Chapter Text
She strode past him; not saying a word, not even batting an eyelid, despite his looming figure on her way.
Damian’s taut posture relaxed considerably. He even expressed his surprise by tracking the girl’s movements from the corner of his hazel eyes. She didn’t stop walking. She didn’t turn around. And he was left ignored.
It was a miracle, Damian thought, that Anya, with her absurd antics and all, has, without a doubt, just avoided him.
It was unforeseen. It was inconceivable. It has to be the best day of his life. His brows creased slightly into a frown.
“Did shorty just ignore us?” Emile remarked, overtly eyeing the pink-head from a short distance.
“She just did. Maybe she finally grew tired of her own schemes.” Ewen patted the scion on his back, a pleased smile adorning his face. “Well done, boss-man. Your forbearance has been rewarded.”
“Don’t let your guard down so easily,” Damian huffed, roughly shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, his eyes boring holes into the girl’s small back. “This is obviously one of her ludicrous games. And your reactions are probably the outcome she was expecting.” His keen eyes caught Becky’s sideway glance while she conversed with the pink-headed girl. The latter attempted to tilt her head to the side, to probably sneak a glance as well, but Becky’s forefinger poked her cheek into a halt, then pushed her head back straight ahead.
Damian’s frown relaxed, flattened back to its usual impassiveness. “Just play along. No need to make it a big deal.”
“Perceptive as always, boss-man.” Ewen praised, eyebrows raised in admiration. “You’re right. Let’s not indulge her into doing things her way.”
He didn’t respond back. It didn’t seem to bother his two friends, so he remained silent throughout the way.
Damian sauntered on while his lackeys followed suit; His head held high, his bearing upright, his face as stoic as the calm seas, all while still fixated on the particular girl a few meters ahead of him.
Stiff movements, elbows tucked into her sides, and fingers tight around the straps of her bag. She was acting peculiar today. At one point, her upper body twisted to the side, still chatting with her friend, her face contorted into an unusual grimace, all while sneaking a glance at him. And, of course, being the usual hyper-aware boy that he was, he caught her act so easily, bright emerald eyes locking on his hazel ones for as short as a millisecond, and she immediately whipped her head back. He wasn’t able to see her reaction, but the way she started flailing her hands around immediately while her best friend scolds her about something, side-eying him numerous times in between her ramblings, heavily implied that she was troubled. About something that involves him. Highly probable that it’s about him.
Damian’s impassiveness melted to the faintest degree, and he almost snorted.
The Forger girl, while somehow trying her best to stay discreet, was ironically too obvious through her body language.
For all he knows, she was probably thinking of new ways to torment him.
And for what reason? Ambiguous. Always has been.
Anya’s never-ending schemes. That was a huge part of his daily academy life, and she hasn’t changed since then. She’s everywhere. She followed him like a loyal disciple. She clung to him like he was her air to breathe. She’s lately becoming more persistent at making his life harder than it should be. And that, somehow, was the only goal she was currently trying to achieve, at least according to him, and for reasons unknown to him.
Before, he simply went to school. Now, he needs to survive school. That’s how prominent Anya imprinted herself into his life.
But fortunately, behavior-wise, she was an open book; a transparent film. She may have questionable motivations, but her simplistic approach made it easier for him to somehow understand a part of her thought process, specifically the ones involving him.
So that’s where Damian laid all his concern whenever she was nearby, and thank the heavens it was enough to survive the tornado that is Anya. Her lack of secrecy in her gestures led to his accurate predictions of her next moves. It was laughably the foil of almost all her schemes so far, and it always gave him the utmost satisfaction of seeing how she was taking so much effort at getting his attention, only to fail miserably due to her inept subtlety, and how she would be frustrated every time, taunting him, swearing by her name that she will not give up, with conviction in her voice and fire in her eyes.
And it fascinates him every time. What an admirable resolve; for something so shallow and unnecessary. What was she trying to achieve? What was the reason? All these childish banters and deviousness. Is she seeing a bigger picture he isn’t able to? With that peanut brain of hers? Is that even possible?
How enigmatic; for someone so predictable.
But still admirable, nonetheless.
He shouldn’t even feel that way.
And yet…
It irks him to no end that despite knowing all this useful information regarding Anya Forger, he still couldn’t completely grasp them, get used to them, make his stupid heart stop at having a mind of its own. He always thought he was carefully guarded, but then she would flash him that comical smile of hers, and his chest would twist uncomfortably. It was stupid, even borderline unsightly, but his face will heat up regardless, because whatever that she does, it felt charmingly light, like the fluttering wings of a thousand butterflies; the same butterflies that would settle in his gut for long periods of time; Alarmingly, beyond-comfort, and dangerously long periods of time.
Too long that, in a span of a few months, it inevitably became a part of him. The supposedly fleeting emotion embraced him whole, not wanting to let go.
So that’s why, for the first time since the day she spewed yakisoba burger all over his head, when she denied him of that same smile, of her usual outrageous antics, he was, believe it or not, stunned. He remembered how the tiniest of doubt bloomed in his heart the moment her unwonted calculating eyes met his, and the disregard of his presence, the lack of spirit and spontaneous bursts of energy in her movements almost rendered him static in his spot.
She hasn’t uttered one word, and it left him empty. Unsatisfied. Disappointed.
He may not have been obvious about it, but it stung. Despite being sure that it’s all part of her scheme, her display of indifference, and the abrupt change of her attitude, hurt him in ways he cannot fully describe.
But only for a short period of time. He reverted back to his logical self when realization seeped in.
The realization that Anya, enigmatic and all, is still predictable, even if it’s only on the surface level. It doesn’t matter what she thinks, as long as Damian knew the hows of it. That’s how he’ll survive.
It was just a part of her numerous schemes. Nothing is changing. And, even if so, it shouldn’t be a big deal.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
“Becky, Anya thinks this is not working.” Anya, with eyebrows furrowed, eyes half closed, and mouth wide and upturned downwards, stated in distress. Her small hands were clenched tightly beneath the table on her lap, quivering, wanting to break free from her supposedly nonchalant façade.
Becky shushed her with her finger barely touching the side of her lips. She was smiling oh so sweetly, much more experienced in showing off her phony smile. “Be quiet Anya, or Desmond will notice.” She muttered under her breath.
She suddenly swiped the finger across the skin just beside Anya’s lips. “Oh, Anya! You’re so clumsy. Eat your peanuts more gently.” Anya almost gawked, almost impressed with Becky’s splendidly convincing performance if not for the inner turmoil that was ravaging her insides since this morning.
How could Becky improvise a line so smoothly, knowing that her friend’s status as the Forger’s daughter is at stake?
Scratch that, Anya thought. Becky, of course, possessed not even a fraction of an idea of her aforementioned predicament. What she knew, instead, was Anya’s anxious desperation of befriending the second son. But Becky, being the hopeless romantic that she is, completely misunderstood her state, and went on about different proposals and techniques on how to woo the boy instead.
It was going on for a few months now, with Becky currently owning five notebooks of various ways to execute their plans, four of them rendered useless by Damian’s incredibly annoying wit, and Anya gradually losing bits of her composure as time progresses.
To clarify, Anya was very much aware of the misunderstanding, but she let it slide since she had no idea of how to even start it by herself. And besides, if there was one person much more capable than her when it comes to socializing with the higher echelons of society, it was none other than the rich and influential Becky Blackbell herself, who stands proud and equal along the likes of a Damian Desmond.
But despite all that, so far, nothing was effective. Damian was still the mega jerk that he was, with his smug smiles and superiority complex as intact as steel. Becky was running out of ideas, her drama and soap opera recordings at home were almost used up to the latest episodes. Anya was growing apprehensive day by day, taking as many ideas Becky could provide and carry them out regardless of their absurdity, solely due to the pressure of the most important competition of the century.
The battle of the friendship schemes. Her opponent? None other than her mama, and Anya’s target’s mother, Melinda Desmond. And together, they form the infamous Plan C: The mommy-friendship scheme.
Anya recoiled. Plan C. Just the mere thought of it sent shivers down her spine.
But she will not surrender to her fears. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let them prevail in the end. It has to be her and her sy-on boy that should cross the finish line.
And with that, Anya utilized all of her advantages at their greatest.
Due to her telepathy, she could effectively monitor her mama’s progress, and it was infuriatingly going smoothly these past few days. Her mother was officially a member of Damian’s mother’s group, bringing her closer to her significant target. Although Damian’s mother hasn’t revealed important matters yet, the fact that her mama was slowly becoming her favorite person among the group was threatening enough, analyzed and proven through her mama’s memories.
She was even becoming more familiar with the other mothers now, which were mostly the wives of the most influential families connected to the Desmonds; some were successful businesspeople, doctors, lawyers, and fellow politicians; all of them make up their group, The Lady Parrots Sauce-ity, as her mama calls it, but whatever, she just called them parrots because it was far easier to remember.
Moreover, just two days ago, Anya was struck with the greatest threat of all when her mama informed them of her private meeting invitation with Damian’s mother alone. Her papa was ready to combust at the revelation, his eyes almost sparkling at the huge progress presented to him, and Anya, for the first time since the start of Operation Strix, wasn’t pestered into studying nor asked about his friendship with Damian that day. And as much as she liked the sole notion of it, the peace that Anya has been craving for since her adoption into the Forger family, she immediately dismissed it and was left in her room perched in the chair of her study table instead, scribbling numerous ways to execute her Plan B; anxious, assiduous, and wrapped up in her own panicking thoughts.
So that’s why she was currently quivering like a worm bathed in salt in her seat, face barely hiding her displeasure, because at the peak of her predicament, at the crest of her utmost desperation, Becky’s last resort was just as effective as satan ascending into heaven. Simply Impossible.
Plan 58: The Cold Shoulder Scheme. Pathetic.
She was deliberately ignoring her target, all while her mama was having private meetings with hers. It doesn’t make any sense.
Distressed, Anya let out a groan, struggling to act accordingly to Becky’s pitiful plan. “Anya doesn’t understand. To get closer to sy-on boy, Anya has to stay away from him? How does that work?” She complained with a deep frown slowly etching her face, the corners of her lips slanting downwards into a cave-like shape.
“Anya, contain yourself,” Becky responded, her forefingers forcing her lips into a smile. “It looked hopeless on the surface, but you’ll see as we make progress. This takes time to execute and is considered the most effective way, that’s why it’s the last option.” Becky’s amber eyes landed on a particular spot above them. Anya, still imprisoned by her forefingers, attempted to do the same, but Becky’s thumbs joined the aforementioned fingers against her skin, pinching her cheeks lightly to distract her. “We’ve worked hard enough. If Desmond still doesn’t fall for you after this, then he’s a heartless jerk.” She whispered, letting go of her reddened cheeks, endearingly patting them repeatedly shortly afterward.
Alarmed by her last statement, Anya seized the hands on her face and yanked them closer to her, earning a surprised yelp from the girl. “No Becky, it has to work!” She cried out almost loudly, the displeased frown on her face no longer there, replaced by that of worry.
She remembered the memory of her mama and Damian’s mother, laughing together, getting closer together. And then there’s her papa, lurking in the shadows of her mind, staring right back at her, cold and calculating, watching her every move. She gulped.
“Anya’s life is on the line here!” Anya’s hands squeezed around Becky tightly, the image of her father still embedded in her mind.
Becky’s hands immediately squeezed back, and she was pulled back into reality once more, even if for just a little bit. “Oh, Anya!” Becky cooed in awe, and it genuinely surprised Anya, because bright and hopeful amber eyes were the last thing she was expecting from her best friend. Especially when she was obviously crumbling apart. But that’s alright; because the confusion was strong enough that it somehow calmed her down.
Nevertheless, Becky continued on, and it was her turn to pull Anya’s hands closer to her, holding them as if they were her most prized possession. It attracted some of their classmate’s attention, and for some reason, Anya was suddenly self-conscious. “This desperation, this strong resolve! Truly admirable! I will not let you down!” She declared unabashedly, unable to contain herself, completely unbothered and giving no specks of care about the new set of watchful eyes on their way due to her sudden outburst.
“Oui,” Anya mumbled, shoulders slouched, ready to wilt in her seat just to hide from their new audience’s gaze.
Strings of incoherent words flew around her head, occupying every corner of her telepathic mind. They were loud. Their thoughts were loud. And normally, it irked her to no end because of this reason. But due to her current situation, she can’t help but be thankful for them.
How ironic, that these lumps of incomprehensible blather would provide her some peace.
And with that, Anya was lost in her thoughts, telepathic noises fading into a background blur as she pursed her lips.
Before becoming a Forger, Anya was adopted four times into different families. Two of them she barely even remembers, one of them she intends to forget, and the last one ending tragically. She has been passed on four times in a year, not having a permanent home, and with no familiar faces to hold on to.
Until she became a Forger. It was the first time that someone actually cared for her, albeit with political motives, but she didn’t mind. Her papa was kind, despite having no prior experience, despite being a spy. He had given her a home, her own bedroom, her naïve but sweet mama (who was an assassin), and an opportunity to go to school. And it makes her happy; because she only longed to have a house to shelter on and a person to share her warmth with, but this little family provided her a life. A chance to live. To enjoy being young. To be free.
And to suddenly strip her of all this normalcy just because she wasn’t useful anymore. Anya thinks it was unfair.
Anya whimpered, biting her lip in the process. Plan B is definitely a much faster option than Plan A. Highly possible too. And with the addition of Plan C, Anya has no choice but to lean more toward the friendship scheme simply because she was running out of time. It was impossible to garner six stella stars so quickly, even Damian was struggling at acquiring his third. And by the time she got all eight, she’s probably not a Forger anymore, with Operation Strix already complete, and her papa and mama nowhere in sight, never to be seen again.
Becky’s plan is all she has.
“Becky,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. Her enthusiastic friend leaned forward with a squeal. “Yes, Anya?”
“What if it fails?”
“Oh, don’t worry! It won’t!”
“But what if it does??” Anya whined, seizing her friend’s hand once again.
“Well…”
There was a short pause. Becky’s free hand went to her chin, earnestly thinking. Anya, silent and utterly hopeful, patiently waited.
Becky snapped her fingers, her smile as bright as the sun. “I’ll give you three packets of your favorite peanuts every day, for the whole year. That’s how much I’m betting on this!” She exclaimed, pride swelling in each of her words.
And Anya, poor little Anya, gaped at her, thoroughly and undeniably betrayed. Her best friend has offered her free supplies of peanuts for a whole year, thinking that it would appease her. It was unthinkable. It was preposterous. One-year supply of peanut? Three packets, every single day? Who in their right mind would agree to such negotiation?
Anya’s mouth closed. Her eyes narrowed for a fraction.
Wait, that actually sounds tempting.
She pursed her lips. Her simplistic oval eyes went around the room for a good second before they landed back on her expectant best friend.
“Becky, give me a packet of peanuts for a whole month and Anya will proceed with the plan.”
“Eh? But why?”
She didn’t respond. She only stared.
“Oh, alright!”
And just like that, Anya sprung up instantaneously, tall and confident, like a plant revived from its soil, refusing to wither.
Becky, on the other hand, was taken aback by her sudden movement, almost jumping on her seat. But then she saw the determination in her best friend’s eyes, and she was easily swayed.
What in the world is going on with those two? And as if God himself was helping her accomplish her goals, Anya was blessed with the voice of his target. It was boyish, it was incredibly annoying, and his tone was reflecting the air of his arrogance, but despite that, it gave her the motivation that she needed. And the more she thought about the second son and how annoying he was, the more she was convinced to do her best.
And when everything is done and Damian finally concedes, she’ll kick him in the butt. And because they were already friends by that time, he would probably let it slide.
Ugh, they’re hopeless. His voice came up again, and Anya, for the first time since this morning, finally let out a mischievous smile.
Damian Desmond. Her ultimate target. The key to her purpose. The judge of her life.
And her card for a whole month of peanuts.
Shadows loomed over her eyes as her head bowed down, her fringes tickling her button nose. The urge to turn around and look at the scion straight in the eye was strong, wanting to challenge him, to emphasize that she will not back down by appearing dominant, but for the sake of her mission, of her status as the daughter of the Forger Family, she ultimately restrained herself.
Instead, she squeezed the hands that belonged to her best friend, her major confidante, clinging onto the sight of her sparkling amber eyes, of her last hope.
Beneath the shadows, her eyes gleamed as bright, but not of sparks, but fire.
Our friendship scheme will succeed!