CARSONVILLE HIGH SCHOOL'S BOOK CLUB has the displeasure of calling their headquarters one of the oldest and shabbiest rooms in the school. The smell that washes over me as I step in is rank, vaguely like a neglected attic.

Riley Salesi, a petite doll of a girl, with golden-caramel glasses, golden-caramel skin and a smile that defies the tiredness in her eyes, introduces herself, as I myself. She's the President. I know I've never appeared intimidating at first sight to anyone, but Riley looks like such a timid person that even a harmless stranger might make her wary.

"Welcome to Book C-club, Sophie." The stutter in her voice does not slip past me, though it might just be a facet of her personality rather than a sign of fright.

I smile at her in thanks, and really look around the room for the first time. Four chairs are set up in a circle in the middle of the room, all occupied, now that Riley has taken her seat again. Pushed against one wall is a large steel bookshelf that bends at some places with the weight of the books stacked on it.

There are stacks of chairs to one side, probably for all the people who used to be in Book Club before the Monarchy ruined it. The room looks so empty and bare of life, like it should be a tomb instead of a meeting place for students.

Unmistakable traces of water damage litter the room, from the tan stains on the ceiling to the crinkling posters on the wall, the words on which have long since been smeared by moisture and dried again. Black mold is starting to spot some corners of the room, and out of four fluorescent light panels, one is operational, though just barely, flickering sporadically.

My heart thumps painfully at the idea of them using this room for so long, that dust and disrepair have become the norm. I hate it when people who've done nothing wrong are forced to accept less than they deserve.

I don't think I have hated the Monarchy as much as I do right now.

The corner of my lip twitches up, with both disgust and pity. Four students. Is that even enough to form a club? My eyes circle back to the book club members, softening when they meet equally curious gazes. Maybe it's the aura of acceptance that radiates from Riley and her friends, but I feel at home with fellow bookworms like myself.

Like I could tell them any problem in the world and they would give me the best combination of comfort and practical advice.

A boy with shaggy black hair, skimming his eyelashes, says to me with nothing but utter concern, "You do know that this Book Club, right? You're not lost or anything, are you?"

"No, I'm meant to be here."

"Are you here to join?"

"No, but maybe later," I say. "I wanted to talk to you about the Monarchy—"

"—tell Brittany that we didn't do anything! She can't make us move again," Riley suddenly shouts. Jumping out of her chair, making it jolt backwards with a screech, she heads over to me with pure anger blazing in her eyes.

"What?" I take a hasty step back, "I'm not here for Brittany. I'm here for you guys."

Everyone looks at me with disbelief and caution. Of course, they don't trust me. Anything that holds a semblance of the Monarchy has the ability to turn an entire room of people against someone.

They analyse me, when finally their postures relax noticeably and a more amiable tone settles over us all.

"Well, I'm Isaac. I'm a freshman," says the shaggy-haired boy with a proud sideways smile.

"I'm Zoe. I'm a sophomore." Zoe, a girl with cocoa skin and a cutting jawline, waves to me.

Another boy with fiery ochre hair and freckles is slumping darkly in his seat; he simply mutters, "Phoenix."

I can't see any reason why Brittany would have a vendetta against these people. But then again, I have never known why the members of the Monarchy do what they do, only that they act without perceptible remorse.

"You had something to tell us?" Riley asks.

"Well, you guys clearly know of the Monarchy." I watch their faces intently, in case someone decides to have another outburst.

"Is there anyone who doesn't?" Phoenix scoffs, bitterness weighing down his voice and eyes like an anvil. He doesn't even take his eyes off of the floor.

I continue, "Good point. I know that they've been taking funds from certain areas of the school that they aren't entitled to."

"You say that as if that's the worst thing they've done," he grumbles.

"I know that's just the tip of the iceberg, and that they've done horrible, repulsive things."

"What are you trying to say?" Phoenix becomes impatient quite fast, and I think I have to exclude him from how I thought the book club members were welcoming and polite.

"My friends and I want to stop that."

It seems that no-one dares breathe, the only sign that they haven't been frozen in time being the occasional blink. They can't even give me incredulous looks, they just stare. And stare. Slowly, like an ice sculpture melting under a summer sun, expressions of shock replace the cold and vacant stares.

"Are you feeling alright? Do you need the nurse, or someone to call?" Riley asks me, alarmed.

"I'm fine. I'm perfectly healthy and sane, even though it seems otherwise. My friends and I came up with a plan to take down Brittany and the rest of them, but we need people to help us," I explain, trying to get all the words out before I am interrupted.

I expected as much. From what I've seen, convincing people I'm not crazy would be the first impossible step. Convincing them to commit social suicide would be the next.

Nothing insane about that.

"Us? You came to entirely the wrong people," Zoe states, eyebrows raised high. "We don't have any power."

"Yes, you do. It may not seem like it but you are exactly the people we need. We need people who have been threatened, beat up, mocked, bullied and harassed by the Monarchy and still won't give up. You have gone through hell with them, yet still you continue to hold these meetings, even though Brittany doesn't want you to. You are exactly what we need."

The room is silent for a long, tense moment but their sharp eyes tell me I still have their attention.

"If, if, we decide to help you, what would we have to do?" Phoenix finally asks. He's not convinced yet, but at least he is considering the idea. Maybe we have a chance.

"Nothing. Not at first. So far, we are just looking for people who are gutsy enough to take a stand. You'd keep your involvement with us a secret, and when it comes time for us to act publicly, we'd call on you."

I can see each of them think over it. Turning the idea over and over like one would a Rubik's Cube before beginning the unscramble. Finding the loopholes.

Abruptly, Phoenix tells me, "No, I'm sorry."

"Speak for yourself," Riley disagrees, "I want to join."

"Are you kidding me, Riley? This is going to kill you." Phoenix's anger is rather unexpected and if the shameless concern he has for Riley says anything, it's that there is something personal going on here.

"Hyperbole, Phoenix," Riley replies, not missing a beat.

"There are more ways to be killed than just physically."

"You know I don't care. Weren't we just hoping for a way out? And now someone is offering it to us and you won't even think about it?" Riley's temper is flaring up, and for a girl who gave the first impression of being meek, she's absolutely frightening when cross with someone. I take an immediate liking to her.

"I'm thinking about our best interests! If the Monarchy discover what we're doing, they'll fucking get rid of us like they got rid of the others." Phoenix's voice is softer now, desperate and pleading with his maybe-girlfriend.

I think to ask what he meant by the others, but then catch my tongue, realising that I should really stop the argument. Relationship or not, Riley looks ready to hack out someone's brains.

"They won't find out. Until we are ready to face the Monarchy, my friends and I will be the only to take credit for the Revolution," I interject. It has never been an option for me to let other people take the fall for something I started.

Call it hero syndrome, or hubris, but I can't let them do that. I don't know why, because I have never been severely bullied, or victimised. Maybe it's because this was happening while I was living a regular life and I feel like I need to compensate for all the pain I missed out on, so I can actually empathise with Carsonville's student body.

I know it's not a bad thing that I didn't feel targeted till this year, but I would feel guilty and disingenuous if I asked others to rebel against something I haven't faced myself. So I put myself in the firing line before asking anyone else to join me.

"Wait a minute. Were you guys responsible for the video that played during the assembly?" Phoenix questions.

I nod, and in a split second, he's no longer angry. Just shocked and even a bit impressed. I didn't think the video would make this much of an impression. I wonder if Brittany's seen it yet. "This is the sort of change I'm talking about," I mutter.

"The Geek Revolution," Zoe murmurs. "Has a nice ring to it. I'm in."

"Phoenix, please consider it. Imagine how much this could do for this school," Riley pleads. "Do you want your siblings attending this school and going through the same stuff you did?"

They hold gazes for a solid three seconds, before Phoenix groans in defeat. "Fine. But if you get hurt, we're leaving."

"Fair enough," I nod. "I just need your word that you aren't going to rat us out." Caution is clever, after all.

"Why would we?" Phoenix sneers. "What else could they possibly do to us?"

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

My walk to the photography room is rushed, considering the after-school time allotted for clubs ends soon and I want to get in this meeting with Photography Club.

Despite their door being ajar, I still knock and a muffled voice replies straight away. I can't hear what they said, so I just take it as permission to enter.

There are a few more people here than in the Book Club, all busy with their own projects. A boy walks out of a door at the left side of the room, which I think leads to the dark room, a filmstrip in hand. Hanging wire clotheslines are strewn across the ceiling, a few developing snapshots pegged to them.

It smells of ink in here, and a fan by the door sends cool breezes my way. I feel almost invisible in here, since no-one seems too bothered by my arrival. Save for a few curious looks, I receive nearly no attention.

At a bench scattered with paint stains and cuts from craft knives gone astray, a girl taps away on one of many outdated laptops set up in a row. She looks up at me when I clear my throat. "Could I see your club president?"

A few heads turn to me and she calls out a name. "Wyn! Some girl wants to see you!"

Moments later, another girl walks out of the dark room, shutting it very quickly behind herself. With sleeves rolled up at her elbows and choppy brown tied messily at the top of her head, she looks carelessly artistic. "You wanted to speak to me?"

The casual demeanour about her makes me think she's wonderfully cool and intriguing, without either trying or knowing.

"I'm Sophie." The smooth curve of her lips hints at her complete disinterest in knowing my name, but respects me enough to pay attention. "And I need your help for something."

Based on the Book Club's reaction, convincing these people could take a lot more time and tactfulness than I originally anticipated. She, I think the girl called her Wyn, smoothly arches an eyebrow and leans on the edge of the bench with all the laptops.

"Depends heavily on what it is."

Her face is still completely blank, mouth set straight and eyes unconcerned. And unrelatedly, the thought of watching a game of poker between her and Derek sparks up. But I digress.

"The Revolution to topple the Monarchy."

I peer at her, eager to see her response. Some emotion has snuck onto her face, curiosity drowned out by shock. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Whoa. You are— are you sure about this?" Wyn purses her lips dubiously.

"Completely." What is with everyone questioning my intentions? Even if it's absurd beyond belief, have faith that I know exactly what I want.

"And you want me to join?"

"All of you, as many people as we can get."

Wyn begins to walk away from me, without a further word. I stumble after her, watching expectantly as she lifts the top of a printer nestled into a corner of the room. She swipes the photo that lies there, and takes it back to the long workbench.

Dark brown and heavily worn, a plywood box sits surrounded by paper clippings. In messy scrawl, on the side of it reads newspaper pics/original copies. She throws the picture in there, and turns back to me.

Scratching her head, causing strands of hair to loosen from her bun, she exhales breathily. "So, you— what?"

"I want Photography Club to join a—"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got that bit."

As if a world of stress has been unloaded onto her shoulders, the most Wyn can do is rub her temples and groan lightly. "Just checking to see if you actually mean this. You can leave now, and I'll forget the whole encounter if you want," she offers lightly.

I don't even consider her offer. I'd rather have the Monarchy beat us despite our best efforts than have them win by default. "No, this is going ahead, whether we have fifty people, or five."

And with what could be anything from confusion to admiration to bafflement, Wyn stares openly for a few moments. Then the poker face returns in a flash, and she turns away from me. "Hey! Club meeting!" she screams.

All the other people in the room slowly mingle into a loose semicircle around Wyn and me, taking a few minutes to finish up their things first. I count as they arrive; there are twelve people in the Photography Club, but they somehow look bigger and more numerous than they are.

I still expect a few stragglers to come wandering into our group, because I always think of Photography Club as one of the more popular groups at Carsonville, like it was at my old school. I had a thespian friend in junior year who could never stop talking about it the year he first joined. Even made an Instagram to accompany his work.

"What was your name again?"

"Sophie."

"Wynter," she smiles faintly. "Guys, Sophie's got something to say to us. Pay attention for two minutes and then you can fuck off back to your work."

In a mechanical monotone reminiscent of Wyn's, I repeat exactly what I told Book Club, adding in some finer details about the stages of the plan. Once I stop talking, the silence is almost palpable, pressing in on all of us. Then a boy lets out a shaky laugh and we all turn to him. "I know what this is. The Drama guys are pranking us."

"Oh yeah," everyone mumbles, yet Wyn keeps a wary eye on me. I'm glad she actually takes me seriously.

"No, I'm serious." Why are people so hard to talk to?

The boy then says, "Well, you're either serious or sane. Which one is it?"

"I'm not crazy! Just please, think about it."

"What do we have to gain?"

"Are you kidding? Everything. Freedom. Your club would start to get funding again. More people would know about you, and want to join in," I list. "You gain everything the Monarchy has taken from you."

"It wouldn't make a difference." Wyn steps in, with a despondent sigh, "We're on the verge of being cut as it is."

"Yeah, our cameras are one shutter away from being a pile of dung," the boy from before mutters. "They don't even have display screens."

The room looks wholly miserable, despite the bright pictures on the walls and the steady alternative song pulsing out from someone's phone. And, thankfully, I suddenly remember the camera we won from the carwash. I left it in my bag, since I'm sure to lose it if put anywhere else.

Aside from taking the photos for our video, it's completely new and unused. None of the others seemed particularly keen to take it. I was excited to get it, but honestly, I've never had a penchant for photography.

"I know it's not much, but I might be able to help," I say, pulling it out of my bag by the strap. I know no-one would mind me giving it up to the Photography Club. It helped with the Revolution once before, it only feels right to help others with it now.

Wyn stares at me before taking it, deftly examining the switches and lenses, like only an expert could. "Are you sure you're not crazy?" she asks again. This time, I can see her half-smile and twinkling eyes for what they are — a sign of humour, and friendship.

"Yes. Now take it, before I get annoyed and change my mind."

"Thanks," I sigh gratefully. "We'll try our best to help you."

The rest of the room agrees with hearty tones, and my face lights up as rapidly and blindingly as a camera flash. Gradually, the eleven members of Photography Club, excluding Wyn, drift back to pinning up photos, editing on the laptops and curing old-fashioned prints in some solutions in rectangular trays.

Before I leave, Wyn pulls me aside with a jaw set in determination. There's a pair of scissors tucked into the strap of her apron, which she was wearing when she came out of the darkroom. "You realise that this could be the biggest shitstorm Carsonville has ever seen?"

Oh, how little she knows. With a wicked glimmer in my eye, I smile.

"That's what we're counting on."