Mistletoe Mishap

Chapter 20: Hat Strayegy

Ivy. Just Ivy. Me. And for the first time all week, I felt like I might actually have a plan. That blasted mistletoe wasn’t going to run my life—or my school week—any longer. I needed strategy. I needed control. Mostly, I needed Jasper to stop smirking at me like this was some kind of sport.

We ducked between the tall shelves of the campus library, the quiet hush of students flipping pages and tapping keyboards wrapping around us. Jasper leaned casually against a shelf, arms crossed, eyes flicking from me to my festive hat and back again. Smirk firmly in place, of course.

“So,” he said, drawing out the word like he was savoring it, “what’s the strategy?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, glancing down at the ridiculous little sprig perched on my hat. “Hide it? Remove it? Pretend it’s a fashion statement?”

“Fashion statement,” he said, tilting his head, “isn’t going to stop people from thinking it’s a… magnet.”

“Magnet?” I asked.

“You know,” he said, pointing at the hat with a grin, “for all things chaotic. Kisses, coffee spills, weird stares, tripping over backpacks…”

I groaned. “Yeah. That. Exactly that.”

He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice like we were conspiring. “Okay, first thing: you don’t run from it. That makes things worse.”

I gave him a blank look. “Don’t run? I’ve been running for a week.”

“Exactly,” he said, smirking. “You’ve survived every disaster. That’s impressive. But now… you own it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Own it?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Confidence, Ivy. Slowly. Small steps. Don’t let the hat make you invisible—or just… a target. You control the hat. The hat doesn’t control you.”

I stared at him. His smirk softened into something warmer, like he actually believed I could do this.

“Okay,” I muttered, “so first step… what? Walk around calmly between the shelves?”

“Nope.” He tapped my hat lightly. “Step one: stop flinching. Stop apologizing for every sideways glance or whisper. Hold your ground. Smile if someone notices. Make them work for their amusement.”

I blinked. “Make them… work?”

“Exactly.” He leaned back against the shelf. “You’re Ivy. You’re the chaos survivor. Let the mistletoe do its thing, but don’t let it make you… smaller than you are.”

I laughed, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. “I like that. Chaos survivor.”

“You’ve earned it,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Besides, I might have been a little impressed with your… stamina.”

I rolled my eyes. “Flattery won’t save you when I knock over a stack of books in five minutes.”

“Fair enough,” he said, chuckling. “But that’s step two: don’t panic. Step three: maybe a little mischief. Turn it into fun instead of… fear.”

“Fun, huh?” I muttered, imagining the chaos in my head: knocked-over chairs, whispers, students pointing. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is, if you stop thinking of yourself as a victim,” he said. “People will notice you anyway. Might as well be noticed with style.”

I tilted my head. “Style?”

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “Confidence. Even if it’s a messy notebook, slightly crooked glasses, and a ridiculous hat, own it. You decide how the chaos looks. You decide the story.”

I sat back on a small library chair, crossing my arms, trying to imagine doing that. Me? Owning the chaos? My stomach did a little flip just thinking about standing in the cafeteria or hallway with the hat on and letting everyone wonder what I’d do next.

“You really think I can do this?” I asked quietly.

“I do,” he said. “But you have to believe it too.”

I glanced at the shelves around us, spotting a group of students trying not to stare at us while whispering. The hat made them curious. The mistletoe made them bold. And me? I could finally imagine standing tall instead of shrinking into my textbooks.

“Okay,” I muttered, “small steps. Step one: survive with dignity.”

He laughed softly. “Exactly. Step two: maybe don’t knock over a pile of encyclopedias while surviving with dignity. Or, if you do, do it with flair.”

I groaned, but the corners of my mouth twitched. “Flair? That’s terrifying.”

“Terrifying is fine,” he said. “It’s you. Terrifyingly capable.”

I blinked at him. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means,” he said, leaning just enough to catch my eyes, “that you’re not invisible. You never were. And now, maybe, you don’t have to be afraid of being seen.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “That’s… actually kind of nice.”

“Nice?” he repeated, grinning. “Nice is what happens when someone finally stops panicking and starts thinking strategically.”

I looked down at my hat, green sprig and all. Somehow, knowing what it was made it less terrifying. More like a challenge. A game I could win if I played it smart.

“So,” I said slowly, “step three… mischief. How does that work?”

Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Little things. Like… standing in the hallway and letting the chaos simmer without letting it overwhelm you. Choosing your moments. Timing. Pauses. A smirk at the right person. Quick recovery when something falls apart.”

I considered that, imagining the cafeteria chaos replaying in my head. My textbooks wobbling. Coffee threatening to spill. Students whispering. And me… standing tall. Calm. Smiling. Maybe even a little amused.

I blinked. “I could do that. I think. Maybe.”

“You will,” he said simply. “And the hat… well, it’s part of the plan. Your secret weapon.”

I laughed aloud. “Secret weapon?”

“Yes,” he said, nudging my shoulder. “The mistletoe is chaos you can control. It’s attention you can redirect. It’s… fun if you let it be.”

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “I don’t know if I trust you entirely.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, smirking. “Just… watch. Observe. Learn.”

I glanced around the library again. Quietly. Calmly. Almost like I owned the space. And for the first time this week, I felt capable. Like maybe the hat wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was me all along. And if I could step into this, even a little, I’d finally be the one calling the shots.

“Okay,” I said finally, adjusting the hat and tugging the pom-pom into place, “I’m ready. Let’s see what happens next.”

“Atta girl,” he said, smiling. “Now go. Chaos is waiting.”

I pushed off the library chair and stepped carefully between the shelves. Books on the upper shelves were mostly safe, whispers of students didn’t rattle me, and for once, I felt like I had… options.

The mistletoe on my hat didn’t let me be invisible. But now? I didn’t want to be.