"WE'RE HOME FREE, BITCHES!" DELANEY whoops gleefully.

The students who sat for AP English walk out of the exam hall in a line, Delaney and Callum to my left, Riley and Wyn — from the other class stream — to my right. Exam supervisors in fluorescent yellow vests monitor us leaving, issuing strict scoldings to those who talk because there are still classes in session. With her cheerful exclamation, Delaney has drawn the piercing stares of several.

"We're only home free for, like, four days. Then the Chem kids have their exam on Monday," Callum corrects Delaney in a hushed whisper.

She scowls, poking her tongue out pugnaciously. "Party pooper."

The AP English exam, my first of the year, was gruelling. As my fellow seniors file out in a silent, tense manner, the general consensus seems to be one of anxiety. Anxious to discuss with peers how we performed. Anxious to destress. Anxious to know the results, though they won't be received till the summer holiday.

When we are safely out of the building, and the supervisors' earshot, the questions begin in earnest. "How did you guys find it?"

"What the hell was the poem about? I couldn't find a link anywhere."

"If I only filled out the first page, do you think I'll pass?" That was Callum.

In the balmy afternoon warmth, my friends and I begin the walk to the Stereo Shack in town. It's an impromptu hangout for various reasons — debriefing the English exam, getting lunch, using the free WiFi to study for whatever our next exams are. Mine is AP Bio.

The rustic interior of the Shack has been spruced up for the near arrival of summer. Spherical paper lanterns in a tropical colour schematic have been hung over the lines of fairy lights that usually glisten uncovered. A new line of summer-themed smoothies has been released. As the rest of Carsonville welcomes summer with open arms, I can't help but concentrate on the exams that barricade me from freedom.

"I did exactly as I expected," Callum states proudly, "Abysmally."

"I think I did great. I feel great," Delaney states. Unsurprising, seeing as English is indubitably her strongest subject.

"But that poem was really generic. What did you do for the analysis?" I wonder.

"I just bullshitted about how the author's flighty and dismissive observations about his surroundings and the detached narration aims to describe his nihilistic view of the world. Something like that. I honestly have no fucking clue if that's correct, but with English, if you bullshit with utter confidence, you'll be fine."

"Girl, way to shit on our self-esteem," Riley mutters dejectedly, resting her chin on her palm.

"Oh, honey," Delaney loops her arm around Riley's shoulders and squeezes sympathetically. "It's over now. No point in thinking about the past. Come on, let's order lunch everyone. My shout."

After rattling off our orders to Delaney, she turns to Wyn. She's had her nose buried in her AP Art History notes since we first chose a booth. She got accepted into a university in New York City, and deservingly too, considering how hard she always focuses on her studies. "Wyn. Wyn!" Delaney snaps her fingers in front of her, "Your lunch order?"

"Egg and ham quiche, and a mocha please."

Delaney departs to the counter to order. Riley, Callum, and I are left to discuss further how we did in the exam, with Wyn silently revising next to us. It's odd to see her still so obsessed with studying since she's always had a handle on her classes. Unlike me, Wyn knows exactly what she wants to do with her life. Photography in a big city, working her way through all the grungy art galleries and museum shows to stardom.

Hopefully, my dedication throughout the year in my classes means I won't have to teach myself anything over the weekend. It'll just be revising what I already know, refreshing old topics, and taking some mock exams in my room. That is if I can manage not to be mentally distracted by the Revolution.

Riley's next exam is more than a week away, and Callum has the same cavalier attitude towards academia as he did entering and exiting today's exam, so they both decide to see a film after lunch — which is something I wish I could be doing. Unfortunately, I must stick with my studious habits until exams are over.

After lunch, everyone but me leaves, either to see that film or study at home. Knowing Delaney, however, it's more likely that she'll go into her exams having revised naught, and just confidently bullshit her way to an A as she did today. What a talent.

This leaves me in the Stereo Shack alone in a booth, which I leave for a quaint two-seater table near the window. It feels less spacious and diminishes my solitude. As Wyn did, I also brought some revision notes. Plugging in my earplugs, the soft tunes of my study playlist whisk away the bustling sounds of the cafe. I crack open my textbook to work through some of the practice questions in the back.

All is going well, even with the increasing number of fellow seniors filing into the Shack — probably with similar intentions to that of my friends and me — until something reminds me of all the social injustice I had sworn to defeat.

The reminder makes the pit of my stomach drop, like a trapdoor in my gut just swung open to reveal an insatiable black hole that vacuums away any thoughts of studying I previously had.

The reminder causes a prickle of trepidation to break out from the nape of my neck and travel down my spine, growing in intensity as it goes.

The reminder — ominous and opulent and familiar as the day I last saw it — motivates me to quickly gather my things, racing for the bathroom, eager to avoid the person that surely will follow.

What is said reminder?

Rolling to a smooth halt outside the Stereo Shack is a sleek, onyx Commodore with tinted windows that I last saw being awarded — for supposedly washing the most cars at the Carsonville Carwash all those months ago — to Brittany Stanson.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

From the alcove which houses the bathroom, I peer around the wooden trellis wall as the car doors open. Two figures step out. I catch a glimpse of familiar tawny hair and hazel eyes with Brittany's deep brown ones, before retreating out of sight.

The sound of an opening door alerts me to Terrence and Brittany walking into the Stereo Shack. Unfortunately, they choose a booth right at the back of the cafe, next to the trellis that partitions the bathroom door from the rest of the Shack. Through the diamond negatives in the wall, I can see them unfold menus and place their orders. Hopefully, they don't look behind themselves because they'd see right through the wall, straight to me.

At this point, I've been standing tensely outside the bathroom door and a waitress behind the counter is eyeing me with suspicion. Quickly, I pull my phone up to my ear and pretend to be immersed in conversation. Mollified, she turns around and resumes wiping a freshly washed tray of water glasses.

Oblivious to my presence, Brittany and Terrence settle into pleasantries. "How'd you do in your final assessments?" she asks.

"I think I did alright. I'd rather not think about it anymore, though. Why spend a summer analysing something I can't go back and change?"

Part of me feels like I should just walk out now, hold my head high, and exit the café before anyone has a chance to say anything. It's not a crime to be in the Shack at the same time as Terrence and Brittany, no matter how uncomfortable it is. But I've already heard the start of their conversation, and my curiosity bows to nothing.

"True. In my case, why spend a summer analysing something that is irrelevant to my future. I mean, I'm the daughter of the Dean of Admissions, so I am sorted."

Terrence scoffs. "Can't believe you're buying into the cycle of nepotism."

"Well, it's not like my not buying in would stop it, so might as well benefit. Maybe when I'm in a position of power, I will do my bit to abolish nepotism."

Terrence scoffs again. "You're already in a position of power."

"Wow, sourpuss," Brittany retorts. "How are things with Suki?" Brittany's tone morphs into one of genuine interest. Maybe even concern. "Did she end up going for a second date with that guy?"

Something about Brittany's lowered voice and Terrence's sombre change in posture warns me of the importance of the topic. "Yes, she did, actually," Terrence sighs forlornly.

"Ouch."

"Like, I'm not jealous or anything. Maybe I would have been a year ago, but at this point, it's more about the type of person I want Cassie exposed to. And it's certainly not— whatever his name was. I don't remember."

"You know, after what you did for her, Suki owes you one. Big time," Brittany says nonchalantly. Suki, Suki... where have I heard that name before? I'm sure it's been thrown about in conversation before but I remain unable to place it.

Terrence grunts, "I didn't do anything. You did more for her than I ever did."

"You don't really believe that for a second. I know she hurt you when she left." Is this an old flame, perhaps?

"As if you ever let me forget it. Or all that came after."

"True," Brittany simpers pleasantly. It's clear that Terrence hates talking about this topic, but she doesn't seem to care as she advises, "Just tell her to dump him. It's what's best for your baby, after all."

My breath lodges in my throat. What did I just hear?

I stifle the gasp that threatened to barrel out of my lips. It's like the rug has been pulled out from under me, except I'm still upright. Stomach tight with shock. Hand clenched into a sweaty fist around my phone. Breaths coming hastily and lacking the oxygen I need to clear my head.

Terrence has . . . a baby.

A baby.

Cassie, was it? I can't believe it.

Reconciling the image of Terrence — cheeky, devilish Terrence with an underlying good heart — with a small, pink-cheeked baby girl is an impossibility. The two just don't pair well in my brain. How can Terrence be a father?

If anything, he's the most childish of the Monarchy. With his pranks and love for mischief, it's hard to think of him as an adult who has to take responsibility, be mature, and settle down. Not only for himself but for his daughter.

The longer I think about it, eventually, I can envision it. If I imagine a softer Terrence — a less impulsive, heart-on-sleeve, adventure-loving Terrence — I can see him being a father. But despite being able to imagine it, I still can't believe it.

I just can't.

Brittany and Terrence are at the Stereo Shack for another hour.

After their conversation moves from Terrence's daughter— oh gosh, I can't even think about it, to other less upheaving subjects, I tune out. Now that I have overheard what is surely, surely the most vital part of their talk, I figure I no longer need to eavesdrop as I was so shamelessly doing. The guilt hasn't hit me yet, because I'm still shocked about what I found out.

Into the bathroom I go, and in there I stay until the coast is clear, occasionally cracking the door open a tad to check if they have left yet. When I finally step out into the golden afternoon, I'm feeling inexplicably cold.

The implications of the revelation are swirling around me, so thick and dark that the rest of reality is blocked out. All I can focus on is the earth-shattering truth I just heard, and the consequences it brings for the Revolution. How can I use a baby for leverage?

Do I dare even continue when there is an infant directly tied to Terrence, and somewhat Brittany? An infant that might be affected in all manner of ways if her father is hurt by the end of the Monarchy? Will I have to concede defeat in order to avoid bringing some indirect damage to Terrence's family?

When I spoke about the Revolution building the foundations for the future generations that will pass through the hallways of Carsonville High School, I didn't realise the future generation is already here.

A migraine is forming at my temple, thumping annoyingly. I need some time to breathe. I need to clear my head, and really think about what this means for us all. Before I can register, my hands are already on my phone, dialling the person I know can help me through this.

"Ben?" I breathe shakily when the call connects. "I know everyone's on their study break, but I really need to talk to you. All of you. Can we meet at school tomorrow?"