NOT MUCH HAS BEEN ABLE to lift my spirits this past week, especially when all I can think about is the damned Monarchy.

At school, I coil up tighter than a ball of steel wool. Every time I glance at one of the Monarchy, I'll find them already staring intently at me. Leah's noticed, too, how they're circling like vultures. I've tried not to think about it too much, by keeping busy with editing the Chronicle and studying.

According to Benjamin's calculations, we'll have repaid the debt in less than three months. For a weekly newspaper, that's still a considerably long time to go without any accidents. By accidents, I mean interference from the Monarchy.

This is where Wyn has really stepped up, having joined Kyler with hiding the donations coming in. She's become an integral part of the operation, and hopefully, we can keep Brittany from getting her claws on more of the Chronicle's money.

The last time I checked on him, Kyler was beaming and kept busy with putting together the next edition. He was surrounded by familiar faces from the Photography Club, and Isaac, a freshman from the Book Club, was there, too. Leah's taken on his expertise to help her review books in her column.

But even this huge success isn't enough to dispel my paranoia.

Brittany and I never talk, but somehow I feel like I know her. I know that she's never let an act of defiance go unpunished and that the whole year has been a pattern of attacks. Us, them, us, them. I guess the most recent move was us taking back the newspaper, and she certainly won't let it slide easily. Maybe our stunt with the persuasions would have confused her — after all, what is there to gain from ostensibly picking a squabble with each of them? — enough that she temporarily forgets about the newspaper.

Mom has also noticed in the past two days how subdued I am, but I wave her concern away and pin the blame on AP courses. I feel cursed by the Monarchy, robbed of sleep and energy and joy but I recognise that it's of my own doing — because I have never been one to leave a problem unsolved, or a job unfinished.

I simply cannot let the events of the past few days go. Drew may have lost sight of the flickers of goodness inside his ex-friends, Derek and Reece, but I haven't. In fact, it's one of the only things I've thought about this week.

Unless I'm completely focused on studying or making dinner or talking with a friend, the memory of Reece leaning his head against his car seat, or of Derek's fingertip brushing my cheek for a split second rotate in my head without subsiding. Sometimes it's moments I've shared with Terrence. Sometimes it's Drew's face oscillating between a hopeful smile and a despondent frown.

Whoever it is torturing me, my train of thought always leads to the same question. Is there a flicker of goodness in the Monarchy that I can save? That Terrence or other members of the Monarchy could possibly be powerless, and desperate — the opposite of what I used to think of them — is a novel thought, scarily unfamiliar.

I don't think I could lead the Revolution the way I have been if I sympathise with them. I can't fight a war against people who aren't really my enemies. My conscience couldn't do it, but I have people depending on me. I dragged my four closest friends into so much stress and drama, I put them at risk of being targeted — physically or otherwise — all on the promise that the Revolution will be worth it. It has to be. I owe it to them, to my school, and to myself to see that this vile bullying doesn't happen anymore. Or graduate trying.

I'm so conflicted. There's no doubt that if Terrence and the others are being blackmailed, then they are victims, too. If Brittany has hurt them like she's hurt everyone else, then the Revolution should also aim to empower them. Despite the terrible things they've done. Despite the fact that they are still doing those things. I can't decide if I want to help Terrence or throw him in with his lot.

Maybe Derek was right. Maybe I have a hero complex.

I shake my head, refocusing on Luke walking in front of me to the bus station. His beanie is pulled snug over his ears, and his backpack jostles as we approach the stop.

That's what Derek wanted to do. He wanted to undermine my efforts and make me doubt myself. I won't let him win. So what if I'm a bleeding heart? If I stick my neck out for anyone that needs it? It's not bad to help. It's not bad to care. I repeat that in my head, using it to stave off the carousel of faces that have plagued me of late. It's not bad to care. It's not bad to care—

"You look awful," Drew says, his voice muffled by the scarf pulled over his mouth. He reaches the bus stop a few minutes after Luke's school bus came and went. "How are you sleeping?"

"Oh, you know, like I was on a thirteen-hour flight in a thunderstorm."

"Yeesh." Drew pulls his scarf away, his words misting in the air. "Is it school stuff?"

I choose not to reply, and Drew grows worried. In my periphery, I see him inspecting the dark purple circles under my eyes, the red veins creeping toward my irises, my furrowed eyebrows, and the way my shoulders seem to sag under the weight of only my schoolbag. I know I look horrible. I feel worse.

"Revolution stuff?" I nod once. He sighs. Abruptly, Drew blurts out an apology. "I'm really sorry, Soph."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For suggesting the persuasions. All it's done is make everyone question everything when nothing tangible has changed. Look what the uncertainty is doing to you."

"I'm a big girl, Drew." I smile fondly at him, "Yeah, at times I get too involved and too paranoid, but this is important. You started me on something big, and I really think if I just figure out the answers to the questions I have, everything will just... fall into place."

When the bus rolls around the corner, Drew says, "I guess I'll be sitting alone, then."

"What?"

"If you want answers, then you should talk to him today," he gives me a crooked half-smile. "If you want to think of Terrence as a friend."

My heart warms looking at Drew, his good-natured smile and nervous eyes. Did he come around for me? When the bus sags in its axles and opens its doors, Drew gestures for me to go first, winking at me as I pass. "You know what they say. Friends close, enemies closer."

He's right. Obviously. I could sit beside him the way I've always done, while he shoves his earphones in and I read a book. I could forget to turn the pages because I've been swept up in my conflicted thoughts. Or, I could take action and seek answers.

Before I even register it, the bus is screeching to a halt at Terrence's stop, and swinging open the doors. Bundled up in a parka, with a beanie covering his unruly hair, Terrence steps on and makes his way to his seat — the seat that everyone still avoids out of fear, the seat I had to force myself into. And when his eyes lock on mine, widening in surprise, it's like I've been transported to the day we first met.

"Sophie," his eyebrows crease. "You're in my seat."

Yeah. Exactly like the day we first met.

"I know. I figured it was the easiest place to talk to you." Hopefully, with other students around, Terrence won't feel as cornered as he did on Wednesday.

He shuffles on his seat, throwing his bag under the chair. An air of defensiveness suddenly wraps around him. I can hear his reservation in his voice. "Is this about the other day? What I told you?"

"Yes."

Drew warned me to keep my guard up around the Monarchy, and it seems that Terrence has been warned to do the same thing with us. There's iciness between us, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. "Then we can't talk. I shouldn't have told you anything, to begin with."

As surreptitiously as I can, I survey Terrence's face. His jaw is clenched, eyes dull and uninterested. This time, I realise I can't intimidate any knowledge out of him. His guard won't come down if mine doesn't. "I'm sorry we couldn't be friends."

"Huh?"

"You were the first person to offer to show me around. And even if you don't think so, I do appreciate the things you did for me," I explain good-naturedly. I don't why I'm being sentimental around him. My conversations with Terrence are always about the future, the unknown, the battles that have yet to rage. Never about the past.

He shrugs, still keeping a cold expression on his face. "It wasn't anything but interest in a shiny new puppet." Terrence is unaware of the way my teeth clench and the corners of my mouth lower, but I only think of how he's never said something that callous to me before.

Oh, he's certainly been mad and screamed things at me, but those were impulses. That comment seemed carefully crafted and precisely, purposefully flung at me. It was very Brittany of him, completely unlike his usual spontaneous, jovial nature. "Is that what you are to her?" I ask, softly. "A shiny new puppet?"

Terrence flinches, mouth slightly twisted in a small but agonised grimace. I don't feel any satisfaction in seeing his reaction, just sympathy. The exact emotion Drew warned me against. But at least it lets me know that there's still a boy made of flesh and feelings under all the stone.

"Why are you here, Sophie? To question the integrity of my friends?"

"If they are your friends, then I'm happy for you," I say truthfully. "But I don't like seeing you like this. I don't like hearing about people being bullied. And I would like to know if what you said to me in Home Ec. was true."

"What if it was? It's not like you and your friends will be able to help."

The breath hitches in my throat at the same moment my stomach sinks. "So it is true. Why do you let her do this to you?"

"Let?" Terrence chuckles exasperatedly. "There is no such thing as letting her."

"What does she have over you? It doesn't seem like anything is worth this."

The bitter, exhausted laugh that escapes Terrence speaks volumes more than his words ever could. In just a second, I realise how powerless he is. It doesn't matter what his conscience says, or how he was raised, because if Brittany yanks his string to the left, makes him jump, or tells him to hurt someone, he will obey.

"Sometimes I want to break free. Just let it all out and walk away. But then I get guilty because Brittany's never controlled me explicitly. She doesn't have to use the leash, see. The fact that I know it's there is enough."

My troubles are quite meaningless compared to his. He has to live without his free will, without trusting his friends. I still can't fathom what he's hiding, but now I understand what it's doing to him. He looks so different from the person I thought he was.

"In a way, she's my best friend. She knows the most about me. She does stuff that's... caring. But I can't tell if she really cares or if she's manipulating me for another favour. Then I get mad all over again."

"You don't owe her your friendship just because she cares for you. Neither do the others," I say, reaching comfortingly for his arm. "I wish you could just... just—"

"Just what? Get over it? Have you ever been blackmailed?"

"No."

"Everything is the lesser of two evils. You can't even think what you'd do if your worst nightmare came true."

My brows furrow. "What about the others? Do they think being a bully is the lesser of two evils?"

"How would I know?" Terrence questions, his voice dropping in volume. "We don't talk much. I learned my lesson about letting people know you. I'm sure they have, too." That is so at odds with what he said the day after Reece confided in me: he made it seem like they shared every detail of their lives with each other. Which was the lie?

I can't help but stare, endlessly confused.

Everyone has been telling me not to relax too much around Terrence, but I don't think he would ever hurt me in a state like this. He's too broken to do much but rant and squeeze his fists in anger. He's too broken to get out of that sick cycle of cat and mouse.

"Let me help. If I knew what Brittany was using against you—"

"If you suddenly happen to know details about me that never see the light of day, everyone would know I told you. I don't even know what Brittany would do. What would you do with that knowledge anyway? Blackmail the blackmailer?"

"No! Of course not." To be put on the spot with so many accusations from Terrence is a bit disorienting, and my mind is whipped into a frenzy trying to string together answers that won't upset him further. How could he think that?

"Whatever. If you want to know, you'll have to find out yourself. It's too... painful to talk about."

"That's fine. Just let me help you. Things will get better."

He turns his head to give me a thankful nod, and when my eyes catch his, I catch a glimpse of a flicker. "I'll believe it when I see it, Sophie." A flicker of hope, or shock that someone actually cares, or just more pain. But it's there, and the only sign I need to convince myself that this is the right thing to do.

Helping the four members of the Monarchy is the riskiest move I've ever pulled. If I gain some valuable information — and maybe, some secret allies — surely, the Revolution will end swifter and better for everyone.

At least, this is what I tell myself: that my sudden interest is fuelled by logic instead of that gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach when I look at Terrence frowning. I never want to see him so tormented again.

I want him to smile, and always be happy.