THE ENTIRE SCHOOL FEELS THE defeat of our Knights.

Lessons are particularly glum the day after the game, like the whole school is drooping and wallowing in self-pity. It's been a generally negative day so far, with both literal and metaphorical downpours. Delaney and I are walking to the cafeteria for an unpromising lunchtime.

"I gave my choice for next year's Debate Club President this morning."

I ask, "Who?"

"That's irrelevant. I'm going to wait until they prove themselves worthy before I tell them I have faith in them."

"Harsh."

"Effective," Delaney counters.

"Well, I'm sure under your leadership—" I'm cut off by a quick cough from Delaney as she nudges my elbow. She raises her eyebrows first at me, then at someone behind me.

"Remember, it's your plan," she whispers, before patting my shoulder and darting into the cafeteria.

My plan? Confusion washes over me at her sudden departure, but not for long. I barely have time to take a shaky breath before I hear a boy clear his throat, his cologne wafting in the air. I turn.

I try to sound peppy, but my voice sounds monotonous to even my own ears. "Hi, Reece. Here to bite my head off?"

Whatever leeway I'd made with him in AP Bio — sliding him answers on notes whenever he's called on by the teacher, letting him borrow my notebook for the weekend, all of it — collapsed when I briefly encountered him after the game yesterday. He went straight back to his old ways, and my work was erased completely. Or, so I thought.

"I'm sorry for being a bastard yesterday. I was just mad at the failure." It's a shock to hear that: the apology spilling over from his lips. A surge of hope washes over me, a welcome spark of optimism on this sombre, dreary day.

While he continues on to berate his actions and plead for my forgiveness, I chew on my lip to keep from smirking or cheering in victory. It's not that I'm smug about Reece apologising, just so damn grateful that I don't have to start from square one with him. I understand what Delaney meant now. Remember the plan.

I've come to realise that I can't be passive anymore about the Revolution. There's just no time for it anymore. Eagerly, I snatch up the opportunity dangling from Reece's soulful eyes. "What happened yesterday?" I question. "You seemed really distracted."

"I was, but I'm feeling much better today." I know he only came to apologise, but I would much rather have his secret than his apology. So, as he is walking to the wide set of cafeteria doors, I touch his arm softly. He turns back to me, slightly alarmed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, don't worry about it. Enjoy your lunch."

"Okay. Whatever it is, I hope it isn't too serious," I say comfortingly, while my mind stitches some cunning sentences together. "Especially if it's going to mess with your head like yesterday, I'd definitely want it off my chest. Having the whole school depend on me to be on top of my game every round — I don't know how you do it, Reece."

Obviously still affected by his loss, he answers numbly, "Years of practise, I guess."

"Well, I bet you'll do great next time, then. I might even go to the last few games to watch you."

The last caring notes of my voice linger in the air as Reece's eyes darken. I don't know what exactly is on his mind, but if I've managed to plant the idea that venting his feelings to someone will make his next basketball game go more smoothly then I'd call my attempts successful. I just hope his love for sport is enough to convince him to confide in me.

Reece is mulling over something, his eyes detaching from reality and wandering into a daydream before hardening. He opens his mouth to speak — probably to deny that anything's wrong — but I can't let this opportunity slip away. "You know if you ever need a listening ear, I'm here. Any time." The words rush out of me so intensely that I sound almost desperate.

I want to sound sincere because, despite my questionable motives, I am. My breath stutters as I wait for him to turn me away. It's the only logical outcome, after all. Frankly, Reece looks as stoic as ever. No pained eyes, no brimming tears or breaking voices. Not like how I saw his first breakdown. The boy in front of me seems flawless, which most likely means my efforts haven't made any sort of dent in him. I was just going out on a limb in case some information arose.

But then Reece's eyebrows pinch, just a little. His voice cracks. Just a small whine of a sound, yet it strikes my ears as thunderously as an iceberg splitting. "Even if I needed it now?"

And that's enough for me to realise that everything he looks on the outside is just a projection of what he wants to be, not what he is. On the inside, he's a little broken, a little scarred by something.

I have to ignore the gnawing guilt that is telling me after he finds out I used him, he'll be even more broken and scarred. Surely, he would understand why I have to do this. Brittany can't keep controlling people like this. She can't hold people back from their dreams, or from speaking out. The last thing I want is to hurt people like Brittany does, but to stop her, I have to burn away the ropes she's tied around their necks, even if they get scorched a bit in the process. It's the only way out I know.

So, while the other four revolutionaries and the other four Monarchs must be chatting away in the cafeteria, Reece and I wander into a deserted hallway. He slumps against the lockers, letting his knees buckle until he's sitting on the ground. I awkwardly descend next to him. Delaney must have planned this out in her head in a split second, the freaking genius. I hope she at least told Benjamin, Leah and Drew why I'm skipping lunch.

Reece rubs his palms over his face. "I swear, I'm not usually that bad at basketball." I keep silent as Reece starts to open up his walls to entirely the wrong person. I've always wondered: if Reece thinks I'm the right person to trust, but I don't, who is correct? "It's just yesterday, is always an emotional day for me."

My earlier suspicion is slowly confirmed. It must be some sort of annual thing. Maybe an anniversary of some girl who broke his heart? That would make for some really powerful stuff — stuff that both Brittany and I could use. Shifting closer to Reece, I nudge his shoulder until he looks at me. "You don't have to tell me," lingers in the air, like a gentle promise.

"No, I really should get this off my chest."

From his pocket, Reece pulls out his wallet and plucks a crinkled photograph. White age lines run across it like fissures. It's nearly in tatters. Leaning over his arm to see it, my breath catches at the familial scene frozen on paper. The photo is of a toddler-aged Reece sitting barefoot on grass. Next to him, an older boy — about eight years old — is posing with arms flexed. In one hand is a tiny football, the kind made for kids. An extremely oversized sports jacket hangs on the boy's shoulders.

Reece's lips are set in a straight line as I ask, "Your brother?" All I get is a nod. "What was yesterday?"

I'm preparing for the worst. His brother looks so gleeful — like there are rays of sunshine inside him, bursting out from the corners of his eyes and gaps in teeth — I'll be disheartened if yesterday was the anniversary of his death. I can't help but be a little relieved as Reece says, "His birthday."

"What happened to him? If it's not too personal."

"Uh," Reece forces the words out, around the tight lump in his throat, "He had an accident in high school, which stopped him from playing sports. Sports is kind of a family tradition, and his not playing anymore made things kind of tense between him and Dad." A tremor runs through his voice, indicative of all the grief Reece holds in his heart. I feel my stomach twist nauseatingly in fear of what he is going to say next. "After that, he got into some bad habits, and moved away. I didn't try to stop him. We didn't even hear from him until it was too late. Police said suicide. They found him in Seattle."

My throat closes up. "I—" What can I even say to something like that? Like a fist squeezing my windpipe, the pain is internal and silencing. What makes it worse is that — despite me wanting to reach out to anyone who's gone through that — Reece and I have no personal connection. I want to console him, yet it feels like there is a physical barrier preventing any words from escaping my mouth. "I'm sorry."

Reece's shoulders tug upwards, his expression nonchalant and his eyes quivering under a layer of unshed tears. "It was ages ago."

"So? Isn't love forever? You're allowed to grieve about that."

"Grief is overrated. All those moments of weakness. Just like fucking handing Brittany a gun and pointing it at my own head."

"Grief is necessary. You need to process your emotions—"

"When emotions have been such an advantage to me in the first place," he spits bitterly.

"I mean it, Reece. I know what you're going through, the death of family." My voice catches at the same time I realise that this is the first time I've said anything about Dad to someone in Carsonville. Derek guessed but I never admitted it aloud. It's still a challenge to talk about him and not break down, but less so than before. "My Dad died when I was six. Killed in combat. Luke was so young at the time, he can't even remember him now. And grieving, it's hard. I know, but it doesn't make you weak. If anything, it makes you stronger."

Reece stiffens next to me. "I... I didn't know. I mean, of course I didn't but— I'm sorry, too." He hands me the old photograph as he wipes his eyes. In order to avoid awkwardly watching a person cry, I direct all my focus to examining the similarities between the two boys. They have the same smiles and hair colour.

His voice thick, "You know, we tried to find him the day he left. Mom called the cops, but they said because he bought his own tickets and left a note and he's an adult, he's not missing. He can go wherever he pleases, and he pleased not to be here." His fingers twirl slowly around themselves, knotting together as his tears start racing down his cheeks. "So now you know, going to use it to your advantage?"

And that's all it takes for a wave of guilt to smash down. In truth, yes, I was planning to use it against him. We all agreed to that strategy. That's what we've been doing for the past weeks, that's why Delaney sent me after Reece today. I would have thought twice if I had known how serious their histories actually were. But it's too late to backtrack.

All this time I've been trying to desensitise myself, to convince myself that the Monarchy are the bad eggs and we are the good ones. Oh, if only it was that simple. Benjamin can be egotistical, Delaney can be harsh, Drew can be short-sighted, Leah can be vengeful, I can be deceptive. Why does that make us any better than the Monarchy?

Reece's secret is a slap to the face. I'm introduced again to the fleeting nature of life, and reminded that everyone has a burden on their shoulders. Especially since I have the same scars of loss on me. To someone who idolised their older brother, it must be crushing. I had imagined some girl stomping on Reece's heart but now, I've changed what my definition of heartbreak is.

There's not much going through my brain in these frantic moments. Next to me is a crying teenager, who I may or may not want to destroy. I could leave him here with some pathetic excuse about studying, or I could stay. And I know that Brittany and I are worlds apart because of what we're fighting for: but can we really be that different if we use the same methods to get what we want?

Victory or virtue? My decision is as much for me and my conscience as it is for Reece. "No. I wouldn't do what Brittany did to you. I won't tell anyone."

I want to believe I wouldn't do what Brittany's done. Even now, my morals are being stretched to breaking point. The person I was at the start of the year would not have liked what I am doing now, but she didn't understand the concept of sacrifice.

Like the sadness is wrapping him up, Reece is curled up into himself. Silent, except the stray sobs that break free. It seems my close proximity to him, to that sheer amount of pain, has weakened my resolve and strengthened my empathy. "Do you regret telling me?" I wonder.

For a horrible moment Reece stays quiet, letting me drown in how much I hate myself. "No. Someone had to know about him. First time he's seen the light of day in years," he says, still looking at his knees. My lungs expand in relief.

The bell heralds the end of lunch. We have an assembly. I pick up my bag quickly, and hasten my pace down the hall. Reece's footsteps fall behind. I don't particularly want to leave him so distraught, but if I stay a moment longer I will end up in tears, too, except out of self-loathing. I need to escape the guilt.

As much as I want to piece him and the others back together, I know I'm too unreliable to be anything other than a girl who's playing some sick game with him. I won't be able to fully honour his privacy, but I am genuine about not wanting to do what Brittany did to him.

I am genuine. I won't hurt him. I won't hurt any of them.