room.

"We didn't see anything, George," one girl, with straight black hair, said.

The tall guy at the farthest side of the room threw another crumpled sheet of paper to Robin. "Our hands keep slipping here."

A guy holding a laptop, who was sitting on the desk close to the tall guy, did the same thing. "You can sue her and all of us. But you won't have a witness, just so you know. The halls are empty. There is no CCTV in this room."

"Karma could come in the form of a mistreated ex-girlfriend," the girl with glasses smirked.

"This is insane." Robin angrily stormed out the room, taking his things with him.

When Robin left, they all smiled at me. I couldn't believe that these strangers did that for me.

"Don't worry. We'll take the evidence with us," the tall guy said, walking down the room and picking all the papers. He put them in his bag. "Your secret's safe with us."

"Thank you," I blurted out. I wondered it if it was enough. "I don't know what to say..."

The girl with black hair extended her hand and said to me, "Jennifer. Architecture Major."

I warmly shook her hand. "George. Thank you for saving me."

"No problem. What he did was unfair. We need to get rid of rats like him," Jennifer replied. She pointed out to the one with glasses. "That's Eve. We actually have another class, and we have to go."

Eve waved her hand at me, smiling.

"Hi," I replied. "Thanks."

Eve hesitated, but she went down as well. "Sorry. We're running late. We can't stay around."

"She's a straight A student. Always punctual," Jennifer whispered.

"I'm on scholarship. That's why," Eve said.

"Me too," I told her. "Sports scholarship."

She smiled. "And we're the ones who always work extra hard. Welcome to our world, Jen."

"All right," Jen said, laughing. "We'll head our first, George. It's nice meeting you. We should hang out sometime."

I nodded. "Sure."

They said goodbye and headed their way. I wished I could say express my gratitude more. Maybe next week. I'd still see them in this class again for sure.

"Should we get going, Princess?" Jack asked.

"Oh, right! Darcy. I forgot she's waiting. I wonder where she is," I said, checking my phone and seeing her messages. "I was so pissed off with Robin that I forgot we were supposed to have lunch together. How could a person like Robin even exist? He actually threatened me with assault?"

"We're all just human. And most of the time, it takes a while for us to get it right. And that it's okay. We're never in a rush. Life has its own way of showing us what's it like to live," Jack told me.

"That's true," I agreed.

"You'll meet all sorts of people in this world, Princess. Some good. Some bad. As you get older, you'll realize how the world really goes and to what extent people can do. And at the same time, what some strangers could do for you," Jack told me. "It's great, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"George!" someone shouted from behind us.

When I turned around, I saw Darcy running towards us. "Hey."

"Where did you go? I sent you a couple of texts," Darce said, out of breath.

"Long story," I replied.

"Tell me."

"Robin's in my class."

"No," she replied.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I caused a scene. It was the first time I'd seen him since all the antics he had pulled on TV. I couldn't help it," I confessed.

"In front of the entire class?" Darcy placed a hand over her mouth. "What did you do?"

"I waited for the class to be finished and for the professor to be out of the scene," I said, looking around the cafeteria.

"And then?"

"I ended his life," I replied, falling in line behind her. "How I wish. I just kicked his shin, or two of them. The good news is, some of the students in my class helped me."

"Awesome," Darcy squealed.

"It was."

Then after a minute, she asked me, "How are you, by the way?"

"Me?"

"With Art," she added. "I mean, how are you doing? I heard from Pete that you kept on watching the shows he was in."

I smiled. "I don't know. Art seems to be doing fine. He looks happy."

Darcy gave me a frown. "Don't say that."

"It's true," I said. "Right, Jack?"

Jack was busy picking his lunch. "You know him, Princess."

"And Art is like what?" Darcy curiously asked, holding her tray as we searched for an empty table.

"Probably crying every minute," I said nonchalantly.

Darcy wasn't sure whether to believe me or laugh. She repeated, "Crying?"

I only smiled, thinking about how he was doing. The Art I knew was someone who was a natural when it came to people. He knew what to say, what to do, and how to act. It was because he was trained to be like that.

He could also make you laugh and feel comfortable, even when you were talking about the most serious things in life. He would hold your hand and listen to you. He would remember every word you said.

He probably wasn't crying right now. I knew that. He wasn't lost in tears. But that didn't mean he wasn't missing you. When he held you in his arms, you'd realize how much he wanted you to be there.

To stay there.

The Art I knew, he would be the prince of the kingdom to the extent he needed to be. Okay, sometimes, Bridge still had to force him, especially when he didn't feel like doing anything for the day. Most especially, the Art I knew, he would stay true to what he was feeling, because he never tricked anyone to believe that he was someone else. I admired him for it.

"What's he like? You can't leave me hanging with just that," Darcy said.

"He's like..." I paused. "He's probably missing me as much as I miss being with him all day."