The Mashup Problems

People always say, “I’ll never forget this year.” Honestly, for me, it’s always the years that actually felt special that I can remember.

I’m Ciaran Curren, but my friends just call me Cia. This isn’t just a random and ordinary story I’m telling it’s a piece of who I am. Feels almost like family.

Let’s rewind to last year. Sure, you might think it’s just about new friends or starting at a new school, like other books. But there was way more to it than that. So, just hang on. I will tell you the whole story. But please remember. Im skipping the boaring parts. Because I don’t wanna make my story like Harry Potter, wasting my time to explain my story! So grab a drink and enjoy the story!

It was in the middle of autumn at Dream Institute. Situated in middle of the busy town, Maharagama. One day, they announced we were putting on a play called The Mashup Riders.

Our class teacher, Mrs. Rose asked who can volunteer for each things. I quickly jumped at the chance to be stage manager. Miles, my best friend, who wore a green color t shirt, offered to design the set. He’s straightforward, super talented and always reliable. Then there’s Mira, she handles all the tech stuff. Honestly, she’s the glue that holds us together. And she’s basically a cybersecurity genius. She wore a pink color shirt over a purple color denim trousers.

After the final bell, we all crammed into the grand, dusty theater for rehearsal, where the stage was dominated by a gigantic, sapphire-blue silhouette: a plywood masterpiece of the Udarata Menike-the legendary Up-Country Maiden.

If you’ve ever stood on a platform in Sri Lanka, you’d recognize her instantly; she is the iron heartbeat of the Highlands, a sky-blue dragon that begins its journey at the sea-level bustle of Kotuwa Station (Colombo Fort) and fights gravity to climb nearly 6,226 feet into the clouds.

As she winds toward her final destination in Badulla, she carries passengers through a cinematic landscape of green tea carpets, past the thundering silver spray of waterfalls, and through the misty, dark echoes of Tunnel 18. She is a magic portal to a world of wonder; for me, she is a magnificent piece of engineering history-and I’ll admit, I’m completely obsessed.

That day, the stage was thick with fake mist and the sharp smell of ozone.

Nell-my another friend, who landed the role of the lead character Zoey-stood up on the huge observation deck. She delivered her line with that sweet, dramatic voice of hers that, honestly, drives me up the wall. “The iron wheels scream against the mountain tracks, carrying us from the heat of Colombo to the misty heart of Badulla.”

I snuck a glance at Mira and whispered, “The only thing screaming in here is her voice. You see the fog? Fog machine’s going nuts.” Mira frowned. “Cia, the power’s spiking. It’s not just the fog machine. Something’s sucking power from the canteen.”

Suddenly Nell shouted, “Ciaran! I’m supposed to be in a beautiful mountain forest, not a car wash. Why is this mist turning green?”

I couldn’t believe it-the mist was actually turning green. I blurted out, “Green? That’s not supposed to happen. Miles, check the mist machine”

Miles shouted back, “I’m checking, but the lights are flickering, dude! I can feel it in my teeth something’s buzzing.”

Right before I could lose it, everything went dark. And then the power’s out. And of course, it’s 5:30. Our teacher had no choice but to cancel the rehearsal.

Everyone packed up and left, except me. I just sat down on the stage manager’s chair, frustrated and alone. Then something weird happened. It felt like the train had actually stopped. I pulled back the heavy velvet curtain.

“All right, -joke’s over. If this is some grade eight prank, I am reporting you.”

But it wasn’t a prank. This girl (maybe my age) stood there in a t-shirt covered in stars. Her eyes had this faint glow, almost electric. Her sleek, dark bob was styled asymmetrically, with a sharp sweep of hair falling seductively over the left side of her face, half-veiling her eye in shadow. In her lap rested a green emerald, pulsing gently.

She looked right at me. “Is the iron queen gone? The one who shouts about the tracks?”

“You mean Nell? Yeah, she took off. Wait hold up for a second, who are you? How did you even get in here?”

She grinned. “Security can’t stop a falling star, Ciaran. I’m Kahuna, and I protect the greatest mashup emerald. It can merge and portal the both my world and your world. And your drama? It’s about to get real.”

I froze. “How do you know my name?!”

She shrugged. “I heard the iron queen say it. Simple as that.”

I squinted at the emerald, expecting it to be just some prop. But even looking at it made my hands tingle. “Is that thing... real? Because it’s making my fingers numb.”

Kahuna’s eyes got serious. “Yes it’s real. If we don’t hide the emerald before the ghosthand finds the signal, your ‘Dream institute’ won’t be the only thing turning to dust.”

It was wild felt like a dream, but so vivid. And suddenly, I realized: I wasn’t just the stage manager anymore. Like it or not, I’d become a guardian. Of a guardian.