Olive and I used to get along. Once upon a time we were normal twins—spending time together gossiping and laughing, sharing secrets and pledging to never tell a soul, laughing at inside jokes. And then three years ago I made a mistake I can never take back.

Now, I live with it. It was hard at the beginning, trapping myself in a world of lies that I was never allowed to reveal. Trying to be the perfect Octavia Price, straight A student, multiclub president, and golden-child of one of the wealthiest families in town. 

Lucky written all over my life—except the truth is, I’m nothing but a monster. 

A monster wearing the mask of a good girl.

Only a monster would light a fire killing the nicest man in town. Only a monster would not tell the police what they’d done, and how they never meant to do it. Only a monster would betray their sister in the way that I did. But a good girl keeps a secret that would potentially destroy her family—scratch that, would light her family on fire. Secrets can be deadly, dangerous, and most of all, dirty little things that never leave anything but scars.

Now isn’t the time to focus on secrets and the things they leave behind, because there is a list to think about. It’s up and I haven’t looked yet. Olive and I promised we would look at it together when the time came. The promise might not still stand, since we made it when we were young enough to have only lousy secrets that were easy to spill.

Of course, barging into her room unexpectedly might not have been the best way to introduce this pact we made. Or to reintroduce ourselves to the sisterly bond we had five years ago that led to said pact.

“Remember the pact we made about five or six years ago that the day the list went up, we would open the post up together. Well, that day has come, and here it is,” I hold my phone out between us, just far enough away from her face that she can read the link posted to the same old insta handle. “Do you really not remember?”

“Sure,” she sighs, “I remember.” I can tell by her tone that it isn’t a good old happy memory she is excited to think about. “I also remember the pact that we would always be best friends we made when we were that age, and the one where we would never date anyone the other liked. As well as swearing to sit together for lunch every Friday of Senior year on the first day of freshman year. I’m not so sure anymore, where those pacts, promises, and pinkie swears have ever gotten us.” 

Then she is out the door. Leaving me high and dry in her own room. It’s very reassuring to know that being in your presence made a sibling so mad that they fled their own territory. And now I’m alone in her creepily empty room—with band posters I don’t recognize on the walls and black and white photographs slapped onto a wall covered in all sorts of things.

My sister had always been the daddy’s girl, and I had always been the mama’s girl. When Dad died, she was left to be the odd one out. No matter how many times I tried to include her, no matter how many times Mom told me not to try with her, I still wanted to be a part of my sister’s life—I still want to be part of her life. I owe it to my father.

Things were looking up for a while back then, until I did a horrible, horrible thing. I kissed her best friend. It doesn’t even stop there, I dated him—without telling her. And when she found it, well, guess you could say I kissed a bond with my sister goodbye.

“Hey, Ava!” A voice calls from the parking lot, and I turn a glance over my shoulder to see which of my million and one friends it could possibly be. 

Diane rushes to my side, keeping up with my long strides with ease. I smile down at the quirky girl who runs the school paper and has been known to be quite the wonder with words. In such a small town, paparazzi are fairly ever around—her gossip page alone is enough to send them to our doorstep. The things she knows are amazing, but the things she can learn are even more amazing.

But no matter how much I like her and trust her, no matter how many times I call her my best friend, no matter what she does and says and how she acts I will never tell her my secret. Nor will I tell anyone else, ever, what I did that night.

If you’ve noticed, my life at the moment is built out of a lot of “no matter”s. That phrase surrounds me like a wall. Because it means whatever comes after it is never going to happen—no matter—whether I want it to or not.

“Ava? Girl, are you okay? You seem a little off this morning,” Diane says, the cheery grin on her face turning down at the corners with concern.

“Nope. I’m all good. Just daydreaming. What were we talking about again?”

She smirks and tosses one of her long braids over her shoulder, “More like I was talking about the pleasant date I went on this weekend with a boy named Greg Dawson.”

I squeal and grin so wide I show off all my big white teeth, “You’ve liked him for,” I shake my head, trying to remember a time that she wasn’t sneaking in comments about how cute Greg Dawson looked or how impressive the boy-genius of our small town was. I swivel back to face her, “For I don’t even know how long.”

“I know!” She says, and we both burst out laughing.

We squeal and laugh the rest of the way to school.

But once we are past the heavy steel doors that make our small highschool feel more like a county prison, I spot him. The one boy here that might actually end up in real jail some day. The boy who, once upon a time, was mine. 

Black hair he doesn’t bother styling and rather just gets out of bed. A leather jacket warm and worn with a skull painted in white on the back. Emerald eyes that shine bright as the stars with a troublesome glint that never fades. An easy smirk that charms girls and guys. The one that charmed me.

The moment his gaze locks on mine I shiver. The air around me seems to get colder, and I wrap my fingers around the straps of my backpack even tighter. He smiles that dashing smile of his and looks me over. From head to toe. First period bell rings and I jump, glancing around to make sure nobody noticed me staring down the bad boy.

With a single handed salute, he’s gone.

I spot Greg further down the hall, standing next to Chad Patterson. They're deep in conversation—probably talking about one of the many video games they play constantly in Brett O'malley's basement. They are the nerdiest of nerds and geekiest of geeks if I do say so myself.

Nick Rutherford is next, but he is quick to pass. Always going somewhere, always coming from somewhere. The total academic type, and to be honest a total snob. But when we laid out that blanket in the middle of a field and stared up at the stars he didn’t seem as much a bad guy as someone working hard to get what he wants.

Peter Blake and Thomas Moore whisper when they pass me, pointing and laughing. I don’t think I want to know what those two find so funny about me.

“Hey Babe,” Jake says, latching an arm around my torso and kissing my neck.

I giggle, and turn so we’re facing each other. So I’m facing away from Mr. Sherman—one of my biggest mistakes. Just like all the other boys, he was a mistake. Just another person I wanted. Just another person I had to have. Just another person I got, and regretted it soon after.

It’s not hard to find the cracks here and there, the ones that let you see beyond the perfect girl and into the dangerous one who lives below. The truth is I’m a girl who falls hard, and pulls away slowly. I live for the thrill, and once that’s gone, I’m gone too.

No matter what anybody says about me, I’m not a good girl. And if what I did three years ago isn’t any confirmation, there are many boys who can tell you exactly who I am—or, what I am.

She looks pretty today. 

He looks handsome today. 

They both look gorgeous today, and I can’t decide who I want to wake up to in the morning.

Of course, today is the last day of school for seniors, the night of the list—and I can’t wait to see who's on it. I just hope I’m not, and that neither of them are. Even though it would make my decision so much easier if one of them were, I have to make it on my own.

I’ve decided that tonight is the night.

Love is an evil thing, it can be given and taken in an instant. But I feel for two different people, my best friend and my girlfriend. Now, I have to decide which one of them I’m willing to love forever.

I pick my person, and I stick with them whether they say they feel the same or not. Octavia would accept me either way—we both know I’m just a cover for all her other guys. But sometimes I wonder if maybe, just maybe I’m more than that. Past the walls she keeps and the facade she puts on, if we could really work.

We could. We could be unstoppable. We could be a power couple.

But once I choose that path, I can’t go back. Either I chose her, him, or myself. And with my last name, there really isn’t an option to choose myself. Not when I need somebody by my side, somebody who will be there through thick and thin. Through college and whatever comes after.

“Oh my god, Babe,” Octavia says, tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “You’ve got to see this. Oh my god.”

She tilts her phone towards me, and the same old handle catches my eye. Before I can stop myself, her delicate pink iphone is resting in my hand, and I’m trying to make sense of the words below. Unlike the other times where the names have been written in regular list format, this one is special.

It’s an invitation. To what, I don’t know. But for once in my life, I hope this specific party invite doesn’t fall at my door.

“These seven nobodies are all cordially invited to a party,” Dylan reads over my shoulder. I shoot him a glance and he shrugs at me, going back to swiping at his phone.

“I guess the tradition is changing,” Ava sings, curling into the crook of my arm with a smile.

“But there isn’t an address, or a time. There are just names, and I don’t see—”

“Dude, seriously,” Brody drops his hands on my shoulders. I feel a chill roll down my spine, and it takes all my effort not to react to the out-of-nowhere touch. My skin burns red hot and I can only hope he can’t feel the electricity between us. “Read the names.”

Just like that, he’s off. Probably on some mission to make his latest hookup jealous, a daily morning ritual of his. Jordan’s party was last night, and I heard rumors that he left with Mealany and Trevor. The only question is who did he take back to his place—was Mealany a lucky lady, Trevor a lucky guy, or did they both get a little lucky.

Everybody at this school, whether straight, gay, or whatnot, have thought about getting it on with Brody McAllen-Pierce. You can fall in love with him so easily, just by locking eyes with that dazzling smile/smirk he uses on everybody. And when you fall in love with a player, you always fall hard.

I like to think that because Brody and I have been friends forever, my love for him grew out of an almost brotherly bond—but that sounds creepy. The truth is, it just happened. One day I was staring at him, and he was staring back, and I felt it. The connection of two people that changes a relationship forever. The look in his eyes and the feeling in my gut was enough to make me run.

So I did. I ran from the boy who I might love. Loved. I don’t even know.

“You read it,” I mumble, tossing the phone back into Ava’s gentle arms. She cradles it like a baby and glares daggers at me—which I do a lousy job of pretending not to notice.

“From where Dylan stopped? Or from the beginning?” She asks, her lips edging up at the corners to reveal her usual perky smile.

“The beginning, please.”

“Yessir. Here goes nothing,” she clears her throat, as if she’s getting read for the most important reading of her lifetime. “These seven nobodies are all cordially invited to a party; Veronica Brooke, Olive Price, Jake Thomas, Brody McAllen-Pierce, Hamilton Miller, Octavia Price, Alexander Perez. No need to RSVP. Show up, or pay the price.”

Well, I guess I know where I’ll be tonight.

Somewhere with both the people I love, trying to make a decision while trying to win whatever prize it is I’m supposed to be after. Dad won his, so father like son, I must win too. I hoped to avoid disappointing him by not being on the list entirely, but apparently I’m a part of these nobodies.

Wish me luck, I’m sure going to f*cking need it.

Ugh. Seriously Jonah?

I know you moved halfway across America and we broke up, but did you have to tell the principal about me? I hope you forget which side of the road to drive on and get in a horrible car accident. I hope that your on one of those stupid meditation hikes you take just to get out of doing sh*t and get mauled by a bear. I hope that your sunburns are so bad that your abs burn off and your face peels to reveal an uglier you below, scratch that, I hope it’s the real you that comes out on top. I hope—

“Miss. Avendail!” Principal Greene chirps, smiling his gentle smile, as if I am his favorite student of the day. The usual smile that I know so well, which means most likely I’m not in trouble. Which also means I have to apologize to Jonah for everything in my head I hoped would happen to him.

I smile back at our friendly principal, the one that believes I could do no wrong.

If only he knew how wrong he was. If only he knew exactly what wrongs I’ve committed. If only he knew every secret stored up in my brain. But he didn’t, because if he did I probably wouldn’t be meeting him at the school, and he probably wouldn’t smile that same old smile he reserves for the perfect valedictorian that can do no wrong.

“Come in, come in,” he said, tidying up some papers on his desk as he made his way to the squeaky leather chair behind it.

“Just wanted to get it out there that first period starts in twenty and I have three projects to give to teachers, and Mr. Darcy still needs those English quizzes I graded for him.” I smile again at the man, and god, I can’t help smiling at him. Showing off these pretty white teeth my parents paid so much money for—the charmers that got me out of the scuffle with Milly Blake in the halls one year, and out of detention for almost blowing up one of the chemistry labs.

It also helped that Mr. Darcy—and yes, I understand how funny it is that he’s an English teacher—wrote me some pretty good get-out-of-jail-free emails on my behalf. I mean he recommended that they put more security on the science labs if they don’t want curious minds like mine experimenting. He told them all about my home issues, too, which sort of pissed me off, but left me pretty much unscathed. Though it did clear up the Milly Blake clawing-and-throwing-things-at- my-head debacle in a jiffy. 

I’ve always gotten into trouble so easily that I have a knack for getting out of it just as easy peasy, if not more. I guess that’s what happens when a  valedictorian is willing to do whatever it takes to keep her dream school in her near future. There is no issue on the school part, I haven’t earned so much as an A- since, well, I can’t even remember when. 

“I won’t keep you long,” the principal blushed and went on, like he was embarrassed to be a bump in her schedule, “and I’ll make sure to write emails to all of your teachers and give you passes and even extensions as always.” 

A curt nod of my head and Mr. Greene was subdued and back to peppy, blubbering principal Greene. What a foolish man. He wants to believe so badly that I can do no wrong, that I want and need what is best for the school. That I hate just as much as him the poison that collects amongst the many rich and elite students here. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m part of the poison here. I’m devouring this school inside and out.

“Now, to move on to the matter of hand,” he took a breath and cleared his throat, clasping his hands tightly in front of him. “It has come to my attention that you are taking ten classes this year. I just wanted to clear some things up. It says here, you’ve opted out of Psychical Education and replaced it with AP Chemistry. You know PE is a required class, correct?”

“I’m happy to explain my plan to you, Mr. Green. I thought this might happen, do you mind if I email you with more details later on?” He nods his approval and I dive head first into the speech I planned for just this occasion were it to arise. “So the simple version and the much shorter one is that I have a dream. And because I’m not a basic person—because I am a future valedictorian—I feel it is necessary for me to take my education seriously. I am not the type who will quit just because college applications have been sent and acceptance or rejection letters have been sent out means in any way that this school year counts less. In fact, I think it might count more than credit is given to it.”

I add in a dramatic pause, and continue on, “At the end of the day I would like to think I did everything for all my high school years to deserve any school I get into. And if I ease up now, if I rest my head and let my brain start slowing by packing my schedule full of useless electives, classes, and extracurriculars—I have decided to act as if it is junior year again. 

“Since I’m already a very active girl, and participate in various different sports with different active, seasonal experiences. Which means that all year long, I would instead have an Athletic Study Hall. Therefore I must conclude that my time would be better spent in a classroom working on something that would further my knowledge and possibly open up career opportunities along the way rather than going over a soccer playbook that I have memorized two days after receiving it.”

Mr. Greene blinked a few times, still taking in all the information that had poured out of my lips over the course of two minutes. I waited for him to catch up, for his face to light up and his smile to plaster his face again. For the bewilderment to fade to a faint eyebrow raise in surprise.

“Please email me if you have any questions or need to make any changes to your schedule for this semester. If there is nothing else you want to add, you may be on your way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Green. And I’ll be sure to email you my planned and replanned schedule when I get to homeroom. Have a nice day!” I call over my shoulder, already hail tailing my ass out of there.

I made it out of the main office and halfway to Mr. Darcy’s English class when the hand launched out of the boys’ bathroom and yanked me inside. 

“So…” Brody McAllen-Pierce said, rocking back and forth on his toes. “Did you do what you said?” He asked, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms. 

I jerked away from him, pinning him with a glare so icy it would have made any regular student quaver—but not the mighty Brody McAllen-Pierce. Not Brody Mc-Pierce. Not Mc-Pierce, the greatest basketball/football/soccer/baseball player to hit Mistyville High School in twenty years.

“Yes,” I hissed, “now pay up.” I held out my hand, forcing it to stay still and not tremble.

Another jock and I were square—at least until another “unpassable” test came upon him. Until he felt that even studying would do no use, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

My father and I always had great plans for my future.

Early acceptance to Harvard, law school after that, and then a bright future ahead.

So freshman year I hit the ground running. Shoved in classes where there was no more room, and shoved out useless things like electives. Ran for all kinds of things, from presidents of clubs, to the treasurer and eventually the president of the student council. 

But Daddy never expected to die.

He never expected to leave us, or a trail of medical bills that left us up to our knees in debt.

No, the loving family man he was wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose.

But the cancer came up on him without warning, and it spared no time or remorse for him. It drew out his death and played with him. Giving him days of hope and then taking them away when the doctor pointed out the growing tumor. No more surgeries, no more cures, no more options.

He was dying—hell, he was dead already.

And Donny couldn’t take it, so he ran away with Mary Lou. And out the door walked another paycheck. So I started selling tests. I got good fast, starting out five bucks per page. When Mr. Darcy first asked me to help in his class, I figured it wouldn’t matter. Maybe it would look good on college apps, maybe it would look good to the principal. But what I didn’t know was the money I would start making. Now it was no longer just tests and such. Soon I was changing grades and erasing answers, and even helping kids cheat tests when they were on speculation.

I own this school. I own every jock, cheerleader, and rich fancy pants snob that has gotten an A here. Because just as easily as I gave it to them, I can take it away. That’s what gives me power. That’s what gives me motivation. Because if I get caught, then I’m done. And this trouble? This kind of suspension—expulsion—worthy trouble I’ve gotten myself into  isn’t something I can weasel my way out of. It’s something that will wreck all those dreams, all those plans, all those things my Daddy will never get to see me live to be. 

Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean my life is, doesn’t mean my future is, doesn’t mean my dream is. And I will do anything, anything and everything to keep that dream alive.

Brooke’s are known for that around here. Known for their dreams, whether that’s a good thing or bad thing I couldn’t tell you. But mine won’t crash and burn like my Mom’s or become unreachable like Daddy’s. My dream won’t fade into a useless little thing like Donny.

After all, I'm a Brooke, through and through.

“Good luck at your game tonight!”

“Mc-Pierce, you're fierce!”

“Dude, you are a killing machine!”

Game night is in three days.

It is the biggest game of the year. Our rivals made for a good game last year, and we almost won, but in the end they got an impossibly touch down because Bleary “didn’t see the guy”. So this year, everyone is counting on me to be a better leader than Bleary Thompson. I don’t want to even think about what will happen if I don’t win this game.

“Bro, did you hear me? Were you even paying attention?” Dylan askes, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. “I swear, you and your f*cking day dreaming ass better get in gear. There is no way that this school is not going to stomp all over you if you lose this game. Hell, I’ll stomp all over you if you lose this game, and I don’t even give a sh*t about football.”

“Sorry Dyl Pickle.” I mumble, and he swats my shoulder.

“When are y’all going to stop calling me that,” Dylan says, his Texas accent layered on thicker than thick.

“How many pickles did you bring to school today?” I question, it’s my turn to cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him.

“Only two…jars”

“Jesus man, you really should slow down with the pickles. Anyways, when you stop bringing so many pickles to school, and when you get rid of your whole pickle themed bedroom, and when you stop talking nonstop about pickles and how interesting they are. Then that is when we’ll stop calling you Dly Pickle.”

“You have your sports, football, baseball, basketball, soccer. And I have my pickles. Simple as that.”

“Nah, man.” I shook my head at him, and started down the hall, “Pickles are a thing, a food. Sports are a way of life. They can get me into college. They can give me a life. They can provide money, a house, and maybe even a girlfriend or two. But pickles? Sure there is great food, and they bring everyone so much joy. But in the end, they don’t give you all the opportunities of sports.”

“Yeah, well I wrote my college essay ‘bout ‘em. So we'll just wait and see the acceptance letters rolling in. Anyways, I've got to run,” Dylan hurries off in the opposite direction we were headed, throwing a salut and a smile over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Now I have to deal with this list thing, and what it means about tonight.

I could always skip it. Maybe I could pretend to fall and get hurt or something so whoever runs this game will be forced to send an ambulance. But in the end, I’d probably just end up lying there hurt and nobody else would do anything about it. Of course that would mean whatever crazy task there is in this game to get the prize would be out of reach.

“Yo-hoo! Brody!”

“Damit,” I whisper, plastering a smile on my face and spinning on my heel to face Samantha. “Good morning Samantha, how is your brother today?”

“He is doing well, thank you,” her polite smile covers up the icy frown underneath.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t play this year, that was too bad. He would have been a good captain.”

Her smile dissolves and she pins me with a glare so terrifying I almost wet my pants, “Listen up, Captain Brody McAllen-Pierce. You don’t deserve captain, my brother did, but thanks to you and that other kid—Don? Dil? Dylan?—whatever his name is, landed my brother in rehab. No more sports, no more freedom, no more life. Don’t f*ck with me, okay? Because I really don’t want to have to screw you over, but if that’s what it takes, then fine. F*ck you, bye now.”

Sam turns on her heel and storms off. Her cheerleader uniform swings as she walks, shaking with her hips. Before I’m too mesmerized by the one girl I can’t have, I turn around and head towards class.

Dylan doesn’t know the whole story behind my crazy sports schedule. He doesn’t know that if I don’t get a scholarship for football or baseball or something else, that I will end up living with my parents when I'm still thirty and working a full time job that pays sh*t. I’ll end up like the guy from Failure To Launch, except minus the whole traumatic wife-dying-suddenly-and-unexpectedly thing. And I’m pretty sure my parents won’t hire a nice woman to date me just to get me out of the house, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be lucky enough to sleep with her.

I pull into class and look out over everybody.

These people here all think I’m a star. They always offer up high fives and cheer me on in the halls. They support me and push me to be the best player I could be.

But I don’t want to win this game in three days. I don’t want to be the school hero.

I just want out of this town, and out of this school.

So I’ve already decided I’m throwing the game. Because if everyone hates me? If college isn’t an option? Well, then what’s the point of sticking around here after I graduate?

There is no point.

I’m cutting ties, and I’m leaving town. In three days I’ll throw a game for the second time in my life, but this time, there is no big wad of money, or a guy threatening to expose my secret.

This time, I’m throwing a game for myself.

I'm no criminal.

Many people in this school—students, teachers, other staff—would tell you differently.

The intercom overhead crackles to life, a sigh echoes through the halls, “Hamilton Miller, Principal Green would like to see you.”

Kids freeze what they're doing to glance over at me, dividing into their own special groups to whisper and wonder. They are all curious, but scared too. Scared of who I am when I’m angry, and even more scared of who I am when I’m calm. Scared of what I’m capable of. Scared of what I’ve already done. 

They are all frightened of me—of my past, present and future.

I push my way through the non-crowded hallways. I push my way through my peers and their whispers, and their thoughts, and all the way to the main office. I push through the door into the little, glass encased waiting room without so much as a thought.

“I’m here, Shelia, so point me in the direction of the old Green-Bean and I’ll be out of your—” I stop. I freeze. And I stand there frozen, staring at the girl slumped in one of the three chairs lined up against the wall between open air and the Principal’s office.

Her lips are bright pink, a natural looking application of rosey lipstick paling them down from their natural red. A plaid pink skirt that reaches at least a foot below her knees is spread out around her. She has on a cropped baby blue leather jacket over a tight spaghetti strap tank top. Blond curls sway down her back, swishing with movement as she moves uncomfortable in her seat.

“Holy Hell, Octavia Price. Sh*t, pardon my manners, what are you doing here?” I ask, taking a seat next to her.

She shrugs, and her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. But I used to know her, and those sly tricks won’t fool me. The thing with popular kids is that they are excellent liars, and even better actors—and actresses. Octavia Price? Well, she is one of the best actresses I’ve ever seen.

“Let me guess, you and your little boyfriend were caught making out in a storage locker between periods?” I tap a finger against my chin, the universal signal for thinking, “Or you and your friends were caught trying to sneak back into the school after ditching for the mall? Or did he find out about what you said to Cheryl Meyers in the bathroom last weekend?”

Her eyes go wide, and she pushes out her bottom lip, “You wouldn’t tell him, right? I never meant to hurt Cheryl, but she was saying horrible things about Ollie, and I didn’t know what else to do. I swear I apologized afterwards, and this morning I cornered her in the hall to tell her how sorry I was again.” A single tear traces a path across her cheek, dripping on her jacket and soaking into the fabric, “I would do anything for my sister. She’s the only person in the world who gets me.”

With another sharkey breath she settles back into her chair. Fear and sadness has painted itself across her face, but I would bet a million dollars it is anything but real. She has a great talent, a gift, one that everyone else watches in every school play, musical, or anything else theater related. But that isn’t her best work, her best work is how successfully she has been playing this school for years—with her nice comments and her good deeds. How naive everyone is to her stupid little gift, that they don’t even know she’s using it to screw them all over.

A laugh escapes my lips, and I fall back into my seat laughing, “You are such  a b*tch.” Another sharp laugh bursts out of me, and I find myself grinning wildly at the queen bee, “If only this school could see through you like I do. Sorry sister, but Ollie and I are long over. Therefore, that whole thing you just put on? The tears and sh*t, well, you just wasted it on me. But I won’t worry, I’m sure you already have something cooked up to get your pretty ass out of detention.”

The door to the principal’s office opens, and out steps Principal Green and Alex Perez—the king of rumors and secrets.

Octavia pushes herself to a standing position and takes a step towards the office, only then turning to face me with anger adorning her features. “Screw you, Hamilton. I’m only here because I got dress coded, again. Why don’t you go and flirt with some other girl, you d*ck.” A slap across the face and she waltzed away, smirking over her shoulder before the door closed on her and the principal.

Alexander Perez stares at me, his face devoid of all emotion.

“What,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at the worst gossip in town.

He smiles, his lips tight and tilting down at the edges, “Nothing,” he mumbles, before scurrying out of the office. 

I don’t get scared much, hell, I rarely get scared at all. But Alex Perez saying nothing would be enough to scare anyone out. We all know with Alex, nothing is never nothing, and something is never something—it’s bigger.

After all, the king of secrets, gossip, and dirty little rumors always has something on his mind. Or someone one.

Trust me, you don’t want Alex to have you on his mind.

Secrets can be deadly. They can ruin a life, or secure a future. They exploit and manipulate. They are treasures we all wish would stay buried, treasures we wish nobody knew existed, treasures we ourselves wish we didn’t know existed.

Without secrets there wouldn’t be gossip, or rumors, or lies.

And without secrets highschool would be the most boring time of our lives. But there is drama in growing up—always has been, always will be. And I live in that place full of so much drama. I live in the gossip and the dirty little secrets and the bad little lies we all tell.

Alas, that doesn’t secure me an automatic entry to the popular table—not that I want to sit there. I know too much about those snobs to sit there, to sit there and laugh with them and smile through all the horrible things they’ve done. All the ways they have messed up other people’s lives, all the ways they have messed up each other’s lives without ever realizing it. They are cheaters and liars, just like everyone else. They are regular and normal and so much worse.

I carry a notebook around with me, and every morning I sit in the cafeteria and I write what I see. I write what I can see, and what I can’t. This morning I saw Ruby Golden and Thomas Miller glancing at each other, smiling and laughing in their own little world. There is love there, there is kindness and the makings of a great relationship that will never go farther than friends.

Ansley Picket makes her way over to her boyfriend, hips swishing from side to side, chomping on her gum and blowing bubble after bubble. Thomas Miller wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist and smiling up at her. There is no love in that look they share. This truly is nothing but trust and loyalty—they wouldn’t leave each other, no, they’ve been through too much together. Their breakup will stretch out, they’ll go from long distance boyfriend and girlfriend to long distance friends and then slowly that will fade away. They’ll forget each other and move on with their lives. But poor Ruby Golden will get tired, she’ll get sick of wanting what she’ll never have and start fighting the love she feels deep down in her bones. Her heart will freeze over, until she meets her husband, and he will unfreeze her and set her free.

Ruby and Thomas will stop talking. Thomas will say sorry, and apologize in hundreds of different ways, thousands of times. But Ruby will shake her head and look at him sadly before turning away from him. She will smile at him at the reunion, and hand a glass of something to her husband. She will remember her best friend and the boy she loved. She will remember and she will then want to forget, to forget about him, to leave him behind again.

Thomas Miller and Ansley Picket are not meant to be, but they will believe what their friends tell them—and they tell them they are good together, that they work and they work well. They will believe because they want to. Because when Thomas Miller looks at Ruby Golden his eyes light up, and they become a little less sad. And when Ansley Picket looks at Vera Brown her smile turns up and she laughs a little more.

Thomas Miller and Ansley will keep up their lies. Will keep up their future and their past and their present. They will keep up their lives together, just because the fear of being alone for the both of them—the fear of rejection—sits deep inside their bones. 

These people walk the same halls as me. They smile and go about their day, just like me, just like every other student here. But they are different, they are more. They believe that they are more. But being more doesn’t make them different, it just makes them think they are above it all.

They get away with so much, and I’m tired of it. Of every nasty comment they make, and every rumor they spread. Of all the lies they tell their little followers, giving them a place at the table just to see what they do when it disappears. 

All of that, it stops tonight.

With the list.

With the game.

This time, they won’t walk away winners. None of them will.

They will pay—all seven of them.