Mistletoe Mishap

Chapter 14: Patterns and Pouts

The hallways feel emptier today, though I know that’s an illusion. People are still watching, whispering, pointing behind my back. I pull my hat lower over my ears, tugging the pom-pom almost compulsively, hoping it’ll make me invisible again. No such luck. The chaos hasn’t stopped. It’s just… quieter now, like it’s waiting to pounce.

I push my way past a cluster of students, my textbooks clutched too tightly, and mutter under my breath, “Why does this keep happening?”

They said it was over. They said the carousel was done. But the moment I step out of my dorm on Monday morning, it begins again. Tuesday, Wednesday… every time I wear this ridiculous hat, there’s a new disaster. My first kiss, the cafeteria chaos, the accidental snowball—too many incidents to count. And my brain keeps circling the same question: Why me?

I slump onto a bench outside the library, letting my bag drop at my feet. My cheeks are still warm from last week’s chaos. My hat feels heavier than it should, almost like it knows.

“Rough morning?”

I glance up, startled. Jasper. Not scribbling this time. Not leaning against a wall, smirking at me from a distance. He’s here. Standing. Present. Like he actually cares.

“Kind of,” I mumble. “Every morning’s rough these days.”

He sits beside me, careful not to crowd me, but close enough that I can’t pretend I’m invisible. “I saw the cafeteria yesterday,” he says. “You handled it… well. Better than I expected.”

I snort. “Handled it? I nearly knocked over three trays of food, spilled someone’s juice, and got a paper cut from a menu.”

He smiles, not teasing, just quiet admiration. “You bounced back fast. That counts.”

I frown. “Bounced back? I feel like I’m barely surviving.”

“You survived.” He taps my shoulder lightly. “And you’re still standing. That’s more than most people could do after… everything.”

I glance down at the bench, at the frost gathering along the edges, and mutter, “It’s just a hat. A stupid hat.”

“Stupid? Maybe,” he says. “But not your fault. And it doesn’t define you.”

I laugh, low and incredulous. “Not define me? It defines my life right now. Every step I take, every corridor I walk, someone’s pointing, whispering, laughing… or worse, waiting.”

He leans back slightly, thoughtful. “So maybe it’s not the hat. Maybe it’s just… the attention. People see you differently. They notice you.”

“I don’t want to be noticed,” I say firmly. “I don’t even like attention. I just want to get through my week without…” I trail off, gesturing vaguely at the campus around me. “This.”

He chuckles softly. “Well, that ship has sailed.”

I huff and tug at my hat. The green twig on top is just a pom-pom in my mind, but every misstep, every kiss, every eye on me makes it feel like a secret conspirator. “I feel like it’s plotting against me.”

“Maybe it is,” Jasper says, and I look at him, startled. He grins, just a little. “Or maybe it’s just… a catalyst. Something that makes people do what they’re going to do anyway.”

I consider that. My brain runs through the incidents again, counting, linking, making mental notes. Patterns. Maybe there are patterns. Maybe the hat isn’t just an accessory—it’s the reason chaos seems to follow me.

I glance at him. “Do you… think it’s the hat?” I ask quietly.

He shrugs casually, like it’s not a big deal. “Could be. Could be coincidence. But something tells me you’re smarter than to ignore patterns. And something tells me you’ll figure it out.”

My lips twitch. “You’re not giving me answers.”

“Not yet,” he says, leaning back, eyes on the quad. “You’ll get your answers when the time’s right. For now… just keep surviving.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. “Surviving is exhausting.”

“Then take a minute,” he says, nudging me gently. “Breathe. Look around. You’re doing fine, Ivy. More than fine.”

I peek at him through my fingers. His expression is soft, patient, encouraging. It’s not teasing. Not mocking. Not observing from a safe distance. Just… him, here. Real. Present. And for some reason, that calms me more than anything else today.

I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, and mutter, “I hate this hat.”

“You don’t hate it,” he replies. “You just… hate what it does to you. And that’s okay. I’d be worried if you didn’t care.”

I tilt my head and stare at him. “You… you actually care?”

He smirks just slightly. “I’ve been around long enough to know chaos when I see it. And you? You’re doing something most people couldn’t. I notice.”

I can’t help a small laugh, one of those breathless, incredulous things that almost makes my chest ache from relief. For the first time since the carousel spun out of control, I feel… lighter.

But then a shadow crosses the quad, and a familiar shout echoes faintly in the distance:

“Mistletoe Girl!”

I flinch. Jasper notices immediately. He stands, moves a fraction closer, his presence steadying. “Ignore it,” he says calmly.

The crowd disperses, scattering like leaves in the wind. My cheeks burn anyway, but it’s a little more manageable now.

I sit back down, adjusting my hat and sighing. “You think it’ll ever stop?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe it just takes a while for people to notice the real you. And I think… that might be worth waiting for.”

I look at him, and something about the way he says it—gentle, sure—makes me believe it. For the first time this week, I feel like I might actually survive the hat, the chaos, and all of it.