It's exquisitely annoying how once you become aware of something, you can't stop seeing it everywhere.

Before my dangerous encounter, Marisa Delterre was invisible. Now, she is everywhere. On the hallways, in the yard, doing sports, chatting to people.

Against my better judgement, I pause to observe her in her natural habitat. She doesn't seem to notice me, and it makes my blood boil.

What? Too good to be seen in school with me, Delterre?

She is so weird, breaking the pattern of everything that is normal for Petraka. No constant clique of friends, no constant checking of her cellphone to see if TMI might have updated, no running around with books.

Marisa talks to everyone equally, including the golden circle. She laughs airily at the stupidest jokes, bounces next to anyone who would have her, and spends classes actually paying attention to the teachers.

How did I miss this? This oh-so-obvious anomaly bouncing on my hunting ground. She has no power, yet she is everywhere, enemies with no one, except maybe Davey Postvam who she keeps avoiding. Discreetly.

For once in what feels like years, my attention is obsessively drawn to someone other than Rosie Geld. Marisa outshines her in every way, and yet, she doesn't seem to notice, doesn't gore her down with her tusks.

They laugh together. My desire to expose Rosie has never been greater. But I must play this right. Marisa is right. I want Rosie Geld to feel that I'm coming for her. I want her to shit her skirt and be afraid to open her notifications. I want to see her crumble.

Just like she made Audrey Hart crumble.

Crumble and fall. Die. Disappear.

"Move out of the way."

Someone nudges me and I hit my shoulder against the nearest locker. Hunter Gilligan marches past me with his posse of brain-dead football players. They all snicker at his Neanderthal antics, as if he's discovered fire or something. He gives me a once-over, probably trying to determine if I'm presentable enough to fuck or if he already fucked me.

I just glare at him, even if my hood is likely sparing him.

"Idiot," he mutters. "Emo garbage. Grow a pair and show off some skin." And just like that, he walks away.

If I grew a pair, he certainly wouldn't want to see skin. Entitled bastard. He messed with the wrong person. And he's about to see it.

I turn away from the crowd, lean my forehead against the locker and pull out my phone from the pouch of my hoodie.

That's right, asshole, strut away like the complete waste of oxygen you are. Strut while you still can.

A chorus of ringing phones fills the hallway. With frightening precision, every student searches for their phone, takes it out and opens TMI, Hunter Gilligan included. I watch him from under my hood. His face loses all color as he stares at his screen.

There is no laughter this time. Drugs are taboo at Petraka after one of the students OD-ed last year in one of the bathrooms. Being caught with it is a sure motive for expulsion, no matter who you are.

And no one finds it funny.

"Not cool man," someone whispers.

"This is bullshit," Hunter says, but the shaking of his voice implies otherwise.

"Is it, Gilligan?" Rod Wiseman and Rosie Geld make their way through the crowd, king and queen sheep, even if they look more like hyenas.

"Empty your pockets," Rosie says between her teeth.

The fear in Hunter's eyes is almost comical as he stares from Rod to Rosie. Part of him wants to fight, I can tell, but the other part realizes who's standing before him and knows that crossing Petraka royalty could plunge him all the way to tier six. No one wants to be in tier six. Tier six are the targets, the losers, those constantly ridiculed.

"You heard her." Rod nods towards him. "Empty your pockets and your bag."

With shaking hands, Hunter does as he is told. His pockets are empty. So is his bag, except for books and scraps of food.

"See?" he says, his voice carrying the slightest hint of defiance through the fear. "Told ya that rumor was bullshit."

I clench my fists and shift my weight from one foot to the other. I have proof, but I don't want to use it. I want TMI to not answer to his petty demands. TMI is above him and above every rotten soul in this godforsaken school.

"TMI never lies," Rosie says, ever the biggest supporter.

Sometimes, I'm impressed by how intelligent Rosie can be. But just sometimes. Rod, even if a total asshole, is a lot smarter than her. A lot smarter than Hunter Gilligan.

"Give me that." Rod yanks the bag from Hunter and starts patting it. In a matter of seconds he tears at the lining and pulls out a tiny bag of white powder. "This flour then, Gilligan?"

Hunter goes red now and shuts his eyes, as if that would save him from what follows. As it always is in high school, a teacher smells the fresh blood and approaches the scene. I'm sure it's the silence that attracts them, not the noise, not the laughter.

Let the children ridicule each other, let them laugh and make each other's lives hell. But when they're quiet, that's when it's serious.

The principal himself walks over, his bushy eyebrows scrunched in worry. He sees, he judges, he confiscates the blow and calls Hunter to his office. The show is over and everyone is satisfied with the outcome.

"What an idiot," Martin Hirsch says into the silence.

I squint at him from under my hood. His tone is a little off, as if he's implying that if he were Hunter, he wouldn't bring his drugs to school.

"Thank God for TMI," Rosie said with an over-dramatic sigh. "I wish I knew who figured this out so I can kiss them. Drugs are so not cool."

I just want to run her over with my car. Her cutsey acting isn't fooling anyone. I'm certain she and Rod are hitting the drugs hard at their fancy parties. All of them, actually. I ache to ask Marisa about it and my eyes search for her in the crowd.

She's next to her locker, hands crossed over her chest, a very focused look on her face now that no one is paying her any mind. Then I see her transforming into the ditzy idiot, and I'm sure she's about to speak.

She lets out a short, amused laugh into the silence. "I love TMI. Always so much fun. And it's soooo amazing that it started climbing."

I freeze. Everyone with half a brain freezes because she just tossed a huge bombshell out there. Of course she's just giggling to herself like a brainless oaf, as if the impact of her words escapes her.

It doesn't escape the others. I see a lot of tier three people looking at each other, their faces marred by worry and fear. I see Rosie and Rod glancing at each other, Rod cocking an eyebrow as if he doesn't quite believe it.

The thing is, it's not that obvious. Until now, I've mixed tiers. Since the Jace Rosenberg incident, attacks have only come to tier three. I can see they're not sure. Not overly worried. But it's there. The seed of doubt has been planted and they will keep a look out to see if Marisa's innocent observation is true.

There's nothing innocent about Marisa, so once she sets out and the crowd starts shifting, I make to follow her. Someone wraps their hand around my arm and pulls me back. My skin crawls and my teeth grit together as I turn to my assailant, ready for a verbal smack down.

I freeze. There's a guy standing in front of me, holding my arm, and I have no idea who he is.

"Who the hell are you?" I ask.

"Right back at you, mystery girl," he says, obviously unimpressed with my hostility.

He has dark hair, almost black, and his eyes are a weird blue that almost seems grey, as if they can't just make up their mind. He scowls at me with his regular, symmetric features, looking like a boring-ass band boy upset with a non-fan.

"Let me go!"

"Not until you tell me why you're creeping around my locker."

I yank myself free. I'm not telling him shit. So I turn and walk away.

"I know what you did," he calls after me.

I don't stop, but slow my pace. My heart thunders in my chest. Could he have seen me confirming the rumor? If he has, I don't want him shouting it out in the hall. Damn it, he's not following me. I slow to a stop and turn around.

He's still there, next to his locker, his eyebrows raised. He's wearing a red hoodie and blue jeans, his hands stuck in their pockets. Why haven't I seen him before? Someone like that is hard to miss.

I march back to him. "Did you just move here?"

"Define just." he shrugs and I want to kick him in the shin. "I've been here since the start of the semester. Which is almost over, by the way. So I wouldn't call it just."

"What's your name?" I shoot out.

"Connor Michaels. What's yours?"

I don't answer because fuck him. "What did you see me do?"

He raises his eyebrows some more and I swear they're going to get eaten by his hair. I clench my fists and lean forward, bearing my teeth, then repeat the question.

"You're a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" he mumbles. "I saw you working on your phone just before that stupid app blew up."

I blink, pulling back from him. "Stupid app?"

"Yes, that TMI thing everyone is using."

TMI thing. This time I really kick him in the shin. He jumps back, sucking air through his teeth.

"Ouch, you don't have to hit people."

"Then you shouldn't insult something that's done a lot of good in this school."

"Good?" The asshole actually laughs. "It's low-key bullying, that's what it is."

I kick him again, so hard my foot actually hurts. He jumps further back, cursing under his breath.

"You'll keep your mouth shut, if you know what's good for you," I say between my teeth.

"Or what? You'll make up some bullshit rumor about me too?" He sounds amused. The idiot actually has the nerve to sound amused as he insults my work.

"TMI only speaks the truth, you amoeba!"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

I march away before I throttle him. The pulse is rushing through my ears and my vision is foggy. Who does that asshole think he is? If he's so adamant about it, I will find a rumor about him and destroy him faster than that bruise I gave him can heal.

As I reach the corner, I run into Marisa. I expect her to try and stop me, but she just gives me an unreadable look before walking past me. What the hell is her problem?

I need to get out of here.

That's the thing about Petraka. Whether you're part of it or not, it eats you alive.