* Mia's P.O.V*

"So," Noah asks, "did you find him?"

"Yes." I sit back in front of my desk.

"And?"

"And what?" I snort at his expectant look.

He groans. "What happened?"

This makes me tell him that I asked Charlie to tutor me, to which he says, "No way," and sits up.

I shrug, opening my textbook when he frowns. "Wait - why?"

"Because when I asked him how Chemistry went, he was like -" I lean back and lower my voice to mimic him. "- Easy."

Instantly, Noah's jaw drops. I nod my head as if to utter I know, right?!!

"Bro's magnificent. Restrain me when I see him again. "

"Bars." I slap the desk. "Now, get behind them before your girlfriend does."

"She's aware that I'm attracted to brains."

"Oh, so..." I survey the class for nerds before continuing, "You find Anna attractive?"

His grin falls. "No."

"Why not?" I'm genuinely surprised. They like teasing each other, and some classmates have shipped them.

"Because." He hesitates, then looks at me, astonished.

"Do you not know why?"

I shake my head.

"Mia." He sits up. "Who is the flip-the-bottle champ of the school."

I shrug.

"What's our football team's colours?"

"Don't ask me the colour of anything, Noah."

"Who is the quarterback?"

The jerk." Joshua Diler."

"Well, at least you know that," he sighs. "What do you even come to school for if you don't know what's up?"

"To learn," I say in a 'duh' tone

"No, Mia." He makes a tsk-tsk sound. "Repeat after me, "We come to learn and gossip."

"Ok, that's enough of you." I turn away.

"But, seriously," he says, grabbing my attention again. " How do you not know? The rumour was literally in the magazine's last edition, and heck- I'm sure Anna had to sell her soul to make the school press revise the copies that weren't sold."

I do not like meddling in people's affairs, but this guy has been hinting at this for so long now that I have to ask, "Ok, what did Anna do?"

Our teacher chooses this moment to walk in.

*

I don't get my answer, not even at recess, because I have to go to the sick bay and the school counsellor. My tummy stings from climbing so many stairs to the rooftop, and now that the exams are over, I have no reason to postpone a counselling session primarily intended for me to stay alive.

When I reach the school nurse's workspace, she recognises that the area she creamed the last time is where my reddened stitches are.

"Did you bump into someone again?" She gives me a knowing look.

My head shakes. "No. We had to run several laps."

The way she snorts tells me she's used to injured kids trying to get chits to avoid physical education class.

When she's done assessing and rebandaging, I head for the counsellor, a music teacher with a degree in psychology.

"Who's there...?"

"Mia Summers. The incident girl."

"Oh, yes." She waves me to come into her private cubicle in the music lab. "It's a surprise you've come to see me. "

Really? I think, sitting in the chair in front of her desk.

She gets up and says," Sorry, please wait," then pokes her head out to send someone on an errand. Reverting to her seat, she pulls out a folder from her drawer. "How were the exams?"

I shrug.

"Mm." She smiles, dog-earing her files. "Don't worry. I'm sure you did well."

No, I probably did terribly; for ongoing students, we haven't received our results yet, but I expect the worst.

She finally removes a blue file just as a knock fills the silence. "Come in," she says, and I freeze when the person does.

"Hi," Casey says.

"Hi." I gulp.

Before she sits next to me, the counsellor laughs. "No, turn your chairs to face each other."

Why? I frown as we begrudgingly oblige.

"Mia, I felt that you might be uncomfortable talking to me, so I called in your friend, according to the nurse. You're friends, right?"

I don't know; are we? I turn to Casey.

She smiles at the teacher. "Yes, Miss Morrell."

"Good." Relief is palpable in Miss Morrell's voice. "So, we're just going to try and find out how you are faring -" she says to me, then gives it to Casey, "- by answering these questions."

Casey bends the file in her hands and then watches me sternly. "Should I start?"

As the teacher nods, she clears her throat. "What's your full name, please? The one in your school admissions."

"Milan Brechane Summers."

"That is correct, " my co-worker says like we are on a game show.

The inquiries evolve with her curt tone until she implores slowly, "So, where do your parents work?"

"Heaven."

Casey considers my deadpanned gaze for a moment, then blurts, "Then who's fucking my dad?"

My jaw drops.

Seriously? You want to do this? Now? In front of a teacher? OK...

"My foster mom. Why do you wanna fuck juniors-"

"-OK, ok," the teacher cuts in. I'm glad for that because, as she endears us to stick to the questions and be polite, I relax and realise that I'm mishandling this matter.

Although I don't want teachers learning anything about my life, she is rattling out of anger. I have always felt Aunt Lisa told her the truth, but seeing her eyebags and makeup-less face now makes it clear: she's not ok with the affair.

Miss Morrell has to smile at her before she continues, feigning nonchalance.

"What are your hobbies?"

"Nothing."

"That's incorrect," she mutters to the teacher. "She used to win medals for diving in middle school."

Suddenly, I glare at Casey, but she chimes in.

"Plus, she once said, and I quote: "I'm doing a thing, a song, a singing thing, a thing." She mimics me.

I facepalm. I'm never doing weed with you again.

"Oh really, you sing? That reminds me; there's an audition-" The teacher grins like the sun has no followers.

Casey squeals, "- You're finally doing it?!"

Then, before my eyes, she and the teacher neglect my interrogation to gush over who knows what. I take the opportunity to sneak glances at the answers on the file, but Casey's handwriting is incomprehensible. I bet the teacher won't even mind that.

Such a teacher's pet.

Despite them spending my recess time, all questions are answered before Miss Morrell permits me to escape. I rush out first because my bladder is full when Casey catches up to me with a document in hand.

"You realise I just signed you up for the audition, right?"

"Huh?" I turn to her, and she rolls the document only to smack my head in rapid succession.

"Learn. To. Pay. Attention!"

Aww, who do you think you're hitting?! I duck on the third hit and flip her the bird.

She does the same, smirking, slips the paper under my armpit and skips away.

Teacher's pets, I think. Give them a little authority and suddenly they act like teachers.

At least, she doesn't seem angry anymore.

While taking a piss, I flip through the document, which turns out to be an audition form.

I exit the stall and wash my hands when my gaze darts towards the all-too-familiar wall. I see myself shouting for Autumn and her gang to stop, but they're not listening. Then, a door snaps shut.

I jolt.

"Sorry." A girl in smokey-eye makeup comes to the next sink.

I sigh in relief. "It's nothing."

She hums to that, and I turn off the faucet.

"Mia?" She stops me. "You're Mia, right?"

"Ya."

"Oh, wow. I'm Noah's girlfriend."

That's when I face her and consider her round face to utter, "Oh,...you're Kean."

"Yep." She wiggles her brows at my realisation. "Noah has told me a lot about you. Nice things, of course."

Really? "Same here."

"Good." She rubs her manly hands with soap. "Please tell me he didn't embarrass himself at the party."

"He didn't." What Noah did was quite the opposite: he won the money. It's not my business to tell Kean, though, so I broach another subject.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"I heard that there's an audition for something going on in the school, but it's hard for me to follow announcements, so do you know anything about it?"

"Ya, I don't blame you." She leans on the sink. "Half the stuff they spew through the intercom is crap. But, yep, there's an audition. The school is joining a musical competition for high schools this year, to...you, know, alter outsiders' impressions that the school is...depressing kids."

"Huh?"

" That's not the end of it. Apparently, the music teacher thought; Hell ya? So she summoned her old bandmates to hold auditions next Friday and train those who make the cut to form "the best band this country has ever seen" or whatever." Kean makes air quotes, imitations of the counsellor and funny faces during her drivel, all of which send me cracking up a little.

As my laugh dissipates, I ask, "But do you think people will be interested?"

There's a brief pause for her to ponder.

"Well," she muses," with the shitshow, the school pulled last week, I guess people need the distraction and funny moments to post on their Tiktok."

"Oh, ok."

"You should audition too."

I ask her why, wiping a humorous tear, and she shrugs.

"Because you sound like you have a nice singing voice."

"Girls usually sound like they have nice singing voices."

"Pfft, no," she snarks, "many sound like cockroaches refusing to die."

*

Chuckling at the memory of what Kean said, I glance at the forms in my trouser pocket while the biology teacher speaks Greek. I should have kept them in better condition in my locker, but I was running late for this class.

The man asks everyone to find a lab partner for the day, and I remove the pages when I feel a body plopping onto the stool next to mine.

"Hi Mia," Anna waves.

I am so caught off guard that it takes me a neck-snapping survey of the lab to respond, " Hi."

She straightens her lab coat and tilts her head. "Is that...an audition form?"

I nod slowly. She looks back at me and quirks, " That's great. What will you sing?"

I shrug. There's already a lot on my plate.

"Why don't you know?" Her shoulders lean in. I want to tell her it's not her business, but I was interested in hers earlier; I deliberate the best response to quench her curiosity.

"My parents won't allow me."

"Just forge their signature."

"Huh?" My hands drop. She rolls her eyes and snatches the forms. Her pen makes funny scrawling sounds before she returns them all while I gape at her.

"Now, what's your excuse?" Her brow rises.

I close my mouth, stash them in my pocket, and then open my notebook.

"Seriously." She scowls. "Don't tell me you're like everyone who thinks I'm a good girl who just studies and passes her grades and blah, blah, blah."

If Noah's repulsion for her proves anything, it's that no, people actually know you've done bad things.

Hence, I shake my head and ask, "Anna, what did they write about you in the magazine?"