(Song of the chapter: 'Its Nice To Have A Friend' - Taylor Swift)

AVALON

I sat at a piano playing Elton John's 'I'm Still Standing'. I hummed the notes to myself a millisecond before my finger descended on the keys, as I was in the habit of doing. My hands flowed over them like a stream, creating a cascade of sound so rich it pooled all around me, enveloping me within its depths. Gladly, I let myself submerge.

And then the song finished, and I opened my eyes and found myself on solid ground, my butt parked onto the piano bench in the Music classroom.

Mr. Franz was scrutinizing me, his expression nearly owlish because of his glasses. I met his gaze, lifting my hands from the keyboard to prop my chin.

"I can also play the melody backwards," I said with a shrug.

"Indeed?" He removed his glasses and nibbled at one of the tips.

"How long did it take you to learn to play it?"

I scrunched my brows, trying to remember.

"Maybe a full afternoon," I said hesitantly. "Or well into the evening. I'm not sure."

Mr. Franz considered me. "Did you know how to play any other songs before you learned that one?"

I bobbed my head.

"Which was the first you learned how to play?"

I couldn't help my lip from tilting up in a smirk. "Baby Shark d-doo, d-doo, d-doo."

A loud snort came from the corner where Kit was tuning his guitar. I didn't look at him, but my amusement grew at the look of distaste on Mr. Franz's face.

"Would you like me to play it for you?" I asked him, batting my lashes innocently.

"Heavens, no." He scowled. He stepped closer to the piano, and put his glasses back on in order to peer down at it.

"Walk me through your process," he instructed. "How do you learn to play a song?"

"Well," I sat up straighter, feeling the ache that had been developing in my back lessen, "First I hear the song, obviously. If it gets stuck in my head, I go over to the piano and try to reproduce its melody. When I first started, I would play each key on the piano and compare it to the tune in my head, and if my memories didn't get the sound right, I'd replay the song on my phone and get it to match that.

"But that got frustrating, so I memorized the keys on the piano instead and the notes they produced. Then, whenever I heard a song I liked, I'd try to match every note to the key it would sound like. Kind of like I was rewriting the song in another language or code. And once I got good at that, it became easier to play stuff. I'd visualize which keys I needed to play first, then I'd try and do just that. Afterwards it was all just practice and practice till I could play it perfectly without any pauses."

Mr. Franz was silent for a few beats.

"Hmmm. I see." He opened his mouth to say something, then for some reason decided not to and closed it.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Which songs in your opinion were the easiest to completely learn?"

I shrugged, running a finger down one key. "It's always easier when I really like the song."

"Ever learned one that you didn't like?"

"Nope. Didn't bother to."

Mr. Franz turned around. "Kit, open up your playlist," he commanded. "I need you to play a song that's absolutely appalling, something nobody in their right mind would ever listen to."

Kit slowly looked up at Mr. Franz, an incredulous expression plastered onto his face.

"Why- why do you think I have such music on my phone?" He sounded mightily injured.

"Don't test me, boy," Mr. Franz berated. "Don't think I haven't heard you listening to music by that- that Playboy Carti fellow."

I couldn't help my bark of laughter, imagining what Mr. Franz's face must've looked like hearing the trap music. Kit looked amused by Mr. Franz's disapproval.

"Yeah, well, his songs aren't exactly made for the piano."

He looked at me then. I wiped off all the expression on my face as I returned his gaze.

"Is there any artist you've know about whose music you've never heard or even wanted to check out?"

I frowned, my brow crumpling. I mostly found out about artists through their viral music videos or from covers of their songs that really impressed me. Who did I know that I didn't want to know?

It suddenly came to me. "John Mayer!" I exclaimed, snapping my fingers.

They both looked at me in surprise.

"What's wrong with John Mayer?" Kit questioned. Mr. Franz angled his head like he was wondering the same thing.

"All Taylor Swift's enemies are my enemies," I told them, completely serious.

Kit just raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then tapped the screen a few times.

Music began to play. One of the most haunting, piercing melodies I'd ever heard punctured the momentary silence, rending it apart. All of a sudden I was frozen, helpless to do anything but stay glued to my seat as the song penetrated the space. It enthralled me, like a charmed rope shimmering as brightly as if it'd been coated with stardust, tantalizingly drawing closer as it headed straight for me. It circled me with its strand and I let it, let it tug me where it willed. Let it suck me in.

Again, the space around me dissolved. I was now sitting at the piano in a room shrouded with darkness so deep, I couldn't tell where its boundaries lay. The only light came from the piano keys, which gleamed like they had trapped moonlight itself. And the song surrounded us both– a male voice, smooth as butter, crooning with such a light cadence that I felt weightless.

It trailed off. I blinked and I was back in the room again. Regret and longing hit me with a pang at the departure of that sensation. I wanted to feel it again.

Kit and Mr. Franz were both staring at me. I immediately smoothed my face over, removing any indication of the emotions roiling in me.

"It's not bad," I managed to say.

Kit's lip quirked like he guessed the words I didn't say, but he only walked over and placed his phone facedown beside me.

"That's the song." I looked at the screen, reading the words 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room'.

"You can play it again if you need to."

I immediately tapped the 'play' button. The music filled me again. This time I hummed along to the opening notes, the melody already latched onto my brain and refusing to let go. My fingers moved, and I found myself able to play along once the melody repeated. They stilled when the first verse kicked in as I concentrated on placing which notes went with which keys.

I was so immersed in my task that Mr. Franz had to thump on the piano cover before I realized he'd been trying to get my attention.

"Our hour is almost up, young lady," he told me when I looked up inquiringly.

Oh. I'd have to finish this the next time.

"Do you know how to read sheet music?" He asked. I blinked the fog out of my eyes and tried to refocus.

"Not really," I told him.

"Hmm. Something to work on, at least." He brushed a speck of lint off his shirt and headed for the door.

"I'm not going to keep you. Just head for your class once the bell rings."

I watched his form disappear then looked back at the keyboard, feeling bummed that I wouldn't be able to master the song before I had to go. I hadn't made as much progress as I would have liked.

I was about to resume playing when Kit approached again. I tried not to stiffen as he took a seat beside me on the bench then picked up his phone, twisting it around and around in his palm.

"So I saw a pretty interesting video this weekend."

My eyes widened. I quickly tamped down on my reaction, but Kit had already seen it.

His brown eyes were filled with laughter as he looked at me. "It looked like a great party. Seems like you had a lot of fun."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I don't know what you mean." Jasper had, indeed, managed to get the video down. But apparently, the damage was already done.

Fake it till you make it, I told myself as I looked him in the eye and said, "Whatever connection you think this video you watched has to do with me does not exist. I do not know this 'party' or 'fun' that you speak of."

Kit's lips quivered as he stifled a smile. "Sure you don't," he drawled. He crossed his arms around his torso and turned to face me fully.

"I recognized your voice. You have impressive range." I blinked at the compliment, but his eyes glimmered with sincerity.

"I never knew just how impressive it is. You can sing, and rap too?" He surveyed me with what looked like genuine admiration. It rubbed me the whole way wrong.

I glared at him, finally allowing the feelings I'd been holding back to slip free.

"What is up with all the chit-chat? Why are you suddenly acting all buddy-buddy with me? What, is it because of this?" I waved an arm at the room we were in.

"Because we have music in common? That was really enough to make you stop hating me?"

Kit blinked slowly. I hated the fact that I'd let myself open and shared even a fraction of the thoughts and feelings that had constantly torn at me over the years. I reined them in, sealing up my all exposed areas so that whatever he said next wouldn't leave even the slightest of dents on me.

"I've never hated you, Avalon."

I paused, feeling the impact of his words despite my prior resolution. I'd expected uncomfortable shuffling, or even an 'Um...yeah?'. But not that.

I stared at him, not wanting to say anything else, reveal anything else. And then the bell rang.

Saved. I closed the fallboard and stood, now more than ready to yeet out of the classroom. Kit also rose from the bench.

"I'm not the only one." I froze again at his words, but I didn't look back at him.

"Look, I know you have every right to your version of everything that's happened to you. But you need to know, it's not everyone who had it out for you. We just – I just never really let myself know you. Or even tried to."

I stood there for a moment, taking in his words, his honesty. Then I walked out of the room.

_

I've never hated you, Avalon.

Kit's words remained on my mind while I sat at the bleachers during P.E., watching the activity happening all around me. I'd once again gotten a note from Alex excusing me from participating, and I used this time to study the athletes on the field.

Brandon was a few yards away, surrounded by jocks, all looking like they were about to play a game of soccer. Brandon had quickly been promoted to co-captain of the soccer team, soccer being the only sport it seemed he had an interest in. The other captain was Jacques.

I studiously kept my gaze away from the white-haired cacodemon and studied the rest of the guys on the field. Concentrating, I found that I could pick out the ones who had actively participated in my bullying. Who'd tripped me in the hallway, made me do their homework, put things in my locker and in my hair that had no business being there. I could count on two hands the number of people who'd tormented me, and enjoyed it, that were standing in front of me.

And then my eyes trailed over to the outliers. Guys I'd never seen before, those who'd never given me a dirty look or treated me like I was lesser than a person...but still did nothing.

They'd never even tried to know me, or know what I was going through. Those were Kit's words, but they weren't excuses– and he hadn't made them out to be. What would've happened if they'd tried to know me, if they'd seen me as a person they could relate to even the tiniest bit?

I remembered Kit tugging me behind his back and hiding me from Jacques' goons. Would they have done that, helped me as he did? Or would they have remained on the fence, watching but unmoving, like department store mannequins?

I shifted in my seat, raising a leg to prop my chin on, then folded my arms around it. They probably would have remained cowards, I concluded easily. After all, I had no obligation to give them the benefit of the doubt. I owed them nothing.

My attention returned to the field once I noticed movement. The jocks seemed to be divided into two teams, and both were going to play against each other. Jacques was the leader of one team, Brandon the other.

I sat up, watching intently. I wasn't about to miss Brandon wiping the floor with Jacques.

All seemed ready, and the coach was about to blow the whistle. But then Brandon raised his hand and shook his head. All the players looked at him questioningly. He muttered a few things, then held out his hand again, this time saying wait. Then, without pausing another second, he turned around and started to jog across the field.

Towards me.

I could only blink as he approached. He cleared the yards that separated us and came to a stop right in front of me.

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Uh, hey Brandon," I greeted tentatively.

He looked down at me, to my left, and smiled. "Hi."

I stared at him. He was silent for a few moments. Then, "Would you like to be on my team?"

I bleated like a goat that had just gotten a cattle prod to the posterior. "Say what, now?"

He tilted his head at me. "Wouldn't it feel better to play than to just sit here alone?"

"Uh..." I was entirely speechless. I shook my head, trying to get my brain's switch to flip the other way.

"I mean, there's only guys on the field. There aren't any girls playing." Finally, some logic.

Brandon only shrugged. "If you join the match, there will be."

He really didn't see any problem with that. I tore my eyes away from him and looked at the players on the field. Cowards and monsters and... Jacques, the god who ruled the school, who made them all like that.

Whose icy blue eyes were currently narrowed as he fixed his gaze on me from across the field.

I abruptly turned my eyes back to Brandon. "I don't–" I had to pause to lick my suddenly dry lips.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

The fingers of one of Brandon's hands started fluttering, as if he'd been suddenly tickled by a fairy.

"Please?"

I stared at him, once again speechless.

"I could use you on my team."

His fingers continued to wiggle, and I stared at them, entranced. I even felt the tiniest bit mesmerized. Because he'd just told me I was useful. I'd never thought any of the Horsemen felt that way about me. I usually had the sense that they were simply taking it upon themselves to drag my dead weight everywhere, and then sticking with me for some reason when all I did was wreak havoc.

But useful...yes, I wanted that.

Electrified, I stood up. "Yeah, I'm game," I said breathlessly.

Brandon smiled at my chin. "That's great. Come on."

Together, we headed back to the field, where the soccer players were waiting. I glanced over them once then fixed my eyes on the coach, not letting myself feel how sweaty my palms had gotten.

The coach narrowed his eyes at me when we reached them.

"What is it, Perry?"

"I want her on my team," Brandon stated simply. They stared at him.

"We were uneven. She makes up the difference." When the coach said nothing, still flabbergasted, Brandon just shrugged.

"It's one game. What's the harm?"

The coach's eyes softened. He must really like Brandon.

But then he turned to me and the look disappeared.

"Aren't you usually exempt from P.E because of some medical excuse?"

I tried not to fidget. The coach was a big, burly man with dark hair that was already showing some white. The look in his eyes said he'd seen it all and heard it all, and had little time for bullshit.

"Uh, y-yeah. It's because I have this, um, usually very terrible condition called..." I scrambled for something, anything to say.

"...SPS."

The coach raised his eyebrows. Behind him, two jocks exchanged confused glances.

"What's SPS?" One of them whispered.

"Dunno," the other shrugged. Skinny Pants Syndrome, my mind filled in. I didn't dare say it out loud.

"It attacks me now and then, but today is a good day! I'm alright to play." I let my eyes widen and blinked my lashes, trying to look as convincing as possible.

The coach considered me for a long moment, then he finally shrugged. Most likely he thought it was some girlish disease that he didn't even want to know about.

"Alright then. Each team go huddle up and plan your strategies with your captains," he commanded.

We were about to do so when one guy piped up. It was Aaron Anderson, who had stolen my school bag more times than I could count and thrown it, lunch and all, into the trash. He was now smirking at me, his eyes filled with malicious glee.

"Can we be divided into shirts and skins, Coach?" He jerked his chin at our team.

"Can they be skins?"

The coach turned to glower at him balefully.

"Shut it, Anderson. You wanna be a wise guy or you wanna play soccer?" His tone was as gruff as a grizzly bear's.

"'Cause if you don't, I'll have no problem kicking you off my field like a ball."

Aaron shrank into himself, quivering under the force of that glare.

"No need, Coach. I'm sorry, Coach."

"Shut it," Coach seethed.

"Yes, Coach."

"SHUT IT!"

Aaron shut it.

I clamped my own lips together tightly so my laugh wouldn't slip out. Our team walked over to our side of the field, and we all huddled in to listen to Brandon outline our game play.

"Jackson, you're the goalkeeper," He nodded at some guy with shoulders that were broad as hell. I was sure nothing would be able to get past the guy.

"Felix, you're the left fullback. Leon's usually their right winger, but his right foot lags just the littlest bit before he kicks. You need to be on him, pressing against his weakness so he doesn't manage to get a good shot."

Felix nodded, puffing out his chest proudly with determination in his eyes. Brandon continued to talk, assigning players to where they would have the most advantage, pointing out their strengths and what they were capable of.

I could only gape at him with surprise and respect. He was brilliant. But even more, he was inspiring. They guys around him were pumped up, ready to do their best to make him proud.

"Avalon," he said, turning to me now.

My heart skittered a little. "Yes?"

He assessed me from head to toe. "You're quick on your feet." He sounded like he was musing to himself.

"You'll be on center midfield."

I had no idea what that was, but the jocks looked at him in surprise.

"Are you sure she can do it?" One of them asked.

"Yeah." Brandon's lip quirked up. "Trust me, she's run circles around me and the guys multiple times."

Some guys laughed at that. I felt a little smile tug at my own lips.

"Once you get the ball, you need to get it as close to the goal as you can. Some players will try and stop you, but make sure none of them take it away from you," Brandon instructed.

"Think of it as your lunchbox."

I gasped. The thought of someone trying to take my lunch away ever again had me ready to fight.

"Yes, sir," I saluted him. Brandon let out a little chuckle.

"I'm a striker, so I'll be close by. Whenever you can't get the ball past guys from the other team, you pass it to me. But if you can manage it, try and shoot for the goal."

I was stunned by the responsibility. Brandon peered at me.

"Did you get all that?"

I nodded, slowly, then with more force. "Yeah."

"Okay." He turned back to the other teammates and gave them a serious look.

"Make sure you pass her the ball when you're meant to. Whatever problems any of you have with each other, leave it off the field. This is about soccer, not high school drama."

The jocks mumbled their assent. Brandon nodded.

"Good. Then let's do this."

The coach blew the whistle. We moved to our respective positions, Brandon showing me where I was supposed to stand. I didn't dare look for which spot Jacques' was.

I took a deep breath, centering myself. I always knew I was competitive, and that plus the extra boost my werewolf abilities gave me made me shy away from sports. But now, I cast all my hesitation away.

One of my training sessions in the Pack headquarters had to do with Archer trying his best to disarm me. I let myself remember it, and adapted that exercise to this one. I hadn't let him disarm me then, and I wouldn't let it happen now. I wasn't going to let my team – let Brandon - down.

The game started. I kept alert, tracking the movement of the ball. The coin toss gave our team first possession, and Connor had the ball now, and now he'd passed it to James...

I jogged in place, ready to receive it when it came my way. Two guys from Jacques' team intercepted James, and he managed to pass it to William. But as if they were expecting it, William suddenly found himself trapped. I watched as he struggled to get past them, but he didn't even have an inch to move.

I bit my lip, knowing I was his only chance. But will Will pass it to me?

He looked up and saw that I was open. I held his gaze, my heart racing. He fixed his sights on me, and while managing not to get distracted enough to let them take the ball away from him, he kicked it over to me.

I caught it with my foot. And, without letting myself linger on any panic I felt, I was off, sprinting across the field with a ball like a daemon.

Figures blurred around me. Some guys from the opposite team were rushing towards me, ready to intercept me, but I was too fast, making my next moves while they were still finishing their current thought. My mind switched from seeing them as threats to potential targets, letting me be as bold as I wanted to be.

Aaron Anderson was nearly right in my face. My eyes narrowed. No way in hell are you stealing my lunch again, I inwardly seethed. His eyes widened at the icy rage he saw looking at me. He'd obviously expected me to be intimidated, but it was he who found himself hesitating.

I used that to my advantage, feinting left, then making him look stupid when he hurtled that way while I easily dribbled past him. I let my smirk widen as he started speeding after me way too late.

The goal was so close now, but I wasn't absolutely sure that if I tried to score I would make the shot. Their goalkeeper looked like he knew what he was doing. I took a tiny second to look over for Brandon. I found him, bringing up the rear with three guys on his tail. I knew what he could do, so after sucking in a breath, I kicked the ball over to him.

He caught the ball in his feet without even pausing. Then he was brushing off the guys that were hounding him like they were no more than flies, speeding towards the goal. He was a beast, maneuvering around and between people, slipping past them like a memory. It was incredible to watch.

Some people from the other team were even slowing to watch him. A defender put up a half-hearted attempt to stop him, but even his best wouldn't have worked. Brandon's foot pounded into the ball and then it was sailing, sailing over the player's head, sailing right into the net.

"GOAL!"

My teammates high-fived each other and smacked chests. Those next to Brandon patted him on his shoulder gingerly, like they knew the drill.

The other team glowered.

The coach chuckled. "Two points to Brandon's team," he said. The whistle blew again.

This time, kickoff went to the other team, but that didn't make them any more successful. The ball was back on our side in no time, and then I was once again dribbling it, this time spurred on by my teammates.

I eyed the player ahead, the fullback whose stance told me he was ready to stop me. I wasn't worried, since I was already so close to the goal.

Then suddenly Jacques was there instead. And he was gunning for me.

I panicked. My heart skittered in my chest like a spooked rabbit, making me put more force than necessary into my next kick. I instantly wanted the ball as far away from me as it could get, just so he'd stop coming my way.

The ball shot off like a rocket. And then it hit net.

I mean...nuts.

"AAAAAAARRRRGH!"

Jacques roared like a lion and went down, cupping his crotch. He gave a painful wheeze as he flopped onto the ground.

I clapped my hands over my mouth like a southern belle.

Guys around me were cringing in sympathy while just I stood there, wide-eyed and rooted to the spot. The coach's whistle bellowed through the silence.

"What happened here?" The coach demanded. The players were too busy with their second-hand hurts to formulate an answer.

He turned to Brandon. "Perry?" He asked the only one who remained unaffected, his brows raised.

Brandon calmly surveyed the scene. "It seems he caught the ball with his balls, sir."

One guy let out a strangled laugh before he quickly caught himself.

Jacques raised his head, eyes now red as he glared at me.

"You BITCH! You fucking did this on purpose!" He cussed. My hands were still clamped around my mouth; I didn't say anything.

Brandon's hands, however, had started moving.

"Were you watching, Coach?" He asked.

The coach shook his head, placing hands onto his hips. "I was, but I'm still not sure how this happened." He sounded very bemused.

"He just called my friend a bad word a few seconds ago. Were you paying attention then, Coach?"

The field went silent. Brandon's hands hadn't quit moving, and a hard look now shone in his eyes.

The coach looked at him, then looked over at Jacques.

Jacques was breathing hard, his face still purple with pain. "It just slipped out, Coach," he mumbled. "But she shouldn't have even been playing. Just look what happened because of her!" Every word was loaded with venom.

"Jack's position was to be defending the right side of the field," Brandon retorted. His chest rose and fell heavily. "She was coming from the left," another deep inhale.

"He had no business getting in front of her like that."

Everyone was silent again at seeing Brandon's agitation. Going by what he said, Jacques had disrupted some kind of order to the game Brandon loved so much. And he was not happy about it.

I dropped my hands and stepped over to Brandon. I didn't know how to calm him down, just that I needed to be there.

The coach was contemplative. Then he turned over to Jacques and said, "Frost, I'm counting your foul language as a foul. This game is officially over. Now go give me ten laps around the field."

Jacques blinked repeatedly in disbelief. "I cannot move," he hissed pointedly.

"Then you'll have to do it later. For now, apologize to this girl."

His eyes widened incredulously. "She tried to break my balls!"

"Don't make me say it again, Frost." The coach's tone had hardened.

Jacques scoffed. "Whatever." He made some vague conciliatory response that apparently satisfied the coach. But once the coach turned his back, Jacques turned homicidal eyes towards me.

"You're gonna regret that very soon, Avalon," he whispered, his eyes seething rage. "You'd better watch your back."

I swallowed, finding the air difficult to inhale. But then Brandon stepped in front of me, shielding me from his gaze.

"Watch your mouth," he warned quietly. His eyes narrowed, going head-to-head with Jacques', showing him he had plenty to be angry about himself.

Jacques looked away first.

We left the field, walking side by side. Brandon was holding the ball, and he tossed it and caught it as he mumbled under his breath. I said nothing and just listened. After a while I found I could make sense of what he was saying. He was reciting numbers, but not just any numbers – the numbers of the positions players had in the game. He was going over the whole match verbally, starting from who had the ball first to who it was passed to, right down to when it hit the goal.

Intrigued, I followed his train of thought, marveling at the accuracy of his memory. He trailed off abruptly, and I knew he'd reached the part where I'd kicked the ball into Jacques.

I bit my lip, fiddling with my thumbs. "Hey, Brandon?"

He turned to me. I held as much of his gaze as I could, trying to convey sincerity. "I didn't mean to... do that to him. I wasn't trying to ruin your game, but I did, and I'm sorry."

I'd once again wreaked havoc without even trying to.

Brandon blinked, and then frowned. "Don't be sorry. He wasn't." He tossed the ball again.

"Did you like playing though?" It sounded like he was concerned that the game had been ruined for me.

I remembered the feeling of speeding with teammates on my side, heading towards a literal goal. I couldn't stop my lips from tilting up.

"Yeah," I said, "I liked it a lot."

Brandon grinned back. I nodded towards the ball in his hands.

"How'd you get interested in soccer?" I asked curiously.

He eyed the ball for a moment, and then shrugged. "I just always have."

It seemed like he wasn't going to say more, but then he continued.

"It's how Rhys and I met."

I faced him, now absolutely hooked.

"We were in the same elementary school, and after school some kids used to play soccer by kicking a ball into a space set up with tin cans. I watched them every day. One day, I tried to join." Brandon shrugged.

"They didn't let me."

I felt a pang in my chest. I knew firsthand how cruel kids could be, so I tried not to consider exactly how they'd stopped him from joining.

"Then Rhys found me," he said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "He took me to his house that day and introduced me to his mom. Mrs. Mason made some calls, and then that same afternoon their backyard had been turned into a real soccer field, with a real goalpost and everything."

I noted the reverence in his voice when he mentioned Rhys's mom. I'd read about her – Rhiannon Mason, retired model turned fashion designer, who'd created her own brand named Annonymous. She was also extremely philanthropic, giving away most of her annual earnings to charities, making the world a better place every second of the day. What Brandon was telling me fit with that image perfectly.

"Every day I'd follow Rhys home and kick the ball into the goal over and over again. I was mostly nonverbal back then, which I'm sure is why Rhys didn't mind me being around." He smirked a little. "When I started talking, I repeated every single word that came out of his mouth. I'm pretty sure he minded then."

I laughed, picturing a young, surly-faced Rhys glaring at his new friend and wondering where it all went wrong.

"Once Mrs. Mason saw that I had taken an interest in communicating, she hired all these coaches for me. Language and body language coaches, ethics and etiquette coaches, personal skills coaches, and even soccer coaches to help me learn the game. It was hard for a while, and I freaked out on her a lot, but she didn't give up on me."

I stared at him. "Where were your parents in all of this?"

Brandon's brows furrowed. "Parents," he repeated the word, sounding like it was one he didn't often use.

"They're busy with TV," he shrugged. "They've just always been."

I knew about Leila and Donovan Perry. I'd seen them in a few titles: The Origins of Alexander, an ongoing crime TV show about the sob story childhood of some serial killer whose victims are all named Alexander (boring), and the hot new blockbuster movie out in theatres: Hot Potato Pursuit.

It was an apocalyptic movie about plants that turn sentient and decide to take over the world, 'cause why not? The potatoes are the only ones that do not rise from their soils to slaughter humankind, only because they're too lazy to. This results in the main characters spending more than half the entire screen time chasing trucks laden with potatoes all over the world, just so they can get some food to eat that wouldn't kill them. The twist is that, at the end, none of them even know how to peel potatoes.

Interesting stuff.

I studied Brandon in a new light. Like me, Brandon was different and his parents couldn't deal. They'd left him all alone and chose to throw themselves into their work instead. The only place he'd probably ever seen a glimpse of them growing up was on a TV screen. Maybe that was why he'd taken to soccer, pouring all of his anger and hurt into that relentless kicking.

I blinked, catching myself. Okay, I was projecting. I had no idea how Brandon had felt. He didn't even seem bothered about it in the least. But despite this, I found myself feeling a sort of kinship towards him, one that I didn't feel towards any of the other Horsemen.

"When I met Jasper," he said, tossing his ball, "it started to get easier. He was just so annoying." Brandon shook his head. "I just had to know how to tell him to shut up."

I laughed. "How'd you two meet?"

Another nonchalant shrug. "Jasper was in jail."

I stopped so suddenly my feet sprayed up soil. "WAT?!"

I'd always known Jasper had some screws loose, but jail?

"Why?" I needed to know.

Brandon smirked at my stupefaction. "He was a naughty, naughty boy."

I blinked once, twice, not sure whether I was more surprised at Jasper's incarceration or Brandon's jesting.

"It was Rhys who met him first," Brandon explained. "His mom was interested in prison conditions, so they went over to the town jail. Jasper hadn't been booked yet, and he and Rhys talked for a while until his mom showed up to get him out. She was taking classes at the university and hadn't checked her phone till late. Mrs. Mason offered to have Jasper over to hang out with us after school to keep him out of trouble so she could take her classes in peace."

I frowned. "But I though Jasper's mom wasn't in the picture."

"She was," Brandon told me. "And then," a shrug, fingers flying, "we don't know what happened to her."

Oh wow. The Horsemen weren't just friends, I realized. They were family. They'd grown up almost together and had been there for each other at their worsts.

Not for the first time, I wondered why they even had me around.

"I keep thinking back to last week with the spray paint." I looked up, seeing a conflicted expression on Brandon's face.

"I really could've hurt you, you know? And I don't like that. I'm not very comfortable around you yet, but I haven't done anything to try and change that. I don't know if you remember the party but...you were kind to me. Like a friend." He took a deep breath, then looked me almost in the eyes.

"My parents didn't try with me, and I haven't tried with you. But I'd like to. I think it's important to try. So I'll like to be your friend, Avalon, if you'll let me."

I didn't say anything for several moments. My first thought was What had gone down at that party? My second was remembering what Kit had said about people not trying to get to know me. Maybe it was time for me to start letting them.

I grinned and bobbed my head. "I'd like that too."

I thought for a second. "So...do we spit and shake on it?"

"No. That's gross," he replied.

I nodded. "I totally agree."

He smiled, and I smiled back. And I couldn't help myself from skipping all the way back into the school.

_

I took my time dressing in the girls' locker room, staying in my stall until I was sure everybody else had gone. As I pulled my shirt down and put my hair up in a ponytail, my mind flashed back to the look on Jacques' face when I'd nearly broken his babymaker.

I finally let myself relish in the satisfaction I'd been holding in and snickered. I was still cackling once I exited the locker room.

Someone was waiting for me outside.

A slim, petite girl was leaning against the wall beside the door, a lollipop in her mouth. Once I came into view, she pushed off the wall and faced me.

Her face was porcelain-smooth, with brown hair so light it looked golden and eyes that were the same shade. Her makeup wasn't a lot but it was expertly done, a bit of rouge on her cheeks and lips, and some liner on her eyes that made them look wider.

She wore a black graphic tee that stopped right above her belly button, with frayed black shorts and a black choker around her neck from which a little gold charm dangled.

The jacket she wore around her shoulders was the only pop of color, sparkling with silvery light around the body and red at the trims. Knee-high boots with more than a little wedge adorned her legs, coming up to mid-thigh. I thought she looked like a K-Pop star.

She studied me as I studied her. Then she pulled her lollipop slowly out of her mouth and squinted at me.

"You're her, aren't you?"

I froze. Vixen suddenly came awake, and peered out of my eyes at Lilith. She snarled.

Are we going to have to kill her?

************************************************************************

How did you like this chapter? You've probably caught on by now that I watch a lot of Gordon Ramsay videos on YouTube 🤭.

Share your comments here! What do you think will happen next? Do you enjoy bullies' penises getting pulverised? 

Do you know how to peel a potato? 👀

Also, I've included an amazing piano cover of Slow Dancing in a Burning Room below if you're interested. It's literally the only song I like by John Mayer, and I had to search it up to write this chapter. It didn't make me a fan though; I remain a total and loyal Swiftie.

If you didn't know already, I love you loads. Thanks so much for reading. See you in the next chapter!

Love,

Lulu.