Four of Clubs

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As I stepped through the doors of Rutherford, I could tell that something had happened-- and that whatever it was, it must've been something big.

The lobby was filled with students huddled in groups, talking animatedly to each other and leaning over their phones. Their wide eyes roamed the screens with an intensity that I knew could only be brought on by one thing: The Seven.

As I made my way down the west wing towards my locker, I couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. It happened every time The Seven made a post that sent the whole school into a frenzy like this-- it reminded me too much of the time when everyone's attention had been on me.

By the time I got to my locker, I couldn't fend off the curiosity any longer. I wanted to pretend I went to a normal school, a school without The Seven, where people got their drama and their gossip from a few select blabbermouths. A school where people's secrets and mistakes weren't posted on the internet for everyone else to see.

But Rutherford wasn't that school. The Seven did exist, and as much as I hated to admit it, I did have their self-made app installed on my phone, just like every other student enrolled there.

I took my phone from my pocket and clicked on the app I knew was behind the commotion. The icon was a simple white seven, alluding to the name of the group who ran it-- it was an icon I clicked on way more than I would ever admit to.

The familiar dark red loading screen popped up, where the white loading bar traced an outline of Rutherford before fading away into the homepage. Even I couldn't deny that the app was well made, which was just another part of its appeal. 

My eyebrows furrowed-- nothing had changed since I looked at the homepage last night. I tried refreshing, but the latest post was still the same: a video exposing some senior named Sara for drunkenly trash-talking about one of her friends. It was the usual kind of post from The Seven-- other people's drama that the rest of us shouldn't have cared about, but did. It wasn't anything that would've garnered this much excitement.

"Maddie!"

I turned to see my boyfriend wave as he walked down the hall towards me. He rolled his eyes as a group bumped into his arm, too busy looking at their phones to watch where they were going.

"Have you seen it?" he asked once he got to my locker, nose scrunching. He was the only person in school I knew who had an even bigger issue with The 7 than I did.

"Seen what?" 

"Here," Daniel said, tapping the three lines in the top corner of my phone screen, which opened the directory for The 7's app. That's when I saw it-- a new section had been added: The Scoreboard.

He clicked it, and just like everyone else, my eyes went wide as I read the words on the screen. I could practically feel Daniel roll his eyes next to me, but was too absorbed to care.

A CHALLENGE

The 7 have recently come into a large sum of money, and we can't think of a better way to spend it than watching you all attempt to win it.

I frowned at the sadism, but couldn't say it surprised me.

Assemble yourselves in groups of four to six people. Only students from Rutherford may participate. Submissions start at 5pm today, when a form page will appear on the directory. The prize is $5,000 in cash. Be ready for your first assignment.

"What, are they a charity now?" I muttered, re-reading the vague paragraph twice more before looking up at Daniel.

"I don't know if I'd ever put the words 'charity' and 'The Seven' in the same sentence," Daniel replied, watching the chaos around us with one eyebrow raised. "And I have a feeling whatever The Seven have planned isn't even worth five grand." 

"Well, they're not forcing anyone to sign up. But I'd bet five grand everyone's going to anyway."

"Everyone but us," Daniel said, grinning proudly. I offered a small smile in return, not really feeling like basking in the light of being 'different.' I knew that was what his hatred against The 7 was about, but I tried to ignore that he disliked them for all the wrong reasons. I preferred to appreciate the fact that I at least had someone who hated them with me.

The bell rang and we kissed goodbye, heading separate ways for first period. The crowds dispersed slower than usual, everyone urgently making plans to meet with their friends after school so they could fill out the form. I entered my math class, a small group hovering around a desk near mine. As I passed them, I overheard the boy in the center rant to those around him. 

"Please, my group will kick your group's ass." 

It was Roy. I didn't know Roy, but I definitely knew of  Roy. I was pretty sure it'd be impossible for anyone at Rutherford not to. He was a loudmouth, plain and simple.

A tall boy with dark hair rolled his eyes. "If you had one, maybe."

"I do." 

The other boy laughed, shaking his head. "I heard Randall say-"

"Randall isn't in my group. None of those guys are-- they left me for dead. But like I said, my group is killer. Randall and the rest of them will be sorry-- I'm winning that five grand."

Leave it to The Seven to destroy friendships for their own entertainment. Roy and Randall were best friends-- partners in class clownery-- and now, here Roy was, bragging about his unlikely revenge.

Revenge. The word made me realize that my own chance at revenge-- justice, at the least-- was staring me right in the face. The Seven owed me big time for what they did. If anyone deserved that money, it was me.  

The idea consumed me within seconds, like it was the only thing that could make me feel whole again. As if the crisp bills would fill the part of me that The Seven destroyed.

At that moment, I decided: I was going to win that money.

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