ONCE THE VIDEO IS EDITED, ready and waiting to be played, we confer at the library again.

None of the Monarchy nor the people that sidle close to them appreciate the merits of reading or studying. In the far corners of this building would probably be one of the safest places in the school from their eyes and ears. I really do think it'll make a nice headquarters.

The current predicament is how we'll release the video. "We could just post it on social media, or something," I suggest. "Except, not many people would see it since I don't have many friends."

"Neither," Leah sighs.

"Same," Benjamin adds.

Delaney interrupts pointedly. "I think it's safe to assume that all of our friend counts are well below the numbers we need."

A contemplative silent steals us away. I press my knuckles to my mouth, deep in contemplation. "We could play it to the school, in an assembly. Is there a way to do it without teachers finding out?"

"I've got this, don't worry," Drew says, with a wicked smile. "This might be the only time the school assemblies don't suck ass."

They are more than willing to go along with my plan, albeit with some hesitation. Assemblies are rife with teachers and authority figures. Detentions are surefire if we decide to proceed.

Delaney snickers. "This will go down as one of the more eventful assemblies. Now we don't have to hear about the latest goody-goody and how they've done the school proud."

Leah, Drew and Delaney's eyes flicker to Benjamin, who scowls defensively, the expression contorting the features I much rather like to see calm. "What? Annoyed that I'm a better student than you?"

"Please, BJ," Delaney's pen stops carving lines into the table, now pointed directly at Benjamin. "Being called up on stage, having to stand awkwardly while the teachers rant about how good you are is the quickest way to destroy your street cred. And you wonder why you sat alone before we came along."

"Since when did you start sounding like Brittany?" Benjamin crosses his arms.

"I'm not like her. Yeah, we're both bitches, but she's the wicked bitch of the west. I'm just saying—"

"—it's not like I can change my test scores, anyway."

"Yeah, you can. It's called flunking," Delaney counters, once again concentrated on vandalising the school property.

Benjamin freezes, looking baffled. "What idiot would do that?"

Delaney shrugs his frown off with a flip of her wine-coloured hair. I completely agree with Benjamin, but refrain from saying anything. The way the students think here is different. Not too strange for me to understand, but it's as if they live in another society where emphasis is placed on street cred and reputation instead of studying.

I think school shouldn't be a place where the power of the mind should be thrown aside for status. No doubt the Monarchy uses this to their advantage — hence the weird obsession with making 'geek' their prime marker for social outcasts. They've made being smart a bad thing.

The whole situation is frustrating, especially hearing Delaney talk about it that way she has. She is one of the smartest people I know.

"Okay, back to how we're going to show the video," Leah interrupts, pushing her arms between Delaney and Benjamin.

Delaney and Benjamin move away with acidic grumbles, barely sending a glare to each other. Only Delaney can pick an argument with the cleverest person over the stupidest thing, and come out feeling like she's won something.

Drew answers hastily, effectively moving our focus back to the issue at hand. "We could sneak into the sound booth and override the assembly slides."

"That's a good plan, just do that," Delaney says, ignoring Benjamin.

"But, I need people to come with me."

"Why?"

"You know, so if the mission is jeopardised, they can take the fall for me," Drew supplies, proceeding to imitate whooshing noises and machine gun sounds, while holding an imaginary weapon in his hands. Delaney rolls her eyes. So do I.

Drew stares at me, and I shudder at the devious glint in his eyes, hinting at exactly which person he wants. "I'm just kidding. Someone has to draw the teacher away, and someone has to help me in the sound booth."

"Well, I don't want to do it," I state. Please, let someone else jump the hurdle.

"And we do?" Delaney scoffs, "I don't want to get caught hijacking projectors. Dibs not."

Leah jumps onto it. "Dibs not."

"Great. Benny, Sophie," Drew levels an excited stare at us. "You're coming on a mission with me."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The last hour of every second Friday is a schoolwide assembly in the auditorium. Like Delaney said, it essentially is a way for teachers to parade exemplary students in front of the student body, hoping to inspire them by encouragement. It never works. Most people think of the model students as know-it-alls and no-lifes. I know, because I was one at my last school.

Drew, Ben and I managed to worm away from our homeroom classes in order to play the video. We're approaching the auditorium from the side, trying not to be seen. The door that leads to the stage wing from the corridor is, thankfully, left unlocked.

I pull it open slightly, without making a noise, peeking into the wing of the auditorium. Principal Fisher is delivering his addresses to the student body and relaying the events of Spirit Week, and Homecoming Weekend. A familiar teacher stands in the wing, arms crossed. I shut the door.

"Fisher is talking about Hoco," I relay quietly to the boys. "The laptop that's connected to the projector is backstage. But Mr. Weston's there, too."

"Okay," Drew nods to Benjamin. "You ready, Benny?"

Benjamin nods his head, his fists balled up at his sides. He's taking his role as a decoy incredibly seriously. "Yes. I'm going in."

Benjamin pulls open the door and steps in, letting it fall shut behind him. Several moments of silence follow. Drew and I have no idea what he plans to do, exchanging confused glances with each other. When voices start to drift closer and closer to the door from the other side, we jump out of the way and angle ourselves behind the door as it swings open.

"—don't understand where this is coming from, Benjamin." Mr. Weston, our AP Calc teacher, emerges into the hallway, following Benjamin as they head down the opposite end of the hall. "You're so gifted, why would you want to throw that away?"

While his back is turned, Drew and I jump through the door and into the wing of the auditorium. Before the wood falls into place, I hear Benjamin's deep, anxious voice. "Lately I've just been thinking about my future, what I really want out of life—"

"Wow," Drew chuckles amusedly. "He's good."

I smile warmly. "Yeah."

Protruding from the wall is a long panel, adorned in knobs and switches similar to a professional soundboard. An outdated computer is set next to it — maybe from the early 2000's when external hard drives were the convention — with a clunky keyboard, that probably clacks annoyingly when you type.

"What are these for?"

"It's for all the events that were going to be held here but never happened. Controls the lighting. Doesn't get used much." Drew plugs the USB into the laptop, swiping away the hardware notification before it even appears. "The school budget goes entirely into sports. Drama Club has to fundraise for their musicals themselves, so at the moment they're doing one performance every two years."

"Wow, that's drastic," I sigh. But not unexpected. Between Reece's parents' school donations and Brittany's father on the board of trustees, there is a strong incentive for the administration to prioritise the athletics program. Unfortunately, at the expense of all the other students in the school.

"Problem." Drew's voice calls me back to the auditorium. "Fisher's presentation doesn't require sound. So the speakers aren't on. We won't have audio."

"What?" I gape, "Are you kidding me?"

Drew remains silent, the computer occupying his entire attention span. I've lost him to the realm of the digital. We both turn our heads to the left, where the principal is still rattling on about the different events on each day of Homecoming Week. He's up to Tuesday.

I cast a cursory glance over my shoulder, towards the corridor door. Benjamin must still be keeping Mr. Weston occupied with his tale of academic woe, but I don't know how long we can rely on his acting skills. Drew levels a serious look at me.

"I need you to manually turn on the speakers at the back of the auditorium. There are stairs leading up on the side of the wings, which should lead you straight there," he gestures with his hands, pointing me out to the small service door that must lead to the stairwell.

Crap, I didn't think I'd actually have to help with anything. I think I'd rather do what Drew said, about me taking the fall for him, because this seems much harder. I will fumble and screw it up. But he's relying on me; they all are.

"They won't see you, but be quiet, because on the other side of those thin walls, is the entire school. The door's at the very top." He continues firing off directions, "You know they speakers on when the green light comes on, and that'll let me control the auditorium's sound system and volume from here. You good with all that?" He peers at me.

No. "Yes."

I set off, sneaking quietly back to the wings and turning up the stairs, just like he instructed. The pain in my thighs, and my shortness of breath is overlooked as I climb up endless stairs. Drew was right. The walls seem paper thin. I can hear Principal Fisher talking to the school. He's up to Wednesday. It's almost as if I were sitting in the auditorium with them all.

When the door comes into view, a sigh of relief unbiddenly escapes, when I lunge forward and twist the handle.

Locked.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In all his technicalities and detailed instructions, I find it incredibly funny how Drew let slip the possibility of the door being locked. And by funny, I mean infuriating.

I know beyond doubt that the door is locked, but that doesn't stop me giving the handle a few desperate rattles. Sighing, I lean against the wood of the very door responsible for my despair, and place my head in my hands. All our work, for nothing. Drew's waiting backstage, ready to play the video. Benjamin's lying his ass off to our Calculus teacher. Delaney and Leah are somewhere in the audience, anticipating a change that will likely never arrive.

This mission is going to fail.

"Sophie."

The voice seemingly comes out of nowhere, but the distress of the door kind of blocks the shock from registering. I lift my head to see Terrence, looking too concerned to be real. Did he follow me? He doesn't ask any questions, except for the one I would have most loved to avoid. "What's wrong?"

He and his friends are what's wrong.

So, what am I supposed to say? Tell him the truth, about how I want to unleash a video that could destroy everything for which he and his friends manipulated people tirelessly over a period of years? But before I do that, a stupid door is standing in my way, one which I am too skinny and weak and flimsy to even think about knocking down? No, thank you.

"Nothing. Just wanted to get out of the assembly." I add a small sigh, in hopes of spurring him to the liking of my fib. I should at least play the part. It's the least I can do now, since I failed my friends already.

"Odd place to come." The breathiness of his voice, like he's half-speaking, half-laughing, sounds like he's trying to cheer me up. I shrug, keeping a bitter glare trained on the tips of his shoes. I can feel the upbeat smile melt off his face, and feel the weight of my problems hang thick in the air.

Terrence doesn't believe me. A trickster like him should be able to recognise when he's being lied to. I would have been shocked, and even a little disappointed, if he had believed me.

I only look up now, seeing his hazel eyes, the colour of dried grass, peering down at me. His head cranes to look past my eyes, behind my head, at the door I am leaning against and back to me.

I truly don't know how to describe what happens next.

He steps up to me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "Move aside."

I doubt him immediately. There has been a suspicious undercurrent to our meeting, almost as if it's not a coincidence, but I ignore it. I ignore our tricky history, as well as our friends' tricky histories. There's no point to any hatred now, because the fight will be over before it begins if I can't get this video playing.

The confused jumble of thoughts renders me speechless, watching Terrence move with a curious crease between my eyebrows. I observe, uncomprehendingly but not protesting, as Terrence kneels at the door.

It's when he pulls out two thin metal wires from his pocket that I realise what he's trying to do. I sit beside him, seeing as I've never seen someone pick a lock up close. It looks like a cool trick to master. "Bobby pins?"

One is thicker and bent at a right angle, the other is unfolded, flat, and sharply hooked at the end, like an eagle's beak.

"Yeah. Don't want to bring proper gear to school, since they're expensive."

I recall something I saw in a movie, and lean closer to Terrence. "Does the credit card thing work, too?"

"Only if a deadbolt isn't set. Which most modern doors have now." He leans back, adjusting the bend on one of the bobby pins a bit more. "Bobby pins will do the trick for most doors, though."

"Most doors. Of course," I joke.

Terrence inserts them both into the lock, and gets to work. Watching him lockpick, the way his jaw ticks when he hits a difficult spot, how intensely his eyes focus on the lock calms me down greatly.

As my mind clears, I find myself questioning the rationale behind his being here. I would ask him, possibly sparking an argument, if not for the crucial help he's giving me right now. After a few minutes of pinpointed twists, precisely calculated, I hear a snap, a twist and the door opens.

He stands, pockets the bobby pins, and sighs. "I was never here. Understand?"

I nod, already rushing inside the room, looking exactly like Drew described. Fisher is up to Friday.

I turn around to thank Terrence, or yell at him for doing something so stupid and confusingly cryptic, but the stairway is empty. I hadn't even heard him leave.

Would Terrence have helped me if he knew why I needed to get in? He must have some inkling of why I wanted to get in there. If he is part of the Monarchy – which he most definitely is – why is he helping their demise?

If it is because of me, to win my trust, I don't know if I can ever believe him without wondering if he was running an errand for Brittany and had an ulterior motive.

I sweep my thoughts to the back of my head and lock them away. For analysis later, after the priorities have been taken care of. I flick the wall socket on and turn on the speakers, pushing both their round power buttons, the green LEDs blinking like flickering luminescent eyes. I send Drew a message on my phone. Ready.

Then, as some of my confidence and self-belief starts to trickle back into me, I sit back in the swivel chair and wait for the show to start.