Chapter 126: Two days to get it right

Chapter 126 — Two Days to Get It Right

Roxanne opened the door of the student activities room and walked into an argument already in progress.

"There is not enough floor for a games corner," said a girl from the decorations team, jabbing a pencil at a floor plan. "Not if we use the lantern design."

"The lanterns can go higher," said someone else.

"The speakers can’t," said a voice from the music table. "And we haven’t confirmed the equipment."

"Nobody has told us whether we’re allowed in the courtyard," called the food-stall volunteers from the corner, in unison, like a choir of the wronged.

Then, one by one, every head turned toward her.

"You suggested the zones," said Jace. "So you tell us."

The temptation rose at once, quick and familiar. She could fix it. She could see six solutions already, and she could carry every one of them across the room herself, and be exhausted and indispensable by Friday. She had done it before.

Roxanne set her bag on the table. "Before anyone changes anything, I want each team to tell me what it actually needs. One at a time. Short."

They did. The lists were shorter than the noise had suggested. As she wrote them down, she understood something that felt like putting down a heavy bag: having a good idea did not make her responsible for every detail.

The next disagreement came from Mason Reed, a lean, serious third-year who had been silent until then, arms folded.

"The event should be about dancing and music," he said. "Games and food stalls will make it feel scattered."

"Not everyone wants to dance," Roxanne said. "Some people hate formal evenings. If there’s nothing else to do, they’ll stand by the wall and leave early."

"If we try to please everyone, we will ruin it for everyone."

"That’s a bleak way to plan a party."

"It’s an accurate one." His jaw was tight, but he did not raise his voice. "I have organised three of these. Every time, the plan grows until nobody can run it. Then something small breaks and the whole evening collapses."

Roxanne had been ready to argue. She stopped, because he was right about the workload, and she knew it. She had seen the lists.

"Then let’s limit it," she said. "Keep the main dance area exactly as you want it. Cut the games to a few simple ones, nothing with rules or referees. Fewer things, done well."

Mason studied the plan for a long moment. "I’ll reconsider the layout," he said, which she suspected was as close to surrender as he came.

By noon, a new problem had surfaced. Someone needed to contact the facilities office about tables, extension cords, and lighting equipment. The room, which had been so loud, suddenly grew very interested in its own paperwork.

"I’ll make the request," Roxanne said. "But I need someone else to do the follow-up inspection."

A first-year raised her hand slowly and was written down.

Mason watched from across the table. "Do you always plan your work that carefully?"

"I’m learning not to confuse being helpful with doing everything myself."

He laughed, a short, surprised sound. "I do too much. Every time. I hate relying on people."

"How’s that working for you?"

"Terribly."

It was the first time he had smiled. For a moment, they understood each other quite well, and then he went back to his clipboard and she to her list.

That afternoon she took the preliminary plan to the student administration office for its required review. She had expected a clerk. She found Lucien at a side desk, a stack of council papers at his elbow.

His eyes went to the sheets in her hand. "What are you organising?"

"The Autumn Social."

"Ah." He set down his pen. "Which requests need formal approval? I can clarify that."

"Please."

He did, clearly and quickly. Then he added, "I could contact the facilities office myself, if you wish."

"No, thank you. I’ve already written to them."

He accepted that without a flicker of offence, and merely turned her form around. "You have omitted the electrical inspection line."

"I have?"

"Here."

She corrected it. "Thank you."

She was nearly at the door when he spoke again. "You seem to enjoy this."

Roxanne turned. "I do."

"Then do not let the paperwork convince you otherwise."

She was still thinking about that sentence, a little warm, a little surprised, when she reached the corridor.

The volunteers reconvened at four. Roxanne laid out the revised plan on the big table: a central dance area, a small corner for games, food stalls along one wall, and quiet seating tucked away from the speakers.

"Move the games further from the food," Mason said at once. "Otherwise people will crowd the stalls."

"Good point."

"I’ll inspect the music equipment," said a boy from the sound team, before anyone asked.

"Lanterns are mine," said Wren.

"Fabric, mine," said Cordelia.

The tasks fell into place around the table like pieces into a frame. Nobody looked to Roxanne for every answer. She watched it happen and kept her hands flat on the paper. They finished the proposal an hour before the deadline and submitted it to the office with one minute to spare on the checklist and no heroics whatsoever.

It was not a perfect plan. It was a realistic one, and it belonged to all of them.

Afterwards she sat on the steps outside with a cup of tea, exhausted and quietly content. Isla dropped down beside her and bumped her shoulder.

"Is this worse than academy politics?"

"At least the decorations can’t file a complaint against me."

Isla laughed. When it faded, she said, more softly, "My family is still talking about whether I can stay. I have an appointment about the campus position tomorrow."

"That’s a good step."

"It’s a small one."

"They count." Roxanne wrapped both hands around the cup. "Keep exploring. Don’t stop because it’s slow."

Isla nodded, then tilted her head. "What do you want to happen at the Autumn Social?"

Roxanne opened her mouth and nothing came out.

She had thought about lanterns and budgets and power cords. She had not thought about herself standing in the finished room. She had been so busy making the evening work that she had never imagined enjoying it.

"I want to go as a student," she said slowly. "Not spend the whole night checking whether the lights are still on."

"Good," said Isla. "Then plan for that, too."

That evening her phone buzzed with a message from the academy administration.

The plan has been approved. Each volunteer team must provide a representative for a short coordination meeting with the student council tomorrow morning.

Roxanne read it twice and began to smile. Then a second notification appeared.

Lucien Moonstone has been assigned to chair the meeting.

Well, her wolf said. At least you know the chairman.

Roxanne put her phone face down on the blanket.

Don’t start.

I haven’t said anything.

Exactly. Keep it that way.