THE MOMENT LEAH AND I walk into Music Theory on Monday, we notice something severely wrong.
Occupying a whole table — the table which usually sits empty — is Derek and Madison. Leah notices after I do, halting in her step.
Madison sees us and sends us a smile, making no effort to cover the malice that propels it. Derek looks uninterested, as usual, with his body slumped down. He only moves when breathing, or tapping his finger on the table. There is nothing alive in his eyes, except for vast amounts of boredom and the occasional twinge of wistfulness.
But I must be seeing things. Leah and I sport identical glares walking past them, to the back of the room.
"Callum. What are they doing here?" Leah asks, hushing her voice.
Callum looks worriedly between Derek and Madison, unsure whom deserves more of his fear. Eventually, his reply comes carefully. "They asked for a class transfer, apparently. Wanted to swap electives." His voice is sardonic.
Leah nods, obviously understanding the situation better than I am.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Quentin pauses, letting his hands freeze while assembling his flute, to explain that Madison is famous on social media. She has a lot of sway with the way the media perceive Carsonville High School. Petitions, viral videos, fabricated scandals; she controls it all.
On top of that, Reece's parents are loaded. That's the reason he plays in every sports team the school has, regardless of the equipment, registration or travel costs. He's Carsonville's most valuable player in every sense of the word.
Brittany's father is a high-end lawyer, a member of the board of trustees and Dean of Admissions at an Ivy League college. Supposedly, it's why they can pull off half the things they have and escape flat-out expulsion.
Leah tells me that Brittany must have sent them here to monitor us. "Whenever her weird bloodhound senses think anything is up, she'll put her minions on watch duty to see if they actually pose a threat."
"She should. We're a huge threat."
"Maybe we should stop trying. It's not going to work with just five people," Leah suddenly says.
"Then we get more than five people." I gesture to the three musicians, who are setting up their instruments. "Can we trust them?"
Her speculation is visible. Leah eventually admits, "Yeah, I've known them a long time. But they probably won't want to join."
"Only one way to find out."
Subtly, I call the group to gather around me. Relaying what I said on Saturday makes the open faces of Ashley, Callum and Quentin twist into doubtful expressions. Then, as I explain the fight, their hope turns into aggressive frowns, directed at the two new additions to the class. My words are a lit match, tossed onto puddles of gasoline that are just waiting to be fired up.
Ashley joins immediately, with many violent looks in their direction. Callum and Quentin take a bit more convincing. The hesitation is clear in their body language, hunched shoulders and fidgeting hands, but they agree to help us with whatever we plan to do. Whatever I plan to do.
"Should we get back to band practise?" Callum mutters, "Gossip Girl over there is looking at us."
I tilt my head, coming eye to eye with Madison. The look she wears is a silent warning, whereas Derek's bored gaze lingering in our direction is a blunt statement. Her face could impale. The chatter grows behind me, but the words all blur into each other. The indiscernible noise is just a background feature to the threat of Madison and Derek being here.
Ashley, suddenly frustrated, stops fiddling with her music stand and takes an offensive stance. I'm drawn back to my friends, becoming puzzled about where the conversation went in the seconds I wasn't paying attention.
"I told you, this isn't a band," she growls. "It's a practise session for kids with nowhere else to do it."
"That's what a band is!" Callum counters.
"An official band has a name."
The boy is calmly fixing his hi-hat, only looking up briefly to say, "We have a name."
"No, we don't!"
A few people turn their heads at her outburst. Most noticeably, Derek, Madison, and our teacher.
"Well, we could have a name and then we'd be a band. It's— um..." Callum trails off, hitting the dead end that always finishes a conversation between him and Ashley.
"The Unofficials," Quentin suggests. He has a wry smile on his face, which I take as a joking expression, a play on Callum and Ashley's words. But his joke doesn't come across to either of them and I have to admit, that is actually a good name. Very indie.
"Yeah! Thanks, Quen." Callum now wears a triumphant smile. "Our band is called The Unofficials."
"Whatever. If you do plan to argue the whole period, we'll just start without you. Okay?" Leah says, tired of the most recent of Ashley and Callum's arguments. Receiving agreeing nods from Quentin and me, she continues, "Let's just play. What have you got for us today, Ash?"
"Wait. This has vocals," Callum says, peering at the music Ashley's just given out.
"Oh my!" Ashley gasps. After a few seconds, her startled face drops into a sardonic smile. "I didn't see that, how absolutely stupid of me! As Callum politely pointed out, we are a band now. So we should all have a little experience singing, yes? Quen and Leah are the only ones who have an excuse not to sing."
"Uh." The fear strikes in Callum's eyes, pulling his eyebrows closer in. "I'm not really that good at singing."
"That's why you will be singing most of it. You need it the most. We just have to sing the echoes here." Looking quite pleased with herself, she points to a few lines on the page. I follow her movement, looking at my own piece of music. It's true. Callum has the hardest vocal line.
"Excuse me?" Callum exclaims, grip viciously tight on his drumsticks.
"You're excused," Quentin quips.
"You," Callum points to Quentin with a scrunched nose, "—shut up."
Ashley weaves herself back into the conversation with Callum. "You're the one who wanted a band. Are you going back on your wishes? Not very committed of you."
"I'm committed."
"I thought so, now shut up and sing."
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
I hear clapping.
Not the encouraging kind. It's lengthy, dragged out, unimpressed. The cold cynicism that person has is overwhelming, I can tell just by how mocking the applause is. So, naturally, I already know it's Derek. Turning around doesn't tell me anything I didn't already suspect, except that he's an even bigger asshole than I thought.
Hastily, Madison slips her phone back into her purse with an innocent smile. I saw her, holding it up, filming us. But nothing I can say will make her delete the video.
"If there were makeovers for people's voices, you would be the best example of the before shot," Madison croons. Callum swallows, and tries to cover the burn Madison's comment left. She's wrong. Callum has an undeniably melodic voice, and the more impressive thing is that he can sing while he drums.
I glower at Madison. "So would you. You know, it wouldn't kill you to talk quietly once in a while. Or maybe even whisper. If you're feeling brave, just write whatever the hell you have to say on a piece of paper, or text it to us. Just keep your annoying little mouth shut. Please."
She opens her mouth, ready to fire another round of insults our way. The look on her face when she realises she can't reply to me is priceless. For once, I want her to know how it feels to be filmed when you least expect it.
"I don't have to take this shit," Madison screeches. "Brittany can do this herself if she wants."
Class is not even half-over, but Madison turns to leave, her high heels smack against the floor. The sound echoes in the halls. Even after she's gone, Derek is still here. Strange. My guard goes up not because he looks hostile, but because he looks the opposite. In fact, this is one of the few times I've seen him look almost content, actually.
He walks over to Ashley and holds out his hand, gesturing for her to hand him the guitar. She can't refuse a member of the Monarchy. Not yet, anyway. She reluctantly gives it to him, along with a glare, to which he chuckles. Derek acts like a king, watching the world sing and perform for him, only to remain bored by it all.
The only thing — that I can think — Derek would want to do to Ashley's guitar is smash it. I flinch, preempting when the crunching of wood and snapping of strings comes. But it doesn't.
Derek only fiddles with one of the tuning pegs and plays a melodious arpeggio. "Your A string was flat," is all he says before leaving, his signature bored frown super glued on again.
Madison must have been waiting in the hall for him, because a female voice can be heard yelling at him as he steps out of the classroom. Both unstopped by our teacher.
What the fuck was that?
I look at my bandmates' faces – but if anything, they look more confused than I do. "Well that was weird," Callum says what we were all thinking. Absentmindedly, I nod.
Derek plays guitar? It's hard to think of music as a common interest we have. Someone as rotten as him doesn't deserve to experience something so lifting. He hurt Drew.
He is the enemy. They all are.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
At lunch, I spot Delaney's fiery head of hair easily.
She's looking at the Monarchy with such a hateful smoulder; I decide right then and there never to get on her bad side. Delaney heads away from them, probably trying to find the furthest seat from them. After perusing several tables and their occupants, she eventually arrives at Benjamin's and my table.
The dumpster table.
"I wish I was still in Fiji," she sighs despondently, sliding her tray onto the table.
Benjamin furrows his brows. "Did I say you could sit here?"
"Did I ask?" Delaney wonders innocently, spooning macaroni into her mouth. "Hi, Sophie. Hi, Poindexter."
"Hey," I smile.
"Don't call me Poindexter."
"Whatever you say, BJ."
A loud laugh escapes my lips, looking at Benjamin's adorably frustrated frown, and Delaney's unbothered grin. Benjamin scowls. "What is this, freshman year?"
"Ah, the year I beat your GPA," Delaney says nostalgically.
"Ah, the last year that ever happened," Benjamin retorts mockingly. Now it's Delaney's turn to scowl.
"Don't you have another group of friends to annoy?" Benjamin asks.
"Actually, no," Delaney chirps. "Junior year I hung out with the upperclassmen in the Debate Club. Now they've all escaped this cesspool. So jealous."
"Hi, guys," Leah's voice sounds. She takes a seat at the table with her lunch tray, looking pale and shaken. Did something happen to her? She's been hesitant about my whole plan since I suggested it.
Something is talking her down, telling her this isn't the best way to go. I don't know what it is. Could the Monarchy be threatening her? If so, it just adds more reason to protect other people from going through the same thing. They won't even talk to anyone about the bullying, which makes what I want to do a bit harder.
"Hey, Drew," I call. Delaney, Benjamin and Leah all greet Drew when he joins us. With the start of this week, something subtle has changed. It used to be Benjamin and I at this foul-smelling table, but somehow Leah, Drew and Delaney tacitly knew that it's a group table now. Our group.
Drews cuts and bruises are far lighter. In a passing glance, someone may not even notice them. But I can remember their original form like it was yesterday. Sometimes I'll blink and I'll see red tainting his features again.
I've never experienced bullying like this. It's hard, watching the despondent sighs and hopelessness strangle the eyes of my friends, and can't even begin to empathise with them. I'm walking down a road I don't even know the name of. My cluelessness when it comes to all things concerning the school's hidden issues means I either am lucky, not having the pain, or disadvantaged, not having the knowledge.
During the first week of school, the Monarchy sent Drew to the nurse's office. Imagine what weapons they could invent over the years they've been here. Leah seems a terrifying example of that. Scared to speak out, waking up and thinking about your tormentors, and how to avoid them. I've only seen Leah be affected like this, but I'm dreading that this seems to be what Brittany's done to everyone.
I place down my cutlery, drawing four pairs of eyes to me.
"Tell me as much as you can about the Monarchy."