THE EFFECT IS INSTANT. VOLATILE.

A chemical reaction happening before my very eyes. "Go away," Terrence says menacingly. The stern set to his jaw and his shuttered eyes broker no defiance. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I'm not trying to pry or manipulate you. Really, Terrence, I'm worried—"

"Did you not fucking hear me?" he asks lowly. "Leave, now, or I will."

He's a new person. Terrence's writing hand is a vice around his pen, the knuckles straining like white-peaked mountains under his tanned skin. Shaking slightly, his anger — or some other dark emotion — seems barely contained. My gaze wanders all over his face, trying to pick out something familiar, something welcoming. I've never seen this person before. With cutting words, sheer wrath dripping from his lips, the openness I was receiving is nowhere to be seen.

In fact, with his walls suddenly drawn high and no trace of my friend, a spike of fear hits me. Terrence cocks his head when I don't move. I couldn't move if I tried. "Alright, I'll leave then."

Terrence gathers his belongings in a split second, handing his reflection to Mrs. Fern on his way out of the door. She frowns with unfettered disdain. "Where are you going, Terrence? Class is nowhere near over." But Terrence has left already.

The intensity of what transpired crashes down on me. Terrence literally bolted as soon as I mentioned Cassie. Given his obvious aversion to talking about her, how am I ever going to find a way to approach him again? He'll avoid me for the rest of the year knowing that I know, I'm certain.

A deep exhale trickles out of my lips as I realise what I need to do. Steeling my jittery hands, I push my chair back quietly. I subtly lift my bag and try to inch my way to the door.

Obviously, I am not subtle enough, for Mrs. Fern pierces me with an accusatory stare when I'm a few paces from the door. "And where do you think you're going?"

Understandably, she has a look of surprise about her. I've been a model for academic excellence and discipline the whole year, and shadily trying to leave class wouldn't usually be something Sophie Olsen would ever do. But I can't let Terrence get away because a part of me instinctively knows I'll never see him again. I can't let that happen.

"Bathroom?" I supply, but it sounds like a question. Oh God, I am so bad at this.

"With your bag?" Mrs. Fern questions.

Every second spent rationalising with Mrs. Fern is a second wasted, a second more for Terrence to put more distance between us. I can't be trying to save my reputation when the Revolution, and so much more, is at stake.

"Yes," I hastily say, yanking the door open, "Bye!"

Breaking into a sprint, I run down the hall, scanning left and right when I come to the intersection. I take a chance and go left, and hope Terrence decided to come this way. Two very fortunate turns later, since I have no idea where he went, I spot his lanky frame at the end of the corridor.

He turns around at the sound of my sneakers squeaking, bag jostling around and heavy breathing. I heave a sigh of defeat, knowing that I am far from surreptitious when running. I pick up my pace because even while sprinting, Terrence could definitely lose me by just speed-walking. Such is the blessing of conveniently long legs.

"Wait, Terrence. Please—" puff, "slow—" puff, "down." Crikey, I'm unfit.

However, having heard my desperate pleas, Terrence shows me mercy and slows his strides. I quickly fall into step alongside him. He regards my laboured breathing and reddened face with a flash of amusement in his eyes before his guard comes up again.

"Why are you here?" I hold up a finger, gesturing that I need a moment or several to catch my breath. He asks disbelieving, "Did you ditch?"

I nod weakly. The sobering truth of what I've just done hits me like a bucket of icy water in the face. I've never ditched a class before. Sure, I've used music lessons as an excuse to leave, taken 'sick' days, faked periods to get out of swimming and used suspiciously long bathrooms breaks to get a break from work. But I've never walked out on a class.

My attendance record, previously with no unexplained absences, has just been tarnished. I know it's a small thing to worry over, but if I am going to finish this year without any fancy awards or having been a part of a club, I want to leave with a pretty damn spotless attendance record.

"Yes, I ditched. And all for you, can you believe it?"

"I'm worthy enough for the great Sophie Olsen to ditch a class?" Terrence feigns shock, "Impossible."

"I don't know, you may be worth more than you think."

"Maybe," he says absentmindedly, coldly raising his defences once again.

"Come on, Terrence. It was shocking for me finding out, too, so can you please talk to me about this? Work through this weirdness together?"

Deep in thought, Terrence bites his lip distractedly. The silence stretches taut between us until he eventually asks, "How did you find out?"

I sigh. "I was at the—"

"Forget it, actually. Doesn't matter."

"It does matter. This whole thing matters," I insist. I don't want him to shut himself away from the world anymore. Delaney told me Suki was so young, so alone when Cassie came into the world but wasn't Terrence the same?

"I don't want to speak out of turn, but... whatever you feel for Cassie, every parent feels for their child. It's easy to centre on her and Suki, but you forget that everyone is someone else's son or daughter. And you especially, knowing the kind of love a parent feels, shouldn't enable the bullying of children."

I can't articulate my thoughts clearly. My heart is pounding both with the adrenaline from running and hope of Terrence helping us. But one realisation rings clear.

Because of Cassie, the Revolution isn't just a battle waged in high school corridors anymore. It now encompasses us, our younger siblings, and our yet-to-come — but already here, in Terrence's case — children. I don't know if I can stomach that enormous responsibility alone.

I need all the help I can get.

"I— I don't enable bullying," Terrence rebuts.

I arch an eyebrow. Have we experienced two different years? Were we walking through alternative universes? "You've watched as your friends beat people up. You picked the locks on our lockers when the Monarchy trashed our things. You dumped Ben into a freezing cold tank with a snake. You helped Brittany steal the print machines from the Chronicle. You were going to take the donations they earned fair and square," I list off. "What do you call all of that then?"

Of course, Terrence has done equally as many helpful things. Everyone has the capacity for good and bad. At the start of the year, I zeroed in to the bad that exists in the Monarchy and thought taking them down was the best way to help the school. But that's not true at all. I shouldn't focus on ridding the world of badness.

I should fight for the goodness in everyone. It doesn't mean I let them get away with antagonising others. It doesn't mean I stop prioritising my loved ones first. It doesn't mean I forgive them. It doesn't mean I want to be their friend. It just means I refuse to stop caring. It's not a bad thing to care.

It's not a bad thing to care — in fact, it's the best thing a person can do for the world.

"I call it being a friend," Terrence replies stiffly. "Brittany's done a lot for Suki and I. She, ultimately, is the reason Cassie was born and I can't ever repay that. But the least I can do is to support her."

I sigh, walk closer to Terrence. The metal plane of the locker is cool against my back, through my thin t-shirt. Both of us wordlessly slide to the ground.

"She doesn't support you. You can't let one good deed excuse all her bad ones, Terrence," I sigh.

His jaw ticks, but I have to say this. He deserves better. "A good friend wouldn't guilt trip you with something as personal as—" As Cassie. As your daughter. I can't bring myself to say it. "—with something personal to you. She wouldn't have to manipulate or blackmail you at all if she was a good friend."

"Maybe not. But she won't be in my life forever."

I glance sideways. In profile, Terrence's charming features are shadowed by his torment. "Do you think this will end when you graduate?" I wonder. "You'll always feel this debt to her. And you'll always feel helpless — in a bunch of situations unrelated to high school, to me, to her. One day you need to stand up and fight."

"That's not today."

Granted, Brittany is not going to be in his life forever. But powerful people, selfish people, and harmful people always will. Whether he stays in Carsonville, whether he's a teenager or an adult, and whether he's alone or surrounded by people who love him. He's got many more battles to fight. So do I. So do all of us.

And I don't think rolling over and letting someone walk all over him should ever be his response. "All year you've been a great help to the Revolution, so I know you know what's right," I plead gently. "Please. We need you on our side."

"I can't," he murmurs, the reluctance and doubt storming vividly in his eyes.

I don't believe there's nothing he can do. Brittany's hold on him is a spectre, an illusion. In reality, Terrence is bound by nothing but his own fear and doubt.

I just wish I could instil in him the confidence to stand up, despite it all, for justice. "Yes, you can. You're the only Monarch bound to Brittany by guilt, not blackmail. You are the one who can choose to leave. You can choose to do the right thing."

He pins me with an anguished expression, one that speaks of everything he wishes he could do for us. "I can't," he reiterates, before rising to his feet and walking away.

Watching his retreating form pull further away wrenches my stomach into a tighter coil with each step. I can't believe he still won't listen.

If I was in his position, it'd be a no-brainer. If I had a daughter, my belief in the Revolution would be even fiercer. I would fight to make Carsonville a better town for her, I would strive to be a role model and the type of mother she'd deserve.

Maybe it's unfair to force my ideas on Terrence, but some invincible facet of my conscience forges ahead.

"For God's sake, do it for Cassie," I blurt, the words tugged out of my mouth by an intangible hand. "One day you're going to make your way back to her, I know you will." Terrence's shoulders tense, but he keeps walking away. I continue, "Arrive as someone worthy of being her father. Do your part to make this world better for her. Do the right thing."

Terrence pauses, but he doesn't turn around. Nor has the wiry tension in his long limbs relaxed. He's on the verge of something — either a breakthrough or a breakdown. Whatever it is, I promise myself to be there for him through it. "Do you ever want to see her? Or see Suki again?"

He snaps. "Fuck!" He punches the locker directly adjacent to him. The sound hits my ears, sharp and vicious and clanging, before I even register that his fist moved. The tanned length of his forearms, bare from his t-shirt sleeves, is flexed and corded with veins.

When Terrence pulls away, a small dent lies in the navy blue metal surface. I'm at his side in an instant, pulling him away from the lockers and into a hug. "Of course I want to see them again," he shudders into my grasp. I feel wetness on my neck, where he places his head.

"But she's the happiest she's ever been, without me. Everyone is happier without me. Even you. No matter how much I try to be good for people, it's never enough. I'm never enough. And the only one who stays is Brittany."

"I—" I swallow down the anguish I feel. In a way, he's right. The whole year, I was resisting the pull to be Terrence's friend, to know him better. If I had relented, would things have turned out better? Or worse?

No point in regretting the past. I have the present, and all the future, to fix my mistakes. So does Terrence. "You're more than enough as you are. It's never too late to fix your mistakes." I try focusing on the good he's done. He's loyal to Brittany — to a fault. He's sympathetic. Funny. Capable. Thoughtful, when he decides to help.

After all, he unlocked the projector booth for me when we needed to play our video in front of the school. He admitted to pranking Ben and showed me how he did it. He tried his best to give me and Kyler a chance to save the newspaper.

Besides, there were all those times when I needed answers and Terrence was the one to give them to me. "And, hey," I joke awkwardly, "have I ever stopped bugging you the whole year?"

Even though Terrence is taller than me, he feels impossibly fragile and vulnerable in my arms. "Heh. No." He gives a croaky chuckle, voice thick with tears. "You fucking stalker." I hunt around my bag for a tissue when Terrence pulls away, intent on giving him some privacy when he wipes his eyes and nose.

"Fuck," he curses wearily, still sounding clogged, holding his temples in his hand. Then he lifts his watery gaze to me, with a look in his eye that sets my nerves alight.

Hope.

"Fuck. Sure," he whispers, an exhausted smile tugging his lips. "How can I help?"