OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS, Leah has become much more determined and resilient towards the Monarchy.

She's been purposefully ignoring Madison, but maintains her cheery self around us. It's great to see a smile on her face again, though I know that the effects of bullying never really leaves anyone. When I see her and Delaney in the school car park, a wide smile breaks out on my face. All classes have been cancelled for the annual Carsonville Carwash, and everyone seems more energetic than usual.

To fit the theme of Summer Splash, Delaney wears a t-shirt and shorts of lighter colours than the usual dark palette most of her clothes feature. A hibiscus sarong is tied loosely around her hips, the fringing swaying as she moves. Leah wears denim cut-off shorts and a tank top with a nautical pattern. She's also drawn a wave pattern around her forearms in blue Sharpie.

I found an old wetsuit in the attic and squeezed myself into it. It looks pretty out of place, but no-one would say that it doesn't fit the theme. The three of us wait by the road, expecting Drew and Benjamin to arrive shortly. They said they had some last minute shopping to do for their costumes, which makes me curious to see what they're wearing.

When the pair of them emerge from Benjamin's car ten minutes later, we all scream in glee. They came wearing something that looks oddly like a couple's costume. Pink and orange hula skirts over their board shorts, coconut bras and nothing else. I have to avert my eyes from their torsos, focusing instead on Drew's proud smile and Benjamin's miserable frown.

Immediately, my question to Drew is, "What did you use to bribe Benjamin? The newest model of scientific calculators?"

But I can't even handle saying that, whilst looking at the insulted expression on Benjamin's face, and how misplaced he looks in the hula girl costume, without losing it. I shake my head through my side-splitting laughter, deciding that I don't even need an answer.

"Didn't you know?" Drew raises a brow at me. "Benjamin just loves awkward tan lines and a fresh breeze in his–"

I hold up both hands, as if the physical barrier can also block the words. "Nope. Not necessary."

At first, a slight pucker of lips is the only reaction from Delaney. Followed with a scornful smirk melting naturally onto her lips, and then a minute of loud, mocking laughter. Delaney tries to speak, but can't form complete sentences. Leah is so far gone, you can't even hear her laughing, her mouth is just hanging open emitting inaudible wheezes.

"Wow. You have even bigger boobs than I do," Delaney exclaims, voice weak with residual chuckles. Benjamin's cheeks flush red, while Drew only guffaws. "Who came up with the idea?"

Benjamin, still raspberry-tinted, points to Drew, who wears a goofy, proud smile.

"Of course he did." Delaney rolls her eyes.

Leah beams, shooting the odd glance down to the voluptuous grass skirts and giggling. "Come on, Quen and the others are waiting for us."

Callum, Quentin and Ashley are setting up our cleaning supplies at our station — a small section of concrete marked with pavement chalk and cones. In swim trunks and rash shirts, the band of musicians is dressed more sensibly than Benjamin and Drew. I hope they've used sunscreen today.

Callum steps around a bucket of sponges to give me a hug, lifting up his hand between our chests. A shark tooth necklace dangles from his fingers. I raise my eyebrow, but he quickly explains, "My grandmother is really enthusiastic about school events. So, yeah, she bought these for all of us. Don't worry, they're fake, and cost about one dollar."

"Aw, she sounds lovely," I coo, as Callum strings it over my head.

"That's one word. More like, fiercely fanatic about Carsonville." Callum drops his voice, as if divulging a secret, "I think she was one of the first settlers who came here. Like, two hundred years ago."

I laugh, at the way Callum levels out his voice and the small dip of his head. From his pocket, Callum pulls out four more necklaces, and walks over to Leah and Delaney to hand them out.

"We have to sign in, guys," Quentin points out, drawing all of our heads to where he's looking. To the left of our group, in the centre of the courtyard, there is a large sign tacked to the makeshift stage. Registration, it says, in our school colours.

We have a form to fill out, labelled with the number of our team. Fifteen. The form asks the details of our members, and the team name. Leah has the pen bouncing on and off her chin, and she asks, "Any ideas for a name?"

"The Drew Crew," Drew suggests.

"See, I took your suggestion once," Benjamin says archly, glancing down his body, "—and look where that got me."

Leah rolls her eyes fondly, before scribbling something down on the paper. An announcement comes on through the P.A. system, which marks ten minutes till the mad rush starts. Quentin and I are double checking the equipment, since there'll be little time to restock during the carwash.

Bottles of detergent, buckets of water, squeegees, sponges and hoses rest at our feet, ready to tackle the dirtiest of the cars here. Which is actually pretty terrifying.

Five minutes to go, and our game strategy is made. We decide to partner up, which gives us the capacity to work on four cars simultaneously. Drew and Benjamin partner up because, as Drew says, "We put too much effort in looking this gorgeous, to not be seen together."

Leah and Callum join up, Quentin goes with Ashley, leaving Delaney and I together. As we're taking our share of the cleaning things, I mumble to Delaney, "I haven't seen the Monarchy. Are they coming anytime soon?"

She shakes her head knowingly. "They usually get people to write their names down on a sheet and clean the cars for them. And a few minutes before the announcement is made, they show up to collect their reward."

"Don't the teachers notice that they're cheating? I mean, if they don't show up for registration."

"The way the carwash works is not very secure. Each driver is supposed to write down their license plate number, and drop it into the box marked with the number of the team who washed their car. But, license plate numbers are easily made up, and no teacher is going to sort through real and fake ones just on a cheating claim," Delaney explains.

"I don't even mind the Monarchy winning the car." I thought I didn't mind, back when I assumed they'd be doing at least a little work. Now that I know they'll cheat their way to victory, it sits a whole lot worse with me. I digress, "But we can't really show them up if they're not here."

"As frustrating as that is, and as vile as they are, I give them credit for planning it well. Brittany is too smart to be beaten quickly," Delaney grunts with effort, heaving a bucket of water to the top rung of a step ladder, "That's why she makes such a great dictator. Emphasis on the dick."

The carwash starts with a shriek of microphone feedback, and Principal Fisher thanking everyone for the turnout and counting down from twenty over the speaker system. The first vehicles are rolling into the marked stations, participants are performing last-minute checks and taking positions next to the cars.

Music starts over the speaker system —upbeat tunes to make the work easier — just as Principal Fisher booms, "Go!"

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An hour later, a car that definitely does not need to be washed pulls into our slot. It's glistening, a smooth obsidian colour so gorgeous that the idea of it needing any cleaning is preposterous.

"You have to be shitting me," Delaney groans, throwing the sponge in her hands down on the sparkling exterior of the car that's pulling in.

It lands with a wet thud, spraying water on me. Delaney's smile has slipped a little, as has her outfit. Her hair fans out from her face, glowing orange in the sun. The clothes are well beyond stained, and she's lost her shoes somewhere in the mayhem. With all the water spraying everywhere, my wetsuit feels rather comfortable.

We lock eyes from opposite sides of the car, and she takes a deep breath. As much as I want to knock on the window and tell the driver of the perfect car to fuck off, I don't. It's been my new motto of the day to be helpful — though I'll be back to normal tomorrow — so Delaney knows exactly what I'm thinking when I look at her.

"Just give it a quick rinse," she whispers, "And I'll wipe the windows to make them think we've cleaned."

I walk around the car, hosing off the non-existential grime. If I'm being honest, the water probably made it dirtier. That's how clean it is.

I'm growing suspicious, and starting to wonder just what type of germaphobe thinks this car needs washing when the tinted window slides down, and the last puzzle piece clicks in place. Reece lays his hands on the steering wheel, smug, with his signature shit-eating grin.

"Hello, ladies," he sneers, a patronising tone in his voice. "Working for the dollars, are we?"

The happiness I scraped together over the day disappears, just hearing his voice. I'm reminded of the ten kids who are slaving away so Brittany can get a new car, the countless times they've done immoral things and the countless times more they will. It's a buzzkill, for sure.

Madison is holding her phone in the passenger seat, texting rapidly. Brittany's isn't here. But glancing into the back seats, I notice that everyone else is. Delaney has noticed now, coming to stand beside me. "Got a little problem?" she asks lightly enough, venom lacing her voice like the whispers of a masked poison.

"Yeah, this car's got a lot more dirt inside than I thought."

"It is full of shit," she muses.

My hand twitches around the hose. Suddenly, all I can think about is raising the nozzle to the window, and pressing down hard. Delaney follows my eyes and her face lights up, my idea shooting into her brain. She steps backwards, waving her hand in a you-first gesture.

Before Reece has a chance to see what's hit him, I squeeze the lever. The stream is strong as fuck, enough to be painful on skin, and sprays all over his face before squirting into the rest of the car. I hear some very satisfying yells.

"My phone!" Madison screeches. Desperately, she tries to wipe her phone down with the hem of her shirt, before realising that it, too, is soaked.

"You just wrecked my car!" Reece yells, rubbing his face.

"You've got more, I bet," I pout. "And like, a million dollars."

He simply glares. Terrence, sitting in the backseat, a smile on his face, says nothing. He looks like a dog, water dripping off his nose, hair sticking out at odd angles and a dizzy smile. I think he can recognise a good joke when he sees it.

"There, much better," I chirp, giving him one last spray of water, re-wetting his hair and face. "There was a speck of dirt on your cheek."

Reece turns to me with anger frothing in his eyes. He inhales, about to exclaim in outrage, when I unleash one final round of jetting water into the car, earning a fresh load of squeals and screams.

Spluttering, choking, spitting the water out of his mouth, Reece spits at Delaney and me, "You're all dead."

Delaney waltzes up to the window, and gives Reece an affectionate, condescending tap on the cheek. "Something we have in common then."

"Thanks for supporting Carsonville High School," I shoot at them, faking perkiness, "Feel free to donate on your way out."

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"Today's carwash has been a magnificent success," Principal Fisher announces into the microphone. "I would like to thank you all for showing up and being so involved with the community. Here at Carsonville, we like to think that strong bonds within our—"

"—just tell us who won the car already!" a boy in the crowd, wearing a green baseball bat that pokes out from the heads of others, interrupts.

Heads turn, adults scorn and tsk while the kids and teenagers laugh at the guy who just happens to be forthright enough to say what we are all thinking. Rude, yes. But I can't say I'm not glad he did that.

"The youth of today can't wait, huh? Alright, then." Principal Fisher looks a bit lost for a second, before clearing his throat way too close to the microphone; I flinch at the phlegm-y sound.

Reading from a red envelope, Principal Fisher announces, "The winning team for the Best Dressed award is I Can't Believe I Died A Virgin! for their spin on holidaying. Up on stage, please."

We cheer, for the members of I Can't Believe I Died A Virgin! — seven students dressed like the zombified version of Hawaiian tourists — as they make their way onstage and get prizes, the usual winner's shebang. Actually, there's more emphatic laughing than applause. The large majority of us are screaming for the winners, for how good their costumes are, and, yes, their hilarious name.

"Okay, settle, everyone," Principal Fisher says. "Next up, the award for teamwork goes to The Geeks, for working systematically and cheerfully."

"That's us," Leah tells the group.

"Oh, shit, we actually got an award?" Drew exclaims.

"Let's just get up on stage," I tell him quietly, taking his arm and dragging him through the crowd.

Unlike the zombie virgins, the applause that awaits us is more muted. Obligatory. We don't have particularly flash clothes to cheer for. Teamwork is basically the most generic thing anyone could win an award for. Some people give Benjamin and Drew whistles for their outfits, which is more than the other six of us get.

At the foot of the stairs, I wait for everyone to go up. It's just to delay me having to face the masses. Benjamin, ever the gentleman, tries to let me go first, but I push him in front of me. Soon, we're standing beside the zombie virgins grinning like madmen.

"And, the announcement we've all been waiting for."

It's going to be the Monarchy.

Principal Fisher straightens out the paper in his hand, sending a few rustling sounds into the audience. "I'm very pleased to reveal the team who washed the most cars, who've won the Holden Commodore, generously provided by Carsonville Motors, is The Monarchy!"

Of course, the Monarchy wins. Everyone bet on it.

I can only watch, trying to keep a congratulatory smile from falling off my face, as the Monarchy comes onstage, followed meekly by five other random students. It feels like watching five teenagers walk their dogs. Brittany leads her gang, unconcerned by how those five — ten, actually, but the other five students must be hiding so the Monarchy can take credit for their hard work — kids she took advantage of are looking too glum for winners.

Principal Fisher comes around with prizes, stopping first to give Brittany the keys to her new Commodore. She laughs, thanks him gratefully — I can read her dark red lips from here — and waves coyly out to the crowd. Can I just say how shitty it is to have someone applauded, when you know they don't deserve it?

To the zombie virgins and our team, Principal Fisher hands out two small handheld cameras. I hang it around my neck, and admire the matte grey finish in my hands. Seeing Terrence, Reece and Derek smiling at us and clapping unsettles me. It's like seeing Severus Snape smile: wrong on so many levels.

I'm about to frown at them, thinking that they're mocking us, when I see how genuine they are. They are actually congratulating us. And I don't know how to act around them when I'm not supposed to be hating them, so I turn away, and smile for another photo. Drew ruins it, by photobombing. In front of the whole town.

Mr. Fisher gestures for us to see the photo, and we crowd around him, pushing to see it. My smile is painful. If anyone were to see the photo, they'd wonder what was to the left of me that I was so fixated on. Ashley and Quentin are reacting to Drew's photobomb, with mouths caught open.

Drew's goofy smile could set fire to every single car parked here.