"GOD, IT'S QUIET WITHOUT BENNY," Drew grumbles.

Today is the first of the Mathletes' Eastern League competitions, hosted at a high school an hour's drive away. This is the first round, which determines whether Benjamin's team will go to the qualifying rounds.

Benjamin didn't tell us when they'll get back since the times really depend on how the competition goes. If the teams are highly capable this year, or if any tiebreakers need to be conducted. I just really hope he wins. It's well about time he caught his dream.

While we all notice it, Benjamin's absence is not the actual cause of our group's somberness today.

It's the Monarchy. Surprise.

I told everyone about my two encounters with Reece and Terrence yesterday.

Delaney, as per usual, was ready to break bones — infuriated that declared a ceasefire without telling any of us, since apparently ceasefires need to be agreed upon. She was also offended that Brittany dared to be offended when she offended more people herself, and pissed off that Reece and Terrence wouldn't act on their dissatisfied feelings and simply walk away. The world exists in black and white to Delaney.

Leah reacted as Leah always does: thinking with her huge heart. She caught onto the implication that Brittany's inevitable comeback will be the harshest yet. That is if we're thinking in terms of retaliation, of tit for tat. The recruits have turned out to be the most pressing advantage we have, so she will press harder than ever when she returns. Leah only cares about the inevitable comeback the Monarchy will make, and how to protect people.

For Drew, what I experienced still demands a lot more thought. That's his once-best friend we're talking about, and I know he's never been able to summon absolute ire towards him or Derek.

Reece is a hard one to figure out. A couple months prior, Reece was a sadistic jerk who lived for the power the Monarchy comes with. Now? I think he's a tortured soul, with a long trail of mistakes and secrets that Brittany ties around his neck, and uses to keep him loyal to her.

Assuming the whole thing isn't a complex scheme to shake us, what Reece told me is valuable information. But caution is still required. He might be just feeding me more lies, though I understand what he means about needing a break.

I hadn't realised it, but I've been slowly losing focus in class, and studying less at home. Grades are dropping, if only by a few marks. Sleep comes later and leaves me earlier.

This Revolution isn't easy on us, either.

Twenty minutes later, just as we're about to call our joint study and strategy session a day, Benjamin strolls into the library. His happiness can't be contained in a mere smile, brilliant as it is, eyes twinkling in the four o'clock sun.

Nothing can match Benjamin's grin, but I try anyway. "Let me guess. You won?"

"Fuck, yeah!" His eyes widen adorably as he glances around the hushed library, scanning for the librarian. In quieter tones, leaning on the back of a vacant chair, he repeats, "Fuck, yeah."

"Stereo Shack?" Delaney offers. "We have so much to tell you, BJ."

A short drive later, the five of us tumble out of his car in a blur of giddy laughs and congratulations. Benjamin graciously shouted us each a hot drink from the Stereo Shack, which we all took away to Haywood Park. A thin track has been cleared on the concrete footpath through the snow.

We wander through the walking trails while Benjamin begins to speak. He's never usually this talkative, but this is math we're talking about. The love of his life. He says he hasn't eaten all day, being too nervous to eat beforehand, and too swept up to eat after the victory. We sip in relative silence, letting Benjamin's excitement chase away the varying negative emotions from our meeting.

Benjamin looks at us with an easy smile. "Thanks for coming out with me. I was feeling so high from the win. Kind of needed to celebrate."

"No problem. We needed to be here." Drew nods.

"Do you need to get your siblings now?" he muses, glancing at Drew and I.

"No," I chuckle. Luke will be occupied at soccer for another hour. "We've got time. Tell us all about the competition."

"To be honest, I can't remember the details. There was this really hostile team, however, that started trash-talking Elle."

Elle's the sweetest girl, but she has a cheeky side around people who rub her the wrong way. She doesn't like Drew because he interrupted one of the Mathletes practises. Drew reciprocates the feelings because she threw nearly every compass, protractor and ruler in the room at him.

Leah frowns. "Oh no—"

"Oh, yes," Drew says vengefully.

"Don't be cruel, Drew. She's only a freshman." I scowl jokingly at him, and he flips me off. "What happened?"

"Nothing much. I walked over because they were starting to draw attention, and everyone in their team was, like, four feet tall. Compared to me, anyway. They scattered quickly."

My eyes roll, then refocus on Benjamin. "I think your height's an unfair advantage."

"My brain's an unfair advantage."

"So, did you get any girl's number?" Drew asks, bringing his cup to his lips.

"You've obviously never been to an academic competition." Benjamin rolls his eyes. "The only numbers I'm going to get are the answers."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Leah Dellman arrives at our cafeteria table with a rustle of newspaper. Since I met Kyler, the newspaper has grown to be the subject of our interest more and more. We buy a copy to support him and Delaney every week — though Delaney is reluctant still about her newfound membership on the newspaper team.

It remains unspoken, but between us five, we simultaneously find Delaney's article first. She may not ever be front page news, but the column Kyler gave to her is our primary focus. Firstly due to our personal attachment to her, and secondly because Delaney's writing is brilliant. Regrettably, it offends a lot of people more often than not.

Kyler himself has, on many an occasion, ranted about how hard censoring Delaney is. I argue that she's just the slap in the face some people need. She's an eye-opener, and that is what makes a good writer, isn't it?

Leah detects our apprehension, and sighs. "Trust me. It's not as bad as the first one. It's actually pretty damn good."

The first article was a direct attack on the Monarchy. It had me confronting Wyn for a press room key, storming down there to see what the hell was up. Delaney is beyond smart enough to make subtle jabs, but this was different. This was all her anger spilling onto the page, and then sloppily edited. She left out names, but nothing else. And even nameless, the whole school knows which reigning power Delaney was referring to. Who the brunette ice queen is.

I think she wanted the Monarchy to read it. The rest of us didn't: we panicked. If any of them found out, the newspaper would be cut down before it even got to blossom again. Delaney behaving so recklessly was unfathomable — but then again, this was back when she would do anything to be free from the newspaper.

Drew shares my copy. A different person could have written this article. It's nowhere as abrasive as the last one. I suppose Delaney is getting used to her writing contract, and learning how to mellow out her ideas.

She talks about entitlement. Points are raised about the ongoing shootings, violent protests and tension between the law and the lawful. She sounds years older, and significantly more mature. The article ends placidly, rather than explosively, on a note about remembering that the things we think we are entitled to are things people have died trying to gain for their communities.

"Do you notice that even with her sophistication and maturity, she's still swearing?" Drew asks.

"Where?" He points, and I look.

"Crap is not so bad of a word."

"Meh. It sounds unprofessional."

Kyler tried to remove all the swears, but one slipped through. Aside from that tiny blip, he's been a great boss slash friend to Delaney. There must have been so much collaboration to put her love for controversy and his gentlemanly values in one column without drowning each other out.

Benjamin finishes the article last. He's the fastest reader out of us, and I know he most likely read it twice. We all return to our lunches.

But for once, I don't think anyone is complaining about the taste.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Down the hall from my AP Bio classroom is the press room.

It's my last period class, and after today's article, I see no reason not to congratulate Kyler. There's no way anyone can read the column and not become a regular peruser of the Chronicle, assuming the good quality continues. Kyler is standing off to the side of the hallway. He looks worried, which sets off a slow-burning fuse of paranoia inside me.

"What are you doing?"

"Holy fu—" I snuck behind quietly, and he jumps. "Funnels, Sophie."

"Funnels? Really?"

"I don't swear."

I go on to congratulate him, saying that the newspaper only gets better with time, and that he must be looking forward to its comeback. Then I notice the troubled frown. "What's wrong?"

"Brittany's back. She knows we're trying to bring back the Chronicle. She doesn't want people getting any ideas about the things we write about, and trying to overthrow her."

I've suspected that was the reason for her bankrupting the newspaper in the first place, by giving it a hateful reputation. Delaney, Kyler, Wyn and the editorial team are smart, inspirational people — that's why Brittany doesn't want people listening to them, and why I am so glad to have them on my side.

I follow his gaze from our little hiding place to a newspaper rack, where Madison and Brittany are holding a newspaper between them. "Oh, shi—"

"—vers." I arch an eyebrow at Kyler. He glances back innocently at me.

Being too caught up reading the third page of the newspaper, Brittany and Madison have yet to notice us peering. I'll bet it's Delaney's column that has them so enraptured. With each flicker of her eyes, Brittany grows visibly crimson. Once done, she scrunches up the paper and throws it at Madison. The pair walk towards the press room. Hot on their four-inch heels, Kyler slips into the side corridor with my wrist caught in his hand.

As we pass the donations box tacked to the newspaper rack, I note the coins and notes that fill it. Some short while later, Brittany and Madison disappear into the shadowy hall, at the end of which lies the press room. I know that we can't follow further, or risk getting caught.

Kyler says, "Fudge," under his breath and draws back.

We hear Brittany pounding on the door, even though no-one but Kyler has any reason to be in there. I thought he and Wyn were the only students entrusted with keys. Wyn should be engaged with the afterschool happenings of Photography Club right now, and Kyler's next to me, eyebrows pinched in worry.

If he doesn't know what's going on, there's definitely something off. He's chief editor; if he's worried, I'm worried.

"Terrence!" Brittany screeches, her knocks going unanswered. "Open the door!"

Kyler and I seem to forget to stay hidden, and we lean the right side of our faces around the corner, enough to glance with one eye. He's tall enough to see over me, our two heads aligned vertically on the wall.

This time, Brittany is not left waiting. A boy's silhouette appears through the cloudy window, door creaking open. A wave of annoyance stirs my stomach up. I think about the one instance that Terrence's lockpicking benefitted me, when I needed to access the auditorium projector booth, and how this must be the universe righting the balance.

Behind me, I can feel Kyler shuffling about, most likely checking that his key is still on him. He draws out a faded key, similar to the one Wyn has. Seeing it makes my gut cave in. Say Terrence had simply stolen a key, the problem would have been solved by changing the lock.

But I know Terrence has something better than a key. He knows how to lockpick.

How are we going to keep the newspaper protected if our locks are ineffective? That room is Kyler's headquarters. The print machines, computers, cameras and newspaper archives are all kept there. Terrence steps out from the room, but uses his heel to stop the door from relocking. Kyler leans further round the corner, his shirt skimming my shoulder.

"Did you find anything?" Brittany demands.

"No. I don't think there's anything here," he says, sounding tired and defeated.

"We don't know that unless you've turned every inch of this place over."

I hate her so fucking much. The newspaper is so valuable to Kyler. He's been on the team since his freshman year. There's so many people invested in the Chronicle. Wyn and her Photography Club use the newspaper as promotional material, and the Revolution depends on it for reaching out to the school.

"Well, unless you think you can do a better job, have at it." I think everyone is taken aback. Reece and Terrence, during the brief times I had conversations with them, made it seem Brittany has perpetual control. But she's losing some of her power over them.

"What did you say to me?"

Terrence steps back slightly, seeming to prefer the safety of the press room. "Nothing. Look, I've been at this for three days. I'm guaranteeing you, there's nothing here. Why don't you give me another job?"

Kyler stops breathing. I can feel him still behind me. My reaction to having my privacy invaded for three days, without knowing, would be way more volatile. I wouldn't blame him for breaking his no-swearing rule and clocking Terrence in the face. I've done it before. It feels great.

Brittany's face is obscured, but I see her heel start clicking on the floor. "Good idea. Do you still have your kit on you?"

"Yeah, why?" Terrence sounds really tired and he looks just as shitty. His clothes are wrinkled, face pale, eyes saggy, body hunched under invisible burdens.

"I've got one more task for you."

Terrence looks about to collapse right where he's standing, but manages to nod at Brittany. Sluggishly, he pulls out a roll of fabric from his school bag, like the canvas ones in which painters keep their brushes. His lock-picking kit.

"There's money in all of the donation boxes around school. I need you to get into them and take it all out before you go home tonight. Thanks, Terry."