MERCURIAL MEANS CHANGEABLE OR UNPREDICTABLE.

I looked it up when I went home after football practice and then applied it to what the hate note said about my hair. Clearly, there was someone out there who hated how unpredictable my hair was enough to write it down on a piece of paper. And a bunch of other things, too, but that was the one that plagued me most that afternoon.

Two days later, the other items on the list started to sink in, too.

Of course, I objected to all of them, as any rational self-aggrandising human being would. Some of the items had a kernel of truth in them. Some of them were mere matters of opinion, like being loud, or showing off, or not taking studying seriously. What was too loud to my hater was just the right volume to me, so I disregarded those as much as I could disregard blatant insults to my character.

Other points made me overthink in my spare time, like when Ursula and I made out behind the cafeteria again and during boring classes. I had my learner's license, but I'd let my driving practice slip while Bishop was preparing for the start of the football season. Perhaps I should pick it up again... Mom wouldn't mind letting me take the minivan for a spin around the block during the weekends. Traffic was so non-existent in Bishop, I had no concerns about road safety.

But being dumb enough to play football? Having a caveman sense of humour? That hurt.

For the most part, I projected a cool, confident, and outgoing disposition. I was always down for a good time, whether that meant flirting with girls, going to parties, or taking the piss out of the teachers that had fuses too short for their own good. Jake Tanner was a good time, a lover, not a fighter.

But inside that devil-may-care shell, I was very soft. Totally squishy. My heart was a sensitive thing, and since I had no defenses against the cruelties of the world — which seldom made their way to sleepy ol' Bishop — those ten attacks all lodged deep. Some deeper than others.

It was made worse by the fact that I tried to do no harm wherever I went. Sure, perhaps I was disruptive or egotistical in class and on the field, but I liked to think I was entertaining everyone around me. Spicing up their boring lives.

Evidently, someone hated spice. And resented me deeply for it.

While the football team ran up and down the bleachers overlooking the field, a deep frown was plastered on my face. Exercising was one effective method to clear my head of my troubled, insecure thoughts. Eating, sleeping, and making out with my not-quite-girlfriend were successful to an extent, but the back of my mind would always fill with some random train of thought. Lately, that train always terminated at the hate note.

When I reached the bottom of the bleachers, I picked up my labelled drink bottle and drew long, refreshing gulps from it. It was always easier coming down the bleachers than going up, my quads and calves burning and twitching with fatigue. At least I could still feel my lower legs. Sometimes Coach Ibrahim pushed us so hard that they turned completely to rubber, and no amount of willpower would make them move as quickly as I wanted them to.

Coach himself was occupied at the moment, sitting on the top of the bleachers, fanning himself with a clipboard. Some of the time he'd inspect each of us to check our condition, but he was very obviously busy chatting away. I threw a fond smile at the old man above and the lady next to him as I started on my umpteenth climb of the afternoon, the afternoon sun bearing down on my exposed back.

Kay descended as I stepped onto the first bleacher, his chest flushed red and glistening. "Kill me now."

"Kill me first," I panted, urging my thighs to start lifting.

The reason the football team had forfeited the field for the bleachers was because of Mrs. Ibrahim, his wife. For as long as anyone could remember — even my parents — Coach Ibrahim and Mrs. Ibrahim had exactly halved their claim on the football field.

Preceding and during football season, the football team practiced on the field Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, and Tuesday and Thursday mornings. If Coach wanted to call an extra practice outside of those determined hours, we could use the gymnasium or the small weights room to do conditioning or calisthenics. But for decades, that was the nature of the deal.

On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, the football field was relinquished to his lovely wife's — and Mrs. Ibrahim really was lovely, with a motherly attitude and lenient nature — extracurricular.

Marching band.

All twenty of them were on the grass now, visibly sweating and exhausted under the sunlight beating down on them. I took my time walking down the bleachers to examine the marching band, in the midst of a drill practice.

That thing I said about Mrs. Ibrahim being lovely? Yeah, that didn't apply when it came to marching band. She had high standards and a strict hand, and she'd make all her players stand in formation for minutes until the whole band collectively rose to her expectations.

The entire football team heard Mrs. Ibrahim call from her elevated position, checking that each and every musician was in the correct position.

"Instruments up! I want to see your brass blinding me! Hold. Hold!"

The unflinching tone in her voice sent an icy shiver down my spine. I was certain that, at that moment, every football player was glad they weren't in the marching band.

When I reached the top bleacher, thighs scorched and aching, I turned and again tried to drag out my descent. The marching band players dotted the field, standing still in one of the many positions they rotated through during their practice.

Sophie was in the drumline with her cymbals held motionless at her chest. There was Nova in woodwinds with her tenor saxophone, and slightly behind, Avalon with her trumpet. She stood ramrod straight in her row, her elbows lifted and keeping her instrument parallel to the ground. I could tell she was tired, however; they all were. Her forehead was shiny, and she'd thrown her tangly blonde hair into a careless pile at the crown of her head.

When Mrs. Ibrahim had been silent for about thirty seconds, I noticed Avalon relax slightly, undeniably pushing her stamina to the limit.

"Taylor!" came an immediate screech. "Horns up!"

I smothered the urge to laugh aloud at her, since we were all suffering alike in the heat. Her eyes flickered over to mine as I stepped onto the grass again, flashing angrily like lightning, cheeks carmine. I understood how she felt. I would go red as a beet if Coach called me out in front of the team. Still, I took the opportunity to smirk at Avalon's misfortune before darting back up the bleachers.

Mrs. Ibrahim made an approving sound and the band shifted, walking to a new formation and marking reminders in their little band notebooks. As I came down the bleachers, Avalon dropped her pencil on the field and bent to get it. I caught the perfect view of the backs of her tanned, lithe legs, leading temptingly up to denim shorts, under which sat the perky swell of her ass—

My shins hit metal before I even registered I was falling.

I braced myself immediately with my hands, cushioning the worst of the fall in my palms. A jolt of pain ran up both arms and legs, but they were all spread over my body such that nothing severe followed. I heard Jamie's immediate chortle of amusement, surrounded by surprised exclamations from the rest of the team. Bastard.

"Tanner," Coach said warily. "Get your ass up! Can you get your ass up?"

I sprung up immediately, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Yes, Coach. All good!"

His shrewd eyes ran over me inquisitively. Then he nodded. "Get back to it, boys."

I threw a cursory glance to the field, where every single band player had turned their heads at the sound of a falling body on metal. Mrs. Ibrahim rectified the situation by screaming, "Instruments up!" at them, but not before Avalon Taylor returned the shit-eating smirk I had given her minutes earlier.

I saw that smile from ages away, her pearly teeth and victorious eyes drawing my attention like a lighthouse beacon.

Why was I even looking her way?

"Unco," Jamie spat cheekily at me when he passed me.

"Shut up," I returned.

I dipped my head away from my brother and the marching band, keeping my eyes trained diligently on my own two feet for the rest of the practice.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

A bunch of the athletes and band kids took the opportunity to socialise after practice finished.

It wasn't often that Coach called an extra practice like he had today, so our usual interactions were limited to football games. And even then, separated between the stands and the field, talking was strained. Another side effect of having the football coach and the band teacher be married was that none of us were allowed to bully the nerds, and they weren't allowed to ridicule the jocks.

Coach never stood for smack-talking someone — especially behind their backs — and certainly not smack-talking the band kids. He was one himself, many, many years ago. I thought that was how he met his wife, though he wouldn't tell us for sure.

Of course, if someone was really inclined that way, they could find ways to shit-talk each other without alerting the teachers. Like Nova and Killian. They were constantly at each other's throats for some reason unknown to the student body, but even they had their civil moments.

Like I said, grudges didn't last in Bishop.

When the sky turned more yellow than blue, everyone sharing banter in the car park took that as the cue to head home. Jamie caught sight of Sophie and Avalon walking to the latter's outdated sedan.

He picked up his pace slightly, calling after our cousin and her friend. "Av! Can we get a ride, too?"

Avalon turned around and skimmed her eyes over us. "Sure," she decided. "Chuck your stuff in the back."

Jamie and I obeyed, squeezing our large frames into the backseat. Whenever the Olsens and the Tanners got together for a road trip, all the kids — me, Vallen, Jamie, Soph, and Luke — battled each other for shotgun. But this was Avalon's car, not Mom's or Aunty Rina's, so we politely watched Sophie buckle herself into the passenger seat.

"Pretty bad fall you took during practice, Tanner," Avalon remarked casually as we pulled out onto the main road. Since she got her car, Avalon had driven Sophie home countless times, and Jamie and I sporadically bundled in, too. She knew our address, I knew hers, everyone knew everyone's.

"It was nothing," I waved dismissively. "I'm indestructible."

Avalon's clear blue eyes met mine in the rearview, glinting mischievously. Ah, crap. Here came trouble. She agreed innocently, "Sure you are. Like the time you sneezed so hard you broke your nose?"

Sophie and Jamie burst into laughter, both of them remembering how distraught I'd been at the prospect of becoming the ugly twin. I defended woundedly, "I was nine! And it was a cartilage break, not bone."

Avalon rolled her eyes, the traces of laughter making her face glow golden. "Right." She switched on the radio as she drove, filling the car with punchy guitar riffs, and overly angsty vocals.

"Do you guys have haters?" I wondered abruptly, my insecurities barrelling back into my head full force once the adrenaline subsided.

Jamie and Sophie weren't perturbed by my blurting random questions, since they were family. Avalon arched a brow at me in the rearview reflection but said nothing.

"Oh, totally," Jamie answered smugly. "Last year I gave the quarterback at Murphy a really bad knock and he went down like a tree. All their team hates me now, but it was a clean sack, in my defense—"

"I meant, like, in Bishop."

"Hmm." Jamie rubbed his chin and visibly dedicated his brain to thinking. "Nope. I'm beloved."

"I beg to differ," Sophie immediately shot back. "You're tolerated."

Jamie retorted, "What about you, then?"

"I don't give a damn. If someone's got some hidden problem with me, it can stay hidden for all I care," Sophie said firmly.

I asked, "And if it's not hidden? Hypothetically?"

At this, all the eyes in the car flickered to me. Sophie turned around to peer curiously at me, Jamie raised his brows and Avalon's oceanic irises found mine through the mirror. She posed an arch question: "Why don't you nix the hypothetical part and just say what you want to say?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied in a small voice. It's not cool to have insecurities, man.

"Okay," Avalon conceded, rolling her eyes. "But if, hypothetically, someone were to dislike the Jacobus Tanner—"

"—Goddamnit, Taylor, why'd you have to bring my name into this?" The hair on the back of my neck prickled at hearing my full name roll off of her lips, the way I reacted to anyone bringing up that humiliating title, before some weird heat pooled into my gut.

Somehow my name didn't sound too bad, the way she said it all teasingly reverent.

"—then just be the bigger person and apologise. If they accept it, no harm done. If they don't, you'll just have to thicken your skin, I think."

"Apologise for what?" I wondered. Jake Tanner had wronged no-one. Jake Tanner's a lover, not a fighter. Three simultaneous laughs filled the car. My eyebrows raised disbelieving. "What?"

"You were really apathetic to Lacey while you dated," Jamie supplied.

"And you never made amends for breaking Graeme's woodshop final project," Sophie added. "The teacher gave him an A for effort, but still."

Thankfully, Avalon decided not to chip into the heretical discussion, though I knew she had enough memories of me to do so. I said good-naturedly, placing a hand on my heart, "As much as I would like to right my wrongs, I don't actually know who my hater is."

"Then why stress?" Avalon laughed incredulously.

"Because, I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"But no-one's fighting you," she pointed out, turning the radio volume up stubbornly.

"They're fighting my winning charm and good looks," I replied, raising my voice above the music. This woman. Infuriating. "They're waging a war against my loveable-ness."

Avalon bumped up the volume again, her voice dry as cardboard. "Heavens forbid."

"Shut up, Taylor."

"You shut up first, Tanner. Hush and let us enjoy the sounds of Green Day. I don't invite boys into my car just to hear them bitch about being adored by the masses, bar one anonymous person."

"You don't invite boys into your car at all."

"You don't know me," she spat cheekily. "Maybe I do."

"I do know you," I spat back. "And you don't."

Jamie and Sophie chuckled at our banter, settling against their seats. Avalon dropped Sophie off first, then rounded around the block to the Tanner household. We both thanked her for the ride when we exited, though exhaustion and hunger were pulling my eyelids sleepily shut.

I powered through dinner, homework, and a late-night PlayStation session with Jamie in almost a trancelike state. I'm sure I filled in all the answers correctly, and I indubitably whipped my baby brother's butt, but my mind was strangely absent through it all.

The only thing I was certain of: I had to find whoever wrote that note.