THE GIRLS IN MY GYM class and I walk into the changing room, drenched in sweat.

I'm not a fit person. I'm not an athlete. When I climb two flights of stairs, my thighs start aching near the top. I cannot — cannot — understate the displeasure I feel towards taking Gym class for the first time since middle school. But like the move to Carsonville, it's a development that can't be helped. Therefore, I bite my tongue, suck it up and take as many volleyballs to the face as I have to.

I swing open my locker expecting to see my backpack and clothing, where I left them. But they're not there. In fact, the whole compartment is empty save for a single Hershey's Kiss, sitting lonesomely on the blue metal. It's so small against the locker that it reminds me of a magnified chocolate chip—

Chocolate chip?

Terrence.

Damn it! I should have known that the prankster was up to something.

Last week I heard from Angela that Mrs. Fern made Terrence stay back after school for purposefully inciting a fire hazard — which may have been my fault. But he started it! The punishment she assigned was to clean the entire Home Ec. room, including the storage cabinet.

I had also been told, with a sneaky giggle from Angela, that the storage cabinet hasn't been cleaned since Mrs. Fern first started teaching here. Judging by her wispy grey hairs and outdated frocks, that could have been decades ago. I cringe at the thought of rifling through years of old, curdled food products. The smell practically forges itself from my imagination into reality – the smell of rotten apples and expired tuna. The smell of Terrence's revenge about to be served.

I understand, if not agree with, where this is coming from. But seriously, stealing someone's belongings is so unoriginal. I dash out of the changing rooms in my gym uniform and sneakers, searching the hallways. How did Terrence even find out my timetable? He somehow knew when I had Gym class.

Hooked onto the doorknob of a classroom is my belt. A wave of embarrassment and anger rises up my spine. I feel it prickle at the nape of my neck. Is that his game? Making me chase down all my belongings?

Once I've dashed to retrieve the belt, I notice around the corner a Music textbook. It's verified as mine by the name scrawled inside the cover. I gather that into my arms and inspect this corridor. On my right side, lying in the middle of the left turn-off for another corridor, is my t-shirt. Still holding my belt and textbook, I make a dash for it. Just as I turn the corner, a boy walks straight into me, hitting my shoulder with a rough push.

Both of us stare at my scattered belongings, before the boy bends to sweep up my things in one swift motion and hand them back to me. I notice first the assortment of rings on his hands, in all shapes and sizes. They glint coldly under the fluorescent lights, like warped pieces of shrapnel. My eyes trail upwards.

The boy has inky black hair, growing out long over his eyes. The shadows his wavy hair casts over his eyes make them appear like black beads staring out of a cave; though perhaps they would appear like that regardless of the way his hair falls across his forehead. I take my belongings from his steady hands hurriedly before rushing down the hall in an eager pursuit of my clothes.

After picking up my AP Calculus workbook, AP Biology, my jeans and my pencil case, it's getting a bit harder to hold on to them all. Throughout my wild goose chase around Carsonville's corridors, the boy I ran into hasn't disappeared. He has a cream coloured, long sleeved shirt and black jeans. Something about him is familiar.

I whip around. "Are you following me or something?"

He lets out a sardonic chuckle. "I'm not following you." His voice is deep and assured.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him.

He's been taking my exact route for the last five minutes, but then again he doesn't look overly concerned with what I'm doing. His dark brown eyes are calm and unblinking. Alright, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I roll my eyes and turn around, walking briskly to the classroom where my cardigan has been strung on the door.

Two turns later, nearly at the entrance to the car park, the dark-haired boy is still behind me. His gait is unrushed, relaxed, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"Okay, what's up with you?" I whirl around and arch an eyebrow. "Are you lost? Can I help you with something?"

"I told you I'm not following you," he rolls his eyes. "Promise."

This dude has been walking my exact route to the car park, when school is nowhere near ending. "If you tell me where you're heading—"

Just then his phone rings. He picks it up with no second thought to me. "Yes?" His deep voice rumbles when he answers. A pause, then I watch his eyes widen imperceptibly. They're still trained on me, though I can't make anything out from the dark depths.

Eventually, he asks, "Did you now?" His voice is impassive, but I can see a flicker of humour dart across his face. "And what am I supposed to do? Uh-huh. Uh-huh." The boy is silent at length, but then he sighs. "Fine."

With that simple answer, he turns and pushes open the door to the car park. I almost verbally question him, and then I catch myself. He's a complete stranger and I have things to find. Speaking of, the last item of my personal belongings that Terrence scattered lies just at the front entrance to the school.

Hopefully Terrence's little trail of breadcrumbs leads me to my backpack, so I can finally relieve my arms of its workload. The only thing I admire about Terrence at this point is how much he has thought this through. The trail of clothing stops at the attendance office, and because I don't think he's hiding under our receptionist's desk, I'll wager that he's in the car park.

I can't think of any reason Terrence would be in the car park, since he takes the bus every morning. The second the door slams behind me, I hear an engine start up. It's a deep growling, from a sleek, black motorcycle that screams power. My head is dragged towards the fearsome sound, almost afraid someone will try to run me over.

Like some sort of flag, my back dangles from the seat of the motorcycle. Terrence stands in front the bike, masking the rider. "Karma's a bitch, Sophie."

"Terrence," I groan, shooting him an exasperated frown. "Give me my bag."

Terrence taps his chin, staring up to the sky and pretending to think about it. "You want it, you get it." With an earth-shaking roar from the engine, the driver kicks into gear and takes off around the car park.

Despite the leather jacket, zipped to the chin, donned by the rider, I catch a glimpse of familiar black distressed jeans. I don't see his face, but I bet underneath the helmet lies inky hair and lifeless eyes. It all pieces together in my mind.

The guy on the bike is none other than Terrence's friend from the cafeteria, dressed in dark shades and perpetually unimpressed. He was the person who was following me — and lied to me about it — and Terrence was probably the one that called him away so abruptly.

"Ha!" I scoff. Like hell I'm going to run around the school after that thing. With my speed and its horsepower, I probably wouldn't be able to catch it even if it was parked. "There is no way I am chasing that thing."

"Alright. Have fun lugging your things around all day."

"Seriously?" I grit out, my frown turning into a glare. "I apologise for earning you that punishment. I truly did not expect Mrs. Fern to be so harsh, but maybe your backchatter had something to do with it."

"Was this supposed to be an apology?" he asks haughtily.

I bite my tongue. I can see how easily it is to get tripped into playing the Monarchy's games, kowtowing for any perceived wrongs, all the while spiralling into a draining back and forth of antagonising each other.

"I'm sorry," I spit out, eager to stop the cycle. Benjamin had the right idea, leaving behind all the social warfare entirely.

"That doesn't seem like you mean it."

"I'm sorry, Terrence," I try again.

"Apology accepted," he smiles. "But you've still got to get your stuff. Derek won't hear me over the engine."

"You..." I growl. "I'll call the teachers."

"Then he'll drive out of this carpark and all the way to Haywood Lake. Care for a swim?"

A frustrated growl rips through my lips. Gym class is what I have first on Tuesdays, so I do not look forward to the hours to come. Think, Sophie, think. Brain over brawn. You can beat these two hooligans.

"I can't believe I trusted you!" I screech.

My whole plan revolves around Terrence being a prankster, rather than a heartless cretin. If he is indeed a cruel, stone-cold demon then I am screwed. Forcing my eyes not to blink is hard as shit, but that's what I do, until the cold gusts of morning air make the first tears form. I watch through blurry eyes as Terrence's cocky smirk slowly fades away and is replaced by confusion. I turn up the waterworks a little more, letting two tears drop out.

I sniffle. "And I thought the bullying would ease off here."

"Oh shit." Terrence runs a hand through his hair, glancing around for his friend at the other end of the car park. "Sophie, I'm sorry—"

I cut him off by turning and running, making sure to let a few sobs loose. 

I have a friend in Bishop — Declan — who was in the improv club. He's an enthusiastic thespian, and over the last three years, I was dragged along to a few drama club rehearsals as moral support. 

So I'd like to thank the Academy, and Declan, for this acting award. 

I sprint as fast as my inefficient legs will carry me in the direction of the back of the car park, where concrete meets the grass from the football field. I can see an old dingy shed standing open.

The motorcycle engine cuts, ending that suspenseful playlist this whole scene played out to, and I run faster; I can't let them catch up to me. My sides are stinging, and the stitch pretty much dries all of my — fake — tears.

I run into that rotting shed, taking note of how it locks from the outside, and see piles and piles of show props, music stands and cardboard boxes filled with school spirit gear and old mascot costumes. I only know of this storage room because last week Leah asked me to help bring some extra music stands to the Music room from here. Behind a rubbish bin filled with broken lacrosse racquets, I find a space big enough to fit my scrawny frame.

Just as I slide the bin back in front of me, Terrence and his friend run in. So gullible. Waiting behind the bin, I exhale a few shaky breaths. I need to get fitter.

"I swear I saw her run in here."

"You said she'd be a good sport," the biker speaks, the familiarity of his deep voice reaffirming that I have already met him.

"She is!" Terrence stammers. "Well, based on what Reece and I have seen, I thought she appreciates a good joke."

By now, they have ambled further into the storage room, calling my name and looking behind things to see if I am there, snivelling and in need of comfort. And making quite a large noise in the process. The opportune moment.

I dash from my hiding space, out of the room. Their attention turns to me, realising what I'm about to do. Their faces staring at my wide smirk — stricken and blanched with panic — is my revenge. I slam the door behind me with my foot. Manoeuvring my belongings to the side, I work my fingers around the bolt.

Not a second after I lock it, two bodies crash into it with a thud that sends bits of moss shooting off the door. The force knocks me back a bit but I still lean against the door, not trusting the water-damaged wooden door to hold the weight of both of their bodies. Rust from the lock peels into my hand, making my hands gritty against the door.

"Fuck!" the motorcycle rider curses. He slams his body against the door, which sends pain shooting down my shoulder, but the decrepit door still holds up.

"Sophie!" Terrence yells. "Let us out."

"That sounds like a real interesting idea. But I think I'll politely decline."

"Sophie! Please? Sorry for the prank, really." Terrence is pleading now.

Ah... this is too fun. I recycle his earlier words, "Karma's a bitch, Terry."

I hear a snort of laughter at the nickname. And then I hear a thud of flesh, an exclamation of pain and outrage. "Ow!" the biker says.

Terrence is back to vying for my generosity — which is running paper-thin after making me late to my next class and making me chase up my belongings all over the school. "Hey! I was only getting you back for making me clean the Home Ec. room. I had to empty out the stock cupboards and there was a green ball of mould! I couldn't even tell what it originally was! And don't call me Terry!"

"Give me my bag back."

"Done. Just please, let us out."

I hear a deep voice murmur, "Being stuck in a small space, with no light is pretty romantic though, don't you think, Terry?" Another thud. "Ow! Alright, Princess, I was just joking."

Profanities spew from the other side of the door like a leak in the roof as Terrence begs to be released. After a minute of their growing fear, I unlock the door and pull it open, making sure to use my arms to block them from running past me. I hold out my hand expectantly.

Heaving a great, dramatic sigh, the dark-haired boy offers up my backpack. I dump all my belongings into the largest compartment and zip it up angrily, uncaring about organising my books and clothes. 

"I hope you learned your lesson," I scold.

"It was Tee's idea." The biker looks unrepentant.

I turn to Terrence, who looks indifferent again. "You deserved it," Terrence huffs, crossing his arms and looking away from us. The door slams in their faces again.

"Fuck!" Terrence exclaims.

"You're actually moronic, you know that?" the motorbike rider says.

Fists pound against the door and the vibrations seem to weaken the already unstable wood.

"Alright! It was my idea," Terrence finally admits.

"And?" I prompt.

"And I'm sorry it didn't work?"

I threaten, "You know, I could leave you here the whole night."

"Fine, I'm sorry," he spits bitterly.

Satisfied with the apology, I open the door. Not wanting to spend any longer in there, both boys rush out from the dank, musty room. "See? Good sport," Terrence mutters.

The biker rolls his eyes. "Sure."

"Well, farewell friends," Terrence salutes us cheekily. "I'm off to class like the shining pupil I am."

The biker and I respond immediately.

"Fuck off, Tee."

"I'm not your friend." Since when was he a shining pupil?

Then I hurry back inside the main doors. To avoid missing more of a class I need more support in, I'm resolved to attend AP Calculus in my Gym gear. I'll get changed in the break after this period. I dump my bag into my locker, taking only the textbook and a pen with me through the halls. When I slam my locker shut, I catch sight of Terrence's friend walking towards me.

The first time I met him, he only wore a cream shirt. The second time, he had a leather jacket covering his lighter layers. Now the jacket hangs open on his tall frame, a perfect reminder of how recently he got on my bad side. I ignore his presence and make my way to my Calculus class.

Between us rests this bloated silence, where he looks deep in thought but refrains from saying anything to me. The shuffling of his scuffed shoes is as unsettling to me as the sound of knives being sharpened. I almost think he's ignoring me, if it isn't for his head inclining towards me every few steps, blatantly staring.

Two left turns later, I can't take it anymore. "I have nothing to say to you, so stop tailing me. Weirdo."

"I'm not," the biker says.

As if I'll believe him again. "That's what you said the first time."

"I didn't know we were heading in the same direction. Tee is the one who orchestrated it." He shrugs nonchalantly. "But I'm just heading to Calculus."

"What?"

"Calculus. I gather we're in the same class," he says, dark eyes flickering to the textbook in my hands. "What a coincidence."

"You're not in my Calculus class. I'm pretty sure you weren't in my classes all last week, nor yesterday."

He smirks, though no satisfaction reaches his eyes. "How flattering that you notice my absence."

"I—" The back of my neck prickles with warmth. Curse him. It's not his good looks that get to me, but his unflappable demeanour. "I don't know you. Just stop following me."

He sighs exasperatedly. "Tuesday, second period. Mr. Weston?"

Of fucking course. Just my luck. 

He must notice the frustration on my face, because he cracks a lopsided smile. "See? Haven't lied to you yet, Sophie."

Hearing my name on his tongue makes me acutely aware I don't know his. Uncomfortable with the knowledge disparity between us, I demand, "What's your name?"

"Derek."

"Where have you been then, the last eight days, Derek?"

"Nothing happens the first week. Just explaining the syllabus and introducing assignments. So I ditched."

My eyes widen. "Calc or school in general?"

"School." Ditching the whole first week? I mean, I know it's senior year but he could stand to be less apathetic. When Derek and I arrive at AP Calculus, the entire class looks towards us. I'm immediately thrown off guard by the sudden attention, and then I remember.

Derek is also a part of the Monarchy. And it must look odd, the synchronised timing of our arrivals. Even Benjamin arches a curious eyebrow in my direction. I wish I could tell him I would have much rathered spending time in AP Calculus than with Derek.

Mr. Weston coughs at Derek as he strolls to an empty desk. "Finally decided to show?"

"Shut up," Derek mutters calmly, a coldness overtaking his expression.

My jaw drops at the blatant disregard in his voice. 

But it's even more surprising that the class isn't surprised. I glance at Benjamin, who gives me a solemn, knowing smile. Mr. Weston himself doesn't do anything to discipline Derek, instead barrelling on with the lesson on vector subspaces as if no-one said anything.

I realise that Terrence is indeed a shining pupil. Compared to Derek, at least.