"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Drew asks, coming out of the auditorium.

It's been half an hour since school ended. On my way out, I saw Riley, Book Club President, lugging a big box of books down the hall. I caught up with her, wanting to help. To my utter joy, the Book Club has been assigned a new room for their meetings. They were moving this afternoon, so I helped carry some boxes over.

When I saw it, I was so excited to see that it was bigger, better-lit and cleaner than their last room. Their last room with all its mould and flickery lights barely passed the school health and safety standards, I'm sure. "I was helping the book club guys move into a new room. You?"

"Helping the Drama kids," Drew supplies.

With an arched brow, remembering that whole tantrum he threw after the recruits, I ask him mirthfully, "Don't you hate the Drama kids? After making you clean up their practise room in exchange for joining us?"

"I have since gotten over that. I've been keeping in touch with some of them."

"That's nice of you," I remark. "Any news?"

"They've really changed the program around. Apparently, the board was allocating more funding for the Arts department next year, but still not enough to cover everything they wanted to do. Meanwhile, the sports teams are getting heaps of cash."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it did. The visual arts clubs and Drama Club wanted to do an exhibition and a musical, but that money wasn't enough. So, they made a deal. The Drama Club does their musical first with the funding money, and the arts club can help with the set to cut back on costs. The profit goes to them for the exhibition, later in the year."'

"All turns out well, then."

"It's just a shame we won't be here to see it." Drew looks at me, suddenly concerned, "I know Delaney gave you a half-assed apology at lunch yesterday, but have the others apologised for last week?"

"None of them have." Yesterday was a reprieve from the iciness between my friends and me, on account of it being my birthday. But even though we all care about each other, neither of us have changed what we believe in. I recall the tension between Leah and me in Music, Benjamin and me in Calculus. "I don't think they should, though."

"They practically called you a traitor."

I've kind of been acting like one, recently. Keeping secrets, prioritising the feelings of some Monarchs over the Revolution. I tell myself it's to keep Reece and Derek unsuspecting until it's too late. But Delaney's accusation, on top of Ashley thinking I'm being corrupted, is making me second-guess myself. The guilt is eating away at me, amplified by the doubt. "I get where they're coming from."

"They shouldn't doubt you like that."

"I don't think they're doubting me. They're doubting whether I can help the Monarchy this way. Ben doesn't think Reece and Derek can ever be forgiven."

"Benny's a sceptic," Drew supplies.

"I'm still not sure whether they can be forgiven or not," I admit, feeling Drew look at me with surprise.

"They've made some really bad choices, but that was only because Brittany—"

"I know you want to think that." I lower my voice, with Drew's intense stare prickling my skin. "Yeah, they were blackmailed into staying, but they chose to get into the Monarchy. I get that you want your friends back, but I think they've changed too much for you guys to go back to how things were."

Drew doesn't speak for a long while. For the entire silent period, a lump sits in my throat. If Delaney's the incurable pessimist, then Drew has to be the hopeless optimist. I can't let him be that naive, and get his hopes up. I look at the tips of my grubby sneakers, pacing forward, forward as we walk towards the bus station.

"Then what are we fighting for? If it's not friendship?"

"Freedom."

Drew's eyes narrow. "At any cost?"

I feel like he's almost challenging me. "Yes. Anything it takes."

The crease in between his eyebrows grows. Was that not the answer he was expecting? Slowly, he nods, finally understanding how cold-hearted I have to be to win this battle. When the bus arrives, Drew plugs in his headphones and starts playing a game, sending me a lingering look before turning his back to me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Studying has come to that point where I'm not even able to try anymore.

I've long since memorised all the methods and formulae behind the questions, but my brain has hit a brick wall. Two hours ago, straight after school ended, a group of friends and I walked into the library with an optimistic idea to get some much-needed studying done.

Leah, Quentin and Kyler share a table across the room, Riley and Phoenix have settled at the table next to them. Delaney and Callum bicker in hushed tones at my table. Benjamin and I work silently side by side. Basically, all the study-obsessed high-achievers are here, but I feel like I'm falling behind.

We've been meeting at the library every couple of days to do extra-credit assignments and revise for tests, as well as get a headstart on degree planning on the computers. Quentin, Callum and I went on a campus-hunting spree over the last few weeks, and we've managed to arrange a guided tour in order for some insight into the different accommodation halls at Halston.

Halston is a city located an hour's drive inland, but its campuses, good reputation and geographically preferential selection process make it a favourable choice amongst Carsonville graduates. Though it's meant to provide me with a sense of preparedness and security, turning eighteen has made me freak out like never before.

The rest of my life is a visitor that's knocking at the door, and I'm frantically trying to clean up the house and get my shit together before welcoming it in. I can't help but be unnerved about it all. About my upcoming AP course exams and then, whatever course I place myself into.

Sitting next to Benjamin doesn't help at all, because here I am, the epitome of disarray, and there he is, composed and intelligent beyond comparison. Every time I peer over his shoulder, he's advanced several pages in his Calculus textbook. His revision notes are steadily growing, with neat segments and colour-coded content. I can't fathom how he can be that skilled.

My Biology revision has led me straight into a roadblock. So, I shut my textbook, and lean forward on my elbows with a sigh. Benjamin lifts his head for only a fraction of a second, and drops it after making the briefest of eye contact. "Why have you stopped?"

I watch him work, for the next few moments, as we lapse into silence. He's wonderfully methodic in how he works. As far as I can tell, he doesn't even falter while writing. How many hours and hours of work must it have taken for Benjamin to become so mathematically competent?

I'm not at all surprised he applied to U.K. universities. Oxford, Cambridge, University College London and a string of Ivy Leagues and highly-ranked East Coast colleges here. I wouldn't be surprised if he got into a majority of them, either. "Open the book, Sophie," Benjamin sighs, somehow managing to keep his hand scribbling quickly and consistently. "Stop daydreaming about me."

I scoff cheekily. "I'm taking a break."

"You take a ten minute break for every one minute of studying you do." That's a bit of an exaggeration, but I play along.

An easy smile lights up my face, and though Benjamin's not looking at me, I know he sees it. "And in that one minute, I'm learning so much."

"Sure you do."

"Besides," I continue, "I don't need to study as much as you do. You have your Eastern League final this week, right?"

For reasons beyond my understanding, Benjamin is awfully sensitive about his academic life. Mathletics competitions, college applications, the lot. I remember when I visited him after his qualifier, and the heated fight we got into. He accused me of terrible things, as I did him.

But, the reason I was so angry with him afterwards was that what he said was true. I had been more considerate to Terrence than him. Maybe, that struck some painful nerve in him, too. Whatever the outcome of the fight, the reason it happened in the first place was how Benjamin prioritised his life. To him, success is the end goal.

His ambition is a beautiful thing to behold, but it can have its downfalls, which is why I'm so confused to see Benjamin acting so aloof about the victory he's been working towards for years.

There's been no change in his posture; his hand still controls the pen with effortless power, head bent towards his papers and at a slight angle. It's almost as if he doesn't hear me. I'm about to repeat my question, just as Benjamin straightens up, closes his book and turns to me.

"How could I forget?" he sighs. And for a split second, I can see right into the pools of fear and anxiety he has hidden from the world. He is scared to death of failure. Glazed over and staring blankly at me, Benjamin's dark eyes are trembling slightly. Flickering over my face as if memorising just another formula.

My expression softens instantly, and I suppress the urge to pull him into a suffocating hug. Instead, I lower my voice, and I ask, "Are you looking forward to it?"

"I really don't know. I mean— I want it over and done with, because it's been so stressful."

"That's understandable," I gesture to all the highlighters and textbooks laid out in front of him, "Look at all the work you've put in."

"But, what if all that work isn't enough?"

"To be honest, if you don't win, you'll just have to get over it and move on." Benjamin's eyes flash brightly, like a firework reflected off his irises. I flinch, and realise the harshness of my words that I overlooked. Tactful conversations have never really been my area of expertise, though today, I wish I could be just a bit gentler with people. And maybe that little wish of mine is enough to make Benjamin feel better.

"Benjamin, you have this completely under control. I've seen you strive for this all year. And at this point, it would be really, really stupid of you not to trust your own abilities." In hopes of providing comfort, I smile and point to his textbook, "Because if my life depended on your ability to solve problems, I would not worry for a second."

"You really mean that?"

"I really do."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Spring has just begun, arriving in slow, diluted sunrises and handfuls of daisies sprouting in the local park. Despite the new warmth, in the morning it still feels like a deep winter.

I've gotten up early enough today to catch Mom before she leaves for work, which is a rare occurrence. She regards me with surprise as I come down the stairs, "You're up early, honey. Something on at school today?"

A yawn escapes, one which I have no hopes of stifling. "Yeah. Today's Benjamin's mathletes finals." Yesterday he sent me pictures of the university campus they were staying at, the museums they visited, the huge gymnasium filled with rows and rows of tables. They advanced through the semi-finals successfully.

"Benjamin? I know that name from somewhere."

I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to remind her, when she interrupts. "Don't tell me. The boy whose mathematics skills you're jealous of?"

"Yes, that's him."

"And you're going to see your dear sweetheart off before the war?" Mom mocks with a southern accent.

"No," I say, chuckling lightly. "He's been ridiculously freaked out, so I thought I might give him a call before they left. Talking calms him down."

"That's sweet of you," Mom notes. She closes the fridge and turns to me with a bag of cheese buns in her hand. "Would you like me to heat another for you? Might as well."

"Yes, please."

Mom settles down on the counter opposite to me. A tea for her is in one hand, a coffee for me in the other. Steam rises from both cups, curling like the corners of burning paper before vanishing.

Before she bites into her cheese bun, Mom smiles at me, and the Monarchy does not exist any more, Dad is happy and safe somewhere, our finances are completely taken care of. At this moment, we are happy.

Sometime later, after the food is gone, and we've gotten changed into our day gear, Benjamin texts me, saying that it's okay to call now. Mom has her hair wrapped in a towel, having recently showered. "Is that Benjamin?"

"Yeah. Excuse me, I'm going to call him now."

She scoffs, and takes a seat next to me on the couch. "Embarrassed of your mother are we?"

"No, it's just that he might want to say some, um, personal things?"

Even that excuse sounds weak to my ears, and I'm just about to relent and let Mom listen in on the call when she giggles. "I was kidding. You teenagers are always so serious."

Mom is still laughing about the awkward expression on my face when Benjamin calls me, before I even replied, and that is how I know he's on the verge of madness. "Okay, I really have to go."

"Sure, but tell me if he confesses any hidden feelings for you."

"Mom!"

I am already heading upstairs to answer the phone just as Mom calls after me, "Love you, honey."

The walls rattle a little as I slam my door, leaning back on it with a relieved sigh. Safe in the relative privacy of my room, I finally greet Benjamin. "Sorry. Hi."

"Hi. Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," I run a hand over my face and find that I've heated up quite quickly. Mom loves teasing me, ever since she realised that I tend to overreact to many things. "How's New York?"

"Stinky. Loud. Beautiful," he rattles off coolly. "I've visited before."

Of course. Last year, when he was so close to victory and was robbed of even the chance to compete for it. "How are you feeling?"

"I tried using one of my team mate's asthma inhalers to clear up the lump in my throat."

My lips quirk into an amused smile. "You don't have asthma."

Benjamin chuckles, trying to seem calm. But even in a phone call, I can hear the uncertain waver in his voice, "I know. Didn't work anyway. And I know I'm being irrationally nervous. I know taking deep breaths and visualising my fucking goal should help, but nothing does."

"It's okay," I murmur. I have absolute faith that Benjamin knows everything he needs to for the competition, but like he said, knowing everything sometimes doesn't help the nerves. And if it gets really bad for him, that could even hinder his performance. "You can just talk to me for the time being."

"Thanks."

"Well," I begin, with an idea in my head. "Tell me what you'll do when you win."

"When I win? Bit presumptuous."

"Just go with it."

"I'd, um, like to do some interviews on it. Maybe for the school paper, or even local."

"Ah, you're the public face of Mathletes everywhere now?" I mock, hoping that Benjamin isn't too stressed to enjoy a joke. "Handsome, intelligent, lethal, double-O seven."

"Shut up," he laughs. "I just think interest in maths isn't represented enough in teenagers."

"Okay, you've done the interviews and taken breathtakingly flattering photos for all the magazines. Then what?"

"School would have pretty much ended by then, but—" Benjamin takes an audible pause here, "—I'd like to come back next year during my breaks, and run some workshops for the new Mathletes. Maybe give some tips to whoever's President after me. See if they're upholding our legacy well."

I can't help the grin that spreads when I hear this. Benjamin has an arrogant streak and an overly ambitious side, but this part of him — the one that wants to teach and help people learn — is the one I love most.

I tell him, "Sounds wonderful. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Today is the start of that."