THE PERPETUALLY CROWDED HALLWAYS AT Carsonville High used to annoy me so much.

The student roll here is much larger than at my last school, so walking between classes or to lunch brings an unfamiliar wave of crowds, loud noises, accidental collisions and watchful eyes. I feel that there are minefields in every corner, since I hate being watched, and I love my personal space.

But after I discovered the new hashtag, I've been grateful for being jostled and ignored. I was scared that the Revolution would put me at the centre of a new scandal and make me a person to be feared. The image of Brittany wordlessly pushing people aside with only a venomous stare is seared in my mind, and there's nothing I'd rather see than people not moving aside for me. It reminds me that we aren't like the Monarchy, and no matter how closely our actions mirror theirs, we never will be.

And that makes me more relieved than anyone can imagine.

If I needed more proof of my normal social status other than the way people treat me in the hallways, it comes in the form of an invitation. There's a Halloween bonfire after school on Friday, hosted by a seaside bar on the coast. It was Callum that invited the Unofficials — telling us to spread the word far and wide — and me that invited the rest of the Geeks.

Once school lets out, I meet up with the large group of seniors who are planning to attend. The event is R-16, operating on a wristband-drinks policy. If you dress in costume, you are entitled to cheaper drinks for the evening — but the majority of us aren't planning to buy anything. Benjamin is going to drive Drew and Delaney, while the Unofficials all crowd into Ashley's truck.

Glancing across the courtyard through the windscreen, I glimpse Terrence coming out of the main door. Angela has been in class ever since that disastrous baking assessment — thankfully we've moved into craft skills in Home Ec. — so I've successfully avoided Terrence in the one class we share.

He's heading to Brittany and co. on the lawn.

"Is the Monarchy coming tonight?"

"I hope fucking not," Ashley scoffs. "But you never know. On the one hand, most of them love to prove how they can score college students. On the other hand, all Carsonville High seniors hate them—"

I nod thoughtfully. There are reputed to be a lot of seniors in attendance, but there are also students from other high schools and universities coming. Maybe the Monarchy could lose themselves in the crowd? As soon as I consider that, I realise Brittany would sooner stay home than become just a faceless, nameless person in a throng of others. That's not her style.

"—ever since the Revolution kicked off, Brittany knows we're all less tolerant of her bullshit," Ashley remarks, pulling smoothly out of the car park. "We'll just have to wait and see which is the lesser of two evils to them."

Ashley blasts the radio as we drive to the beach. Sometimes we sing, sometimes we talk. "How's everyone's college applications going?" I ask curiously.

Ashley and Quen reply with identical wry remarks, "They're going." I chuckle, settling lower into the passenger seat. That's the attitude most of the people who want to go to college have. It's Halloween, so there's no shortage of time to think about it. So everyone starts thinking about it slowly.

"Mine are not," Callum announces proudly. "I mean, I'll start thinking about it after Christmas."

I whip around in the seat, arching an eyebrow at Callum. That's cutting it fine. He raises his hands plaintively. "What? I'm a quick worker. It'll be fine. Besides, I'm only applying to instate colleges. Halston is my number one pick."

The pedantic side of me that must plan ahead for everything doesn't understand Callum's lackadaisical approach to his own future, but it's weird for me to be more worried than he is. There is a shred of logic to his words, however, in that Halston is close, local, safe — geographically, and regarding applications. That's also my number one.

"I wish I could be that relaxed, Cal," Leah pipes up. "My number one is Juilliard, so I've been practising audition pieces and compiling a portfolio since the year began." Leah's violin skills are more than good enough for Juilliard — at least, I think so.

Quentin asks her more about the pieces she chose to perform in the event of an audition, and the conversation rolls on until the road turns to cobblestones and sand dunes rise above the horizon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The air is thick with the smell of sweat and sea salt, punctuated with the usual sounds partying teenagers, pounding music, whoops and whistles. The beach is definitely too cold to swim, but perfect weather to crowd around a warm fire as night falls over us.

It reminds me of my NorCal hometown, but at the same time, it's distinctly Carsonville. I realise with a rising contentedness that it doesn't pain me anymore, being here instead of there. Carsonville almost feels like home — a new one.

Leah and I spent the first half an hour with the Unofficials, and then we drifted back towards Benjamin, Delaney and Drew. Between strolling down the beach and the pier, taking pictures and dancing, I hardly notice Callum tapping my shoulder until he grows more insistent. Turning around, I take in his ruffled hair, askew clothing and red-stained cheeks.

"Cal!" Leah exclaims happily, jumping into a forceful hug. She's not drunk, just exhilarated. Can't say the same for Callum.

"Leah! Remove yourself!" he jokes. Swatting her playfully away, Callum takes a few seconds to fix his hair before levelling an excited gaze at us. "Guess what, guys? One of the sponsors, this startup DJ company, for the bonfire organised this open mic thing. The deadline to sign up was four days ago, but I managed to convince him with my—" Callum lends us a glimpse of his cheesy side, with a theatrical waggle of his eyebrows. "—unquestionable charm. Our slot starts in, like, ten minutes."

Leah's smile drops off as Callum's animated explanation sinks in. "So you just came up with the idea right now?"

"That would be correct."

"You gave us no warning and now you want us to improvise a song to play?"

His eyebrows rise, "Yes?"

"Callum Alejandro Vierra, I can't believe you!" she exclaims angrily. "I don't have my violin, and you know I hate performing in front of people we know. It's so uncomfortable—"

I agree with Leah. I don't have stage fright, having performed in an ensemble setting many times over high school. But a band of five, in front of students I know personally — and who might never let me live down a bad performance — unsettles me.

"—it'd help our reputation so much, and it's about time we did our first public performance." Callum pouts with hopeful eyes at the both of us. "Please. Come on, we'll rock this. I know it. All the equipment, sans violin, is provided. We just have to play. Please."

Leah and I exchange dubious looks. Then she sighs, linking her arm in mine. "Well, I suppose it won't be my reputation on the line, since I'm not playing. You guys will be fine if Sophie and I go?" she yells over the music to the rest of our friends.

Delaney, Benjamin and Drew nod in earnest, ensuring us that they look forward to us performing.

Practically bursting with glee, Callum turns and jogs through the crowd. Though, due to the compacted people everywhere, he hardly goes anywhere. He swerves around person after person with endless energy, looking very much like a pinball with nowhere to go. We squeeze through the narrow gaps between people, already heating up; now I don't have to question why Callum looked so dishevelled before.

Finally, after what feels like a trek through a humid, sweaty forest, we stop at a carpet stretched flat across the sand. The sand has been flattened, and cardboard boxes lie between it and the carpet. Black polyester belts on stanchions create a little wiggle room around the carpet, much like at the cinemas. Callum doesn't even register the tape and launches himself over it.

Leah and I follow him, opting to duck swiftly under the fabric instead of jumping right over it. Onstage, band equipment scatters the space. Callum's already gone confidently to the drum kit, sat down, shuffling the ride cymbal closer to him. I can only watch amused and partly embarrassed as, with a sharp tug of his arm, the cymbal topples with a harsh crash. The sound reverberates like nothing else, and in my periphery, I notice people nearby turn at the sudden noise.

Ashley rests on a stool tuning a dark, amber, acoustic guitar, sheet music scattered around her. She stops picking the strings long enough to look pointedly at Callum, mutter, "You dumb shit," and calmly returns to tuning.

By her feet, the sheet music is marked with our initials for the part we have to play. I pick up my sheets, and feel a cool wave of relief wash over me when I see that it's a song we already know well, and played several times. Except, Leah didn't bring her violin tonight. Ashley notices this, and tosses her the—

"Vocals?" Every drop of colour drains from Leah's cheeks when she glimpses the music, her terrified eyes flickering from the paper to Ashley. "But, I've never sung it before. Can't I just sit out of the performance? I'll morally support you."

True, Leah's never sung the vocal part before. The first time we made Callum sing vocals for us purely was as a joke, and to make him squirm a bit. Then, we realised the knucklehead actually has a fine set of pipes — so all our singing parts have gone to him, as well as drums.

Quentin's just come back from double-checking the sound system. He's quite the genius when it comes to any sort of electrical system, which helps greatly when setting up for a performance. He at least decided to take his flute home. It sits in Ashley's truck, while Leah's violin is back at school, locked in a Music classroom. "What's going on here?"

"Reshuffling parts," Ashley returns.

Like the rest of us, Quentin also came unprepared for an impromptu set — but he has more in common with Leah still because the instruments they play happen to be instruments that weren't provided by the sponsors. To be fair, we did miss the deadline for signup.

"Oh. Well, I'll sing with Leah and Cal, in that case."

Like the first rays of light in a declining eclipse, Leah's face illuminates with relief and gratitude. "Would you? That would be—"

"—perfect?" Quentin hazards a guess.

"Beyond."

So all is well, and the preparations, soundchecks and tunings and warm-ups continue. We've gathered a small audience. Not all are paying attention to us, but they're here, and that's all that matters. Most of the people in the crowd are looking for entertainment. I can see it; that small flicker of curiosity that needs something to turn it into a fire.

In the middle of the stage, Callum huddles us into a circle. "If you're all ready, we can start now." We confirm that we are, comforting hugs are given, wishes of luck are made and then, the Unofficials go live.

Pressed to the microphone, Callum greets the crowd charismatically, "Hey, guys. How are we all on this wonderful night?" The crowd roars a response. "Cool, cool. We're the Unofficials, from Carsonville High School. Do we have any fellow schoolmates here tonight?"

Most of the crowd screams out — a few from the other local schools yell back with competitive remarks — but the mood remains bright as a firework against the navy skyline. Callum's actually rather skilled at working up a crowd, managing to have our audience in the palm of his hand, engrossed and waiting.

"So, we are a cover band and we are performing a familiar song for you tonight. If you like our sound, just make some noise."

The four-octave keyboard considerately provided by our sponsors is gleaming under the portable reading light attached to it. It's wreathed with fancy looking switches and dials, all of which I'm sure drastically alter the sound — so I steer clear of those since no-one can go wrong with a steady acoustic piano. And I'd rather not suddenly blare a demonic dubstep beat in place of the lilting melody I'm supposed to play.

Leah is visibly trembling, one shaky hand entangled in her technicolour braid, the other clutching a microphone. I really feel for her. When she plays the violin, she sinks into a trance that no-one can interrupt. Not Madison and Derek's piercing gazes in Music class, not loud noises or the ringing school bell. But she hates feeling watched as much as I do — likely because of how Madison has treated her sister — and without the protection of her greatest skill, Leah freezes.

Quentin, next to her, also noticing her bout of nerves, steps up to Callum and takes the microphone off of him. "Wait just a moment, guys."

He stoops to the ground, where the electrical setup, amps and soundboards are. A second later, a golden spotlight blasts into our faces. Trapped in the spotlight, I can't even see a few feet in front of me. I can see dust motes lofting around, my skin tanned the way it never has been naturally. But not the crowd. It's completely dark beyond the light, and I realise Quentin's motive; it must be the exact same for Leah.

He's done the most beautiful thing for her — he cured her stage fright, if only temporarily — by removing the crowd of faces. She, now standing tall, seems far more comfortable now. The crowd, recovering from the shock of seeing the lights, quietens. I'm only getting this from what I hear, of course, seeing as they've been overshadowed.

Our cue is usually Callum tapping his drumsticks. Tonight, I'm bringing us in, smooth and legato, at the pace I set. I take a shaky, excited breath.

Even though I can't see them, I hope my friends — Drew with his cheeky smile, Benjamin with a calm, knowing look and Delaney with her perennially self-assured smirk — are watching.