As they made their way to school, Letha made sure to put her brother between her and Mickey. He seemed to noticed, chatting animatedly with Hadrian, but meeting her eyes over his head. After two such incidents, Letha fixed her gaze on the concrete. As they walked through the gate, brother and sister parted in silence, Hadrian starting across the courtyard, and Letha striding towards her tree.

Mickey looked between them, standing still. He rocked back on his heels, digging his hands into his pants pockets, “Ok.”

He waved in Hadrian’s direction as the boy turned to talk to someone. As Hadrian returned the gesture, Mickey turned to hunt down his sister. He received smiles and greetings from people as he passed, but no one ventured to talk to him, not after the company he had been keeping. Curious younger children stared at him, in awe of the boy who would speak to Letha Antitheus.

Standing under the Jacaranda, peering up into the foliage, Mickey grinned. Letha had her eyes shut, leaning back against the wood contentedly, with a foot dangling by Mickey’s head. She wasn’t scowling. Lowering his backpack to the base of the trunk, he fixed his foot above a branch and hauled himself up. As the tree quivered, her eyes flashed open.

“Letha, you sleep in the weirdest of places; old cemeteries,” he eyed the ground cautiously, “precarious trees…”

Snorting, the girl turned her face away, “If you don’t like it, feel free to leave.”

Instead, he settled himself opposite her, “so, why do you come up here? Why do you go to the cemetery?”

“Because usually I don’t have people breathing down my neck,” Letha muttered. It wasn’t a lie; the people who annoyed her amongst the headstones didn’t breath.

Mickey nodded, “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re a bit anti-social.”

Letha looked at him dryly, “Does that mean social retard, loser, and inhuman freak?” she didn’t wait for a reply, “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

Smirking, Mickey looked out across the courtyard, watching the people mingle. A few cast worried looks at the tree, but shadows hid Letha and him from their stares. Letting out a puff of mist, Mickey shrugged. A familiar face caught his eye, and Mickey wiggled further along the branch to see. As the whole tree trembled, Letha turned back, hiding her curiosity with a deep scowl.

Zach was standing awkwardly by himself, looking at the tree in concern. He saw Mickey, and hailed him, raising his other hand to chew his thumb nail. Concerned, Mickey clambered down, collecting his bag. He strolled across to the boy, frowning. Still in the tree, Letha opened an eye to watch

“What’s the matter, Zach?”

He fidgeted, not meeting Mickey’s gaze, “What are you doing?”

“I’m befriending people,” the boy responded, “Is that a crime?”

“It looks like you’re alienating people, Michael.”

Letha watched as Mickey scowled, actually angry, for the first time since she’d known him, “Well then, its not what it looks like, Zachary.”

People started to gather closer, drawn by the raised voices. Most raised cautious eyes to the Jacaranda that towered ominously behind Mickey. He scowled, throwing his arms wide.

“Does anyone feel alienated or disrespected by me?”

Letha laughed coldly, calling, “Use smaller words.”

Mickey made a noise, “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not supposed to be,” she said with a wicked grin.”

Their peers had grown quiet, gathering closer, and Letha rested her head on her hands, stretching out along the length of the branch. She wished she had popcorn.

Mickey tried again, “Is anyone insulted by my spending time with Letha?”

Several people flinched at her name, but no one spoke.

“This isn’t a silent auction,” Mickey called loudly, twirling to encompass everyone in his invitation, “Place your bet, have your 50c worth!”

A girl stepped forward, encouraged by her posse, and flipped her golden hair behind her shoulder, “Letha’s a bitch, but you’re cute and sweet. Why are you hanging out with her?”

Mickey blushed.

Scowling furiously at the girl, Letha commented, “A bid from the thinker herself, there.”

The girl kissed her rude finger, flipping it at Letha, and, up in the foliage, Letha caught it. She ground air to imaginary dust in distaste, sneering.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Everyone has been telling me to stay away from Letha, but the evidence against her is all conjecture and rumour.”

Letha opened her mouth, but Mickery cut her off without looking, “Shut up, Letha.”

“I saw her throw a kid against a locker a few months ago,” someone called from the back.

The boy from the day before stepped forward, “She’s a bitch, dude; Tit for Tat.”

“Doesn’t ‘Treat others as you would like to be treated’ ring any bells?” Mickey asked dryly of no one in particular. He sighed, “I am trying to help her…”

“Woah,” Letha sat up, balancing easily, “I don’t need, want or encourage your help.”

Mickery ignored her, “I’m new, but I don’t think anyone, even Letha, could have down something so terrible as to be ostracised from the entire grade. Well,” He corrected himself, eyeing the large group, “the entire school.”

Fuming, Letha swung her legs to the side, looping her arms around the branch. She slid off, dangling for a second before landing in a puff of dirt. She strode over to Mickey.

“Did you hear me?” she yelled, “I don’t need your help, so back off!”

She turned to the crowd, grinning maniacally, “And all of you; let’s just continue to hate me, and I’ll remember to be thankful I’m not your idiotic, homo-erectus selves.”

Storming away from them, Letha was nearly out of ear-range when the girl said, “Don’t worry about it Mickey; Dr John and, like, a million teachers have tried to work out her issues.”

Letha paused, turning slowly. Her smile was polite, and Mickey grew worried.

“And millions of plastic surgeons have tried to work out yours,” her eyes assessed the girl quickly, “Good luck to them.”

All Letha saw was Mickey’s wince, as he clapped a hand over his eyes. Then, the girl’s claws were raking over her face. Her nails dug into Letha’s face as her slap twisted her neck. Facing Mickey, she grinned in outrage, swivelling her head back slowly.

“Are you trying to put my nose out of shape too?” she asked quietly.

The girl set on her with a screech, kicking and flailing with long limbs. A ring caught her across the forehead, forming a gash, and her shins copped a beating. Giving her a rough shove, Letha sent the girl sprawling.

Glowering down at her, she wiped tentatively at her forehead, “All’s fair in hate and war.”

The girl grimaced at her, tossing her head, “Why don’t you just go dies,” she snarled, “You frickin’ … prostitute!”

Letha’s anger faded from her face, leaving it blank and frosty. She took a deliberate step forward.

“What did you call me?”

Mickey grabbed her around the waist before she lunged, holding her back as she kicked and snarled.

“How dare you, you skank You’ve slept around enough for everyone in this shitty little town! How dare you!”

Someone helped the frightened girl to her feet, “You’re crazy,” she stuttered, “bloody Rabid.”

Someone coughed, low and official, and the teenagers parted. A man, the glasses resting on the bridge of his pronounced nose preceding dark and solemn eyes, stepped forward slowly, looking between Letha, Mickey, Zach, the girl and the boy from the day before.

He sighed, “Zachary, Michael, Natalie, Cameron and Letha. My office, now.”

Boy and girl tramped off quickly, and Mr Cordell followed. The crowds dissipated as the bell rang, leaving only three standing in the middle of the schoolyard.

Letha shook Mickey off, trembling with rage. He kept a hand out, like her expected her to faint, but lowered it when she growled.

“I’m not some damsel you need to rescue. I’ve been taking care of myself for the last 16 years, and it’s been a lot harder since you got here.”

“Have you though?” Mickey just looked at her, irking Letha further.

“What is that supposed to mean, Confucius?”

“It means you’re not ok, Letha. When youre mask comes off, I can see the bruises. When you close your eyes, I can see your pain. When you talk to people, I can see you fight yourself on every word.”

Letha threw her hands in the air, “Then you’re seeing things! I don’t have bruises, I don’t feel pain, and I don’t fight myself. You might have a split personality at  masquerade ball, but not me.”

Mickey smiled softly and Letha stormed off towards the office.

“If you say so,” he muttered/

Turning to Zach, he sighed, “Good job, Zach.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy muttered, “I was just checking that you were thinking with your head.”

“AS opposed to thinking with my…” he trailed off, “You know, I don’t want to know.”

They followed Letha, trailing through the school. Mickey grimaced, rubbing his eyes.

“Letha was right,” he sighed, “It’s not the boy who cried ‘witch’ who gets burnt at the stake, it’s the person he points to.”

AS they sauntered into the office, Mr Cordell was chastising Cameron and Natalie. The girl’s shrill complaints emanated from behind the door, and though the secretary kept typing, the young man sitting beside Letha seemed to flinch.  Dr John was scrawny, and staring at the tiled floor in concern. When the two boys entered, he lunged to his feet and offered them his hand.

“You must be Michael white,” he said, smiling politely, “and you mut be Zachary white.”

They shook hands.

“I;m Dr John, the school councillor. Feel free to come to me for anything, any time.”

Letha sat up straighter.

“That does not apply to you, Letha,” Dr John added dryly.

Mickey grinned at him broadly, “Finally, someone not scared of Letha.”

She snorted, scowling at him, but Dr John just nodded non-committedly.

Natalie and Cameron filed out of Mr Cordell’s office, glaring fiercely at Letha. To Mickey’s surprise, she just rose, slipping into the Principal’s room. Mickey went to follow, but Dr John caught his arm.

“I’m not unafraid of Letha,” he said quietly, “I know barely anything about her. I’ve seen her 5, 6 times a week since she’s been here and I know hardly anything. I don’t know why she chooses to be the way she is, and I don’t know what she’s capable of. Only an idiot isn’t scared of Letha Antitheus.”

“Well,” Mickey said, straightening an imaginary tie, “You’re looking at one homespun, dyed-in-the-wool, loose-weave idiot.” He frowned, “and by the sound of those metaphors I could also be a scarf.”

Dr John laughed reluctantly. The boy disappeared, but Zachary stepped up, looking nervously into the office. He gulped.

“I’m smarter than Mickey,” Zach muttered, “and terrified.”

The doctor patted him on the back, closing the door as the boy shuffled inside. Mr Cordell’s office was sparsely decorated, with a neat desk, several filing cabinets and the school trophy cabinet. Letha was slouched in one of two armchairs, plucking the leaves from a potted plant. Mickey noticed and opened his mouth to chastise her, but the principal cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it; it’s fake. After the 1st three she killed, I thought it would be easier. I get a new one brought in every week.”

Mr Cordell smiled politely at the two boys, “It’s a pleasure to see you both again, gentlemen, though I had hoped it would have been under better circumstances.”

Neither Mickey nor Zach could think of a response. The Principal walked to his chair and sunk into it, rubbing the back of his neck. Moving forward, the White boys stood behind the second chair, one to either side. Mickey was to the left, Zach to the right, and Letha seated further over.

The man looked at Letha, “Well, Miss King and Mr Scott have told me their side of the story. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Letha flashed him a smile. It was neither warm nor real.

“Sir, this was not my fault.”

Mr Cordell rolled his eyes, “As usual.”

“Is that bias?” Letha asked loudly, glaring at him. Her happy façade was fading.

“Of course not, Letha,” their principal shook his head, “You were saying?”

“Sir, I was minding my own business, when I was viciously attacked. I acted in self-defence, only to be sworn at and called something very unflattering.”

“And the boys?” he asked.

Mickey opened his mouth, but the principal silenced him with a hand. Glaring at all three males, Letha took a deep breath.

“They….interfered,” Letha muttered.

The man shook his head, “the other two maintained that they were defending you.”

“Like I said, they interfered.”

Mr Cordell shook his head, “You’ve got bal…” he stopped, biting his tongue, “I’m not allowed to say that….You’ve got brawn, Letha, mental brawn.”

Letha and Mickey both raised an eyebrow, and Zach grew more frightened.

With a weak cough, the principal shrugged, “Well, Zachary, unless you have anything to say, you may leave. I am aware that you were not involved with this.”

Nodding frantically, the boy turned to the door. His jiggled the handle, but it was locked.

“Just knock, Mr White, and Mrs Welk will unlock it for you.”

Mickey looked curiously at the principal, “You lock yourself in your office?”

“I’ve noticed that students try to run out of this office regularly, like they’re running from Hell itself.”

Letha sunk lower into her chair, “Maybe not from but to.”

The boy shot her a look, but continued questioning the principal, “How do you get out if your secretary isn’t there?”

“I have a key,” Mr Cordell grinned, “Which Letha has been unable to find.”

“Which I have yet been unable to find,” she corrected tersely, “And today I have another guess; is it in the Sports Carnival Trophy, years 1989 through 2009.”

The principal shook his head, smirking, and Letha scowled, crossing her arms across her chest. The plant sat on the table beside her, disregarded, its leaves discarded in the pot. The branches were plastic twigs, crooked and twisted, brown like mud.

The chubby secretary, obviously annoyed at having had to rise, swung the door open, letting Zach scurry out before tilting her head at Mr Cordell.

“Is that all, Harry?” she asked nasally.

The principal nodded and the door clattered shut, the lock clicking into place.

Letha leant forward, “Harry, it’s all been a big misunderstanding. I am not at fault, but merely on the receiving end of some serious and violent bullying.”

Mr Cordell shook his head sadly, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Miss Antitheus.”  

“Few do,” she said with a sneer, “hence my being here.”

Mickey opened his mouth, but Letha swung her head to glare at him, “Great. You’re still here.”

He smiled at her, “You thought I’d just drifted out with the dust?”

“Hoped is more like it. Plus, like terms stick together.”

Chuckling, Mickey turned to the older man, “Are you aware of the grievous charges being laid upon Letha by our peers?”

“Knight it freaking shining armour,” Letha cussed, “Speaking of charges, how would I go about filing a restraining order?”

Her principal ignored her, “I am, Michael.”

“And what have you done to counteract these charges?”

Letha stood with a hiss, glaring at him, “You just can’t mind your own damn business, can you?”

Mr Cordell leant to the side, speaking around her, “Counteracting the truth, Mr White, is what leads to homophobia, teen pregnancy and Nazi’s. I try not to impress my beliefs upon other people.”

Mickey frowned, “the truth?”

Letha muttered something unpleasant.

Rising, Mr Cordell reached into the nearest filing cabinet, casting a slightly concerned look at the extremely vexed Letha. He drew out a Manilla folder, leafing through it carelessly with his lips pursed.

“Somewhere in here, you’ll find the truth about those incidents, I’m sure,” he said, tossing the stack onto the desk. It was bulging, and sheets skidded across the wood. Mickey picked the top piece up gingerly, sinking into the chair.

“That’s going to take a lot of sifting to find Letha’s file,” he grumbled.

Smiling softly, Mr Cordell shook his head, “That is her file.”

Letha was extremely gratified to see Mickey’s jaw drop. He gulped.

“Do you mind if I take this home? A ‘bit of light reading’, as they say.”

“As Hermione Granger says, more like,” Letha mumbled.

“If Letha doesn’t mind,” Their principal shrugged.

Still glaring, Letha let out a grunt, “Be my guest.”

Mickey ran his hand across his forehead, massaging his temple, “I would still like to discuss how Letha is being treated.”

Mr Cordell, seated once more, leant back in his chair, “Do you now?”

Mickey didn’t hear him over Letha’s verbal explosion, “You what? Your learning curve is slower than a fat snail fighting friction.”

She stampeded to the door, rattling the handle.

“Is there somewhere you’d rather be, Miss Antitheus?” Her principal asked.

“Yeah,” she snapped, “in Hell.”

Irritated, she began knocking furiously, slamming her fist against the wood.

“Would you now?”

Mickey struggled to be heard over her tapping, “Letha, in my opinion, needs help, sir?”

Letha screamed, “Someone better let me out of here, before I massacre the entire school!”

“How,” Mr Cordell asked quietly, “Will you do that if you’re still in here?”

“It’s not a well thought out plan,” Letha said, turning her head so they could see her smile glint violently, “so I’ll have to inflict the same amount of pain on the pair of you.”

“See what I mean?” Mickey said. He didn’t flinch when Letha screeched again.

“Just because I’m not some temperamental, sassy, idiotic floozy doesn’t mean I need yours, or anyone else’s, help,” she picked up the plant, weighing it in her right hand.

“Your current behaviour may not be the best example of ‘not temperamental’,” Mr Cordell said, examining his nails.

“If someone doesn’t let me leave,” Letha snarled, “I’m lobbing this through that window.” With the pot plant, she gestured to the light blinds hanging behind Mr Cordell. They covered a large window that looked out over the schoolyard.

Mickey scowled at her, “Stop being childish. I’ve seen the bruises, Letha. Whatever you’re dealing with…”

“If you want to know something, read the damn file. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Mr Cordell had looked up though, “I’ve read the beaver file, but I’d still like to ask; What bruises?”

As her breath slowed and her eyes narrowed, Letha glared at Mickey. For a moment, he could see the desperate lunacy everyone else saw, could read her whole soul in her eyes, but then she blinked and it was gone. Mickey was back feeling like he was on the wrong side of a locked door. Letha threw the plant with all her might, shattering glass across the room. Both males brought up their hands, but she let the shards graze her cheek and arms without flinching.

“Letha!” yelled Mr Cordell, “A bit of warning would have been appreciated.”

Mickey gazed at him in wonder.

“I gave you warning, Harry,” Letha scolded, treading gingerly on broken glass as she manoeuvred to the window, “and seriously; you had two teenagers locked in your office with you. It’s a wonder I’m not calling the police.”

Wrapping the curtain around her hand, Letha pulled it aside. The hole in the glass was jiggered, about a watermelon in size, but Letha roughly enlarged it. Mr Cordell watched her.

“Fair enough,” he muttered.

Mickey was still agog, unable to frame words or thoughts. As the hole expanded, a light breeze picked at his hair.

Dropping the material Letha attempted to smile politely, “I’m terribly sorry about the window, Harry. I was feeling claustrophobic. But, as there is now a rear exit to your office, I’ll take my leave of you via that way, and not trouble your fine secretary.” She bowed, “convey my best wishes to your wife.”

Stepping onto the window sill, Letha’s red hair billowed about her as she ducked through the space. On the other side, she saluted, sauntering off across the yard with a final hard glare at Mickey.

The boy shook himself, “I can’t believe she did that.”

Mr Cordell rolled his eyes, “She’s done worse.”

“I can’t believe you did that, sir.”

His principal shrugged.

“Seriously,” Mickey protested, “Letha just threw a pot through your office window, and you’re not angry.”

“Would you like to know why I’m not flushed liked a tomato and howling at the moon?”

Mickey nodded.

“There is a saying by a Swiss psychiatrist; ‘Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves’.”

After a pause, Mickey frowned, “That’s your explanation?”

Mr Cordell rearranged his glasses, looking past Mickey into the distance of his office wall, “The first plant of mine Letha ever deleafed was a gift from my mother-in-law. I hated it. It was one of the best days of my life when I got to throw that out.

“She’ll enver insult me to greatly, because I think she believes I actually have some power at Bill’s, other than that of rent payer. She won’t risk losing her food source; her survival instinct.”

Mikcey shook his head, “I don’t understand, sir.”

“Ok,” Mr Cordell licked his lips, “Regardless of what Letha Antitheus does, says or thinks to the contrary, she is a good person. I want to be still in favour when her rebellious, heartless, cynical alias falls.”

Nodding slowly, the boy rakes his hair out of his face. There was a rattle at the door, and both turned. Mr Cordell’s secretary stuck her head through the door.

“Did somebody knock?”