Gregory opened his mouth to argue about structural integrity, then closed it. He was learning to pick his battles.

Ava shrugged, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Yeah, well, Barbara’s the backbone. I’m just the… sequins."

"It's fusion , Gregory," Janine chirped, taping a paper menorah next a snowman wearing sunglasses. "It represents unity. The kids glued everything themselves. Look at little Malik—he used glitter on the dreidel. It's sentimental ."

"Janine, you can't have a single diorama with both a Kwanzaa kinara and a Chinese dragon," he whispered, adjusting a tack. "It’s geographically and thematically confusing."

That night, the MPC declared no winner. Instead, the district sent a single, sad fruit basket to the faculty lounge. But as the teachers sat among the glitter, the gravy stains, and the faint smell of electrical smoke, Janine held up a burnt corner of the dragon-dreidel diorama.

"Superintendent! Welcome to my school," Ava beamed, wearing a blazer covered in blinking Christmas lights powered by a hidden battery pack. "Don't mind Barbara. She’s about as exciting as beige wallpaper. Let me show you the real talent."