DELANEY IS LATE TO ENGLISH again.

It's odd only because she texted this morning that she was freezing her ass off at school with no-one to talk to. So, I figured she arrived with plenty of time to spare. I would have thought she would have sought warmth in the classroom by now, but only Callum sits at our usual table.

Twenty minutes into the period, she finally marches her fiery head into class. I expect a scolding from Mr. Williams, but he nods understandingly at her and asks, "All done?"

"Yes, sir," Delaney reports mockingly. Mr. Williams rolls his eyes. She walks to her seat next to Callum and me. In her arms is a pile of lime green flyers, which she slips into her backpack in place of her English workbook.

Callum leans closer to her and asks under his breath, "What was that about?"

"I had to chase down some juniors to ask them to sub for the Debate A team. I have a bunch of permission slips to hand out to them. We have our last competition in a few days."

"Why so last minute?"

Over the last month, Delaney and Benjamin have been busting their asses to prepare for their respective competitions. Benjamin's trip to New York is fast approaching, while the Carsonville Debate team is resolving the third and fourth places in their pool with the Debate equivalent of playoffs.

"Three of our usual A team caught mono. Hopefully not from each other, but you never know," Delaney quips. "I've been running around trying to convince our best sophomores to step up. But they're not taking the bait."

Callum whistles slowly. "Can you blame them? They're sophomores. They're totally green."

Flicking a stray lock of hair away from her mouth, Delaney raises her eyebrows. "I was A team in my sophomore year. Fuck, I was President. I expect the same from them. It's just a matter of increasing the pressure till those lumps of coal turn into blades sharp enough to win."

"You clearly don't have a solid grasp on how chemistry works," Callum retorts.

"And you do?" Delaney sneers, "C-minus." Callum and Delaney are in the same AP Chem class, Callum because he wants to be an Engineering major, and Delaney because she clearly likes hurting herself.

"Shut your mouth," Callum bites back teasingly. "You should be kinder to fellow students, Delaney, considering you have to guide a bunch of them to victory."

His words knock her right back into reality. Delaney stiffens like she's had a pail of water thrown on her, but I know she is just contemplating the debating skills of her fellow debaters. "Shit. Do you think negative reinforcement will fail? I have my work cut out for me."

"Where are the seniors? Or the juniors?" I wonder.

"Please," Delaney scoffs. "Half of the last two years' Debaters left after Brittany scared them off."

Callum slips his pen off his book and into the corner of his lips, curious eyes aimed at Delaney. "What happened with that again? All I heard was that you and Britt got into a wrestling catfight, which — bearing in mind she's evil incarnate — I was truly heartbroken to miss out on."

Delaney throws her head back and cackles, slapping Callum's shoulder with enough force to make him wince. Intentionally. "Nothing so sapphic, unfortunately, Cal. The bitch siphoned the gas from the school vans the night before our regional competition. We missed our slot and, you know, got disqualified."

"How do you know? Why would she even do that?"

"She tried out for the team but didn't make it and got really bitter. And in cases like that, sabotage really is the only option," Delaney spits sarcastically. I hum in agreement, having heard the grizzly details once before.

Callum stifles his laughter. "Oh my God. Brittany tried out for the debate team? In freshman year?"

"Yes. She and I were competing for the last spot. I got it, she got revenge."

"Whoa. That's really evil."

"That's Brittany. I don't even know why she couldn't let it go. Psychosis is the only explanation so far."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Reality slaps me in the face when I step out of the changing rooms, freshly showered and dressed after Gym class.

Derek, Madison, and Brittany are intimidating some skinny, freckled boy. From the look of pure terror in his eyes, I figure he's a freshman or sophomore. I watch as Derek slams the boy's locker shut and pushes him against him, his hand pressing down on the boy's shoulder. This is not the real him. But it is him, all the same.

Derek only needs one hand to keep the young student still, but I'd bet it's not even the sight of those shrapnel-ringed, scarred fists immobilising him: it's Brittany's glare. She wrestles his backpack off of him. After rummaging through its contents, unceremoniously scattering his stationery and books all over the floor, Brittany pulls out a lime green slip of paper.

People in the hallways don't pay any attention to what's going on. Actually, let me correct that. They are paying so much attention that they know to keep their heads down. I wish the message the Revolution has tried to spread sunk in faster, deeper, but it looks like nothing has sparked yet.

Every person who has been beaten up on her command, my close friends who've had their lives wrecked by the Monarchy, and the vicious, cold-hearted girl in front of me. All these images flash like police sirens in my head, warning me, albeit uselessly, to stop before she rips my head off.

But I can't. My hand comes down on her shoulder and jerks her to face me, away from the younger boy. Her eyes flash with fury until she recognises me and doubles down. "What the fuck is your problem, Olsen?"

"Give the slip back." My eyes drop to the lime green paper in her hands, the familiar writing of the Debate Club's permission slip visible before Brittany hides it behind her back. This must be one of the sophomores Delaney was trying to get to substitute for her teammates this weekend.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I glance behind Brittany. Derek is still holding the boy against the locker, but he tips his head over his shoulder at the sound of my voice. Our eyes meet, and I don't see any trace of familiarity. Madison's phone is poised in her hand, but her fingers are unmoving. She simply rolls her eyes at me.

How can they all act so well? Reece had this disconcerting, uncharacteristic breakdown in his car while I watched. Derek teaches music to children and once sung for me. Terrence has even underhandedly helped the Revolution multiple times. Madison is the closest to Brittany, her right-hand woman, her best friend, but I can still tell she is different. Warmer. Her eyes tremble when I stared her down, but Brittany's eyes are two shocks of colour with immobile pupils. Shark-like.

With the four of them, I know that their worst side is not their largest side. The same can't be said for Brittany. I grit out, "Just give the paper back to him. Stop interfering."

"You going to kick it out of me, then? Or sic Benjamin on me?" Brittany chortles leisurely. "That's hilarious."

"I— I don't need the permission slip," a small, meek voice says. "You can have it. If I could just get my bag back—"

Derek thrusts the sophomore harder into the locker, just as Brittany says, "Shut up." He falls quiet with a yelp and wince, but his eyes beg me to let him escape as Brittany cackles at the petrified frown on his face. I fix Brittany with a casual smirk. Playing dirty, then. "I heard you got rejected," I say loudly.

Her laughing stops. Brittany shoots sharp glares at the passing who had become interested in the conversation, waiting until they turn away before speaking again. A wave of frustration washes over me. How come they can stop to hear gossip, but they wouldn't stop to help a person being intimidated?

The Revolution grabbed a lot of attention, so I can't be ungrateful for it. But I'm afraid that the school just disregarded it as another piece of hot gossip because the few moments of freedom we won have been used up and everything's sullen again. Wyn, Kyler, volunteers from the clubs — people like them who have invested time and energy into the Revolution are the only ones I can think of that are still fighting hard.

The Monarchy has actually treated select people well, with the intention of them becoming their gossip detectors and henchmen. These people have no idea how Brittany has woven her clutches around everyone here. They've plugged their ears and focused on their devices for so long that they can't see the warfare.

Brittany steps closer to me, flinging the backpack down at her feet. More books spill out of it. In relative privacy, she asks airly, "Oh? Was it one of my jealous fans, because everything they say is shit. I do not get rejected by guys, I am the—"

"Not a guy."

"Excuse me?" Brittany hisses.

"Apparently—" I tap my chin patiently like I have all the time in the world nestled in my pockets. "You tried out for the debate team two years in a row and were rejected."

"Who told you that?"

"Who else? The President of the Debate Club." I revel in the furious scowl Brittany aims at me. That Delaney has that title, and not herself, probably pisses her off endlessly.

She holds up the permission slip between us and makes a big show of ripping it into shreds, the exact size and colour of St. Patrick's Day confetti. The pieces rain down on us when she throws them up, a challenging smirk on her burgundy lips.

I smile. "I'm sure Delaney will be more than happy to deliver another permission slip. Not to worry."

This close, I notice the lines of dark delusion in the creases of Brittany's irises. The shifty flicker of her widened eyes. Her twitching jaw. No-one is born with this much fury in them, so when did Brittany become like this? "You're fucking dead, Olsen—"

Derek and Madison both place a hand on Brittany's shoulder. She tenses in surprise, before turning around to face her friends. I don't know how she takes being interrupted, but I can see Derek's slight shake of his head and Madison's wide, concerned icy blue eyes. Brittany scowls and stalks off, leaving the four of us — bullies, bullied, bystander — blinking in the aftermath.

Derek and Madison follow silently, neither one giving me a second glance. I help the sophomore pick up his things. "Don't tell Delaney about this. I've decided not to compete—"

"Don't say that," a new voice pipes up, melodious and familiar.

I turn my head to see Faune, Leah's sister, and Zoe, a member of the Book Club, helping to gather his things. They are both sophomores, too, and the boy relaxes at the sight of them. They're his friends. Good. I feel much better about leaving him their hands.

I know Brittany wasn't merely after a piece of paper. The show was meant to cripple the numbers of the Debate Club even more, and for a second I thought she was successful. The sophomore was certainly shaken up by her. "You've got to stick it to everyone. Brittany, the competition," Faune continues cheerfully.

Zoe nods in agreement. "You should totally go this weekend."

"O— okay," he stutters. "Would it be a hassle to get another permission slip?"

"Not at all," I reply. I can imagine Delaney theatrically swearing and complaining about having to go around delivering another slip, but underneath, she'd be gleefully vengeful, ready to show Brittany up. "Delaney won't mind one bit."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

After school, I meet with my friends. Every few steps, I have to swerve around a puddle in the school courtyard. We're coming out of the depths of winter, but that just means everything that was frozen and cold is now melted and cold.

Benjamin and Leah are at my side, while Drew and Delaney are actually having a civilised conversation behind us. We are surrounded by the hubbub of hundreds of students, but I still hesitate to say anything about the Revolution aloud. "I talked to Brittany just before."

Benjamin strides over a puddle as if it isn't even there — damn his long legs — and halts to look at me. Since we made amends, he's been incredibly attentive to the things I have to say. Whether it's boring or dramatic, light-hearted or sobering, he wants to listen. "What happened? Why did you do that?"

"Sophie saw her threatening one of my Debate sophomores," Delaney fills in, repeating the gist of what I messaged her immediately after Gym.

I nod. "I think Brittany's close to losing her composure completely. Derek and Madison even pulled her back from me. We know she's threatening them. If we can get them on our side, then we've practically won."

Leah muses, "Brittany will be alone, and all their followers will side with the majority."

"It makes sense mathematically," Benjamin steps effortlessly over another puddle, "—but not any logical sense. How are we going to get them on our side? The persuasions were supposed to do that, and that didn't go down very well."

"The persuasions failed because we didn't know for sure about the blackmail. And because none of us really tried to be nice, did we? I know it's going to take more than some comforting words and a fake promise that everything will be okay. They're smarter than that, but also more afraid than we thought."

"So, we're screwed," Leah concludes.

"No. Well . . . not in the long run. The Monarchs, as they are now, are selfish. We've seen the lengths they'll go to to protect whatever secrets Brittany has over them. We just need to get close to them. Earn their trust. Then, when their secrets are out, Brittany will have nothing binding them to her."

"That doesn't mean they're going to jump over to our side, either. They might be angry at us for outing their secrets."

"I know. But when separated, they're weaker."

"Well, aren't you becoming a vindictive snake?" Delaney comments. "I'm so proud."

"Cut it," I scowl, tamping down the guilt in my stomach. Ditching a month ago with Derek, or talking in Reece's car — they're outliers. None of us have the time or capacity to follow the Monarchs around perpetually. We won't ever catch up to them; they need to be the ones to turn around and join us. "We're technically trying to help them."

"I know. That's what I disagree with." She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "These are the people who bullied your sister for years, Leah. Reece made a mockery of you, Drew. The former ex-best friend who beat you up in the first week of school — remember that? How can you guys forget so easily?"

"We're not forgetting." Drew's voice is a mere whisper in the wind. "I know that the Monarchy changed them, a lot. But, I just keep wondering what was important enough that they would hand themselves over to Brittany, and not tell me. I mean, Derek and Reece were my best friends for years. I guess I want to do what Sophie suggests just to find out what was more important than that."

Delaney mutters a vague expletive and rubs her temple. When her eyes meet mine, they are sharper and more determined. Fuck. If she comes at us with points and arguments primed and prepared, there's no way we can convince her. Especially since all tactics of the Revolution have to be unanimously decided. That's always been our game plan.

"Fine." My eyebrows raise. Who would have thought that Delaney was the type of person to give second chances? "Don't get me wrong," Delaney warns. "I know they were different before, but what if their secrets aren't that important? What if they just chose to betray you, Drew? They traded in their friendships for power, I don't think they made that decision lightly."

A streak of pain flashes in Drew's eyes before he opens his mouth to retort. He and Delaney are on the verge of fighting again. "My point is they didn't decide. What if Brittany managed to blackmail them into this from the beginning?"

Then, sympathy crosses Delaney's face as she and I both realise what Drew's thinking. He thinks they can be saved. That there's a reason why Reece and Derek left him. Sadly, I know that there is no explanation other than Derek and Reece growing power-hungry, taking whatever chances Brittany gave them.

Derek himself told me that the blackmail — at least, in his case — started after he made the decision to befriend Brittany. Drew knows all that went down that snowy Wednesday in Music class, but he's inclined to wonder what-if while I'm inclined to believe Derek. He's never lied to me yet.

Neither of us wants to be the one to tell him. So, I smile peaceably instead. "I guess we'll find out." Even though I already know.