Mistletoe Mishap

Chapter 5: Winter Wonderland Woes

I thought wearing the hat to the holiday fair would be low-key. Just a little festive, a little cheerful. Innocent. Maybe even invisible.

Wrong.

The quad had been transformed overnight. Twinkling lights wrapped every tree, a fake ice rink gleamed under a haze of artificial snow, and candy cane booths lined the pathways. Every step I took felt like walking into a gaudy snow globe. And I was the main exhibit.

I tugged my hat down over my ears, completely unaware of the green sprig sitting smugly on top. Pom-pom bobbing innocently, I stepped onto the slick snow walkway—and nearly slipped. My boots skidded, arms flailed, and a student barreling past almost knocked me over entirely. Smack!—a quick peck on my cheek, then he vanished into the crowd.

I froze. Heart hammering. Cheeks burning. Hat intact. Green sprig, as always, blissfully oblivious.

And then I heard it. The smirk-voice.

“You really commit to the holidays.”

Jasper. Leaning against a cotton-candy stand, notebook tucked under one arm, smirk firmly in place. He wasn’t chasing me, wasn’t sneaking up—just standing there, clearly enjoying my complete lack of composure.

“Uh… yes?” I squeaked. “I… it’s… festive?”

He tilted his head, smirk widening. “Festive, chaotic, and apparently… magnetic.”

Before I could even respond, a rogue snowball whizzed past my ear. I yelped and spun, narrowly avoiding a small pile of snow left from the ice rink’s maintenance crew. A group of first-years erupted into giggles, pointing at my bobbing pom-pom.

Invisible. Smooth. Completely doomed.

I tried to make a run for it, weaving between candy cane booths. One collapsed slightly under the weight of a misplaced box of lollipops. I stumbled sideways, catching myself on a bench with an ungraceful thump. Glittering tinsel brushed my cheek. Somewhere in the chaos, someone tossed a peppermint into the air. I caught it on my forehead.

Jasper scribbled something quickly in his notebook, eyes twinkling. “You might want to consider a helmet next time,” he said, smirk firmly in place. “Just a thought.”

I groaned. “Invisible! Smooth! Disaster incarnate!”

I ducked behind a snow drift to catch my breath. Snowflakes landed on my shoulders, sliding off harmlessly. Pom-pom bounced. Green sprig still smugly perched, completely unaware of the havoc it caused.

Then the confetti cannon went off. Glitter shot into the air like a tiny, festive explosion. My hat bobbed wildly, and the pom-pom spun in perfect rhythm with the sparkly chaos. Students squealed and jumped, snowballs flew, and someone launched a cotton-candy stick right past my shoulder.

Ivy logic: This is not a survival skill I anticipated needing.

By now, a small crowd had gathered, watching me navigate this minefield. I tried to wave, smile, and appear calm, but the best I could manage was a twitchy half-grin. Jasper leaned casually against a hot chocolate booth, notebook now closed, arms folded. He didn’t intervene. He didn’t help. He just watched… and smirked.

“You’re… impressive,” he called. “I mean… how do you manage to survive a snow globe disaster while wearing that hat?”

I bit my lip. “Uh… luck?”

“Maybe. Or skill.” He gave me a slow, exaggerated nod, as if grading my performance. “Definitely skill.”

Another snowball zoomed past my head. I ducked, tripping slightly over a fake tree root that had been planted for decoration. Somehow, I landed upright, head tilted, hat still intact. Pom-pom bounced. Green sprig remained smug. I was beginning to suspect the hat had supernatural powers—or at least a mischievous personality of its own.

A little girl ran past with a plate of gingerbread cookies. One catapulted in my direction. I caught it midair, but the frosting smeared across my cheek. I glanced at Jasper. He was still watching, still smirking, scribbling in his notebook. He looked so calm, so composed, like he had nothing to worry about while I was turning into a holiday disaster in real time.

“Careful,” he said lightly, tilting his head. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to miss their chance to kiss you.”

I froze. “Uh… what?”

He smirked. No explanation, just a slow raise of his eyebrows before turning to watch a snowball fight break out behind me. Great. Now I had to survive him and the entire holiday fair.

By the time the fair ended, I was coated in fake snow, glitter stuck in my hair, sticky peppermint smudges on my cheek, and a full dose of campus attention. Pom-pom still bobbing, green sprig still perfectly perched, I realized something important:

Jasper was the only person who hadn’t kissed me yet. And somehow, he was deliberately letting the chaos continue, just to watch me stumble through it all.

I tugged at my hat, blinking at the sparkling mess around me. One thing was certain: the hat wasn’t just festive. It was trouble, and Jasper seemed to enjoy every second of it.