BEFORE LUNCH ENDS, I WRITE a quick summary of the things I've been told. My friends filled in more gaps between the start of high school and now, until I essentially have a profile on each of the five Monarchs.

Brittany Stanson is the head of the operation, and she looks like a textbook Ivy League candidate on paper. Student body president, lacrosse team, volleyball team, bunch of AP classes. She chases the perfect high school life — good grades, large social network, boys lusting after her. "That last part," Leah adds, "—is only because they want to climb the social ladder." Brittany always has a plan, though half of it is riding the coattails of other people's work. She lashes out at people who interfere with that plan.

Madison Murdoch is a social media influencer with over a million fans. She has mastered the art of networking. There cannot be a better person to learn from when it comes to online power — if willing to pay her weight in secrets. She's catfished and manipulated dirt from half of the people at school. But for someone so talkative, her secrets are surprisingly well-guarded.

Terrence Hollister is a tactile person. If they need locks picked, things stolen, systems hacked, he's the one on the job. Though none of my friends cared enough to pay attention to the daily antics of the Monarchy, the general consensus is that Terrence is the newest addition. They can only say for certain that he was a Monarch come junior year, and since then he's used charm, sleight of hand and mischief to supplement Brittany's headstrong tendency to just start fights. "Terrence once burnt a girl's eyebrows off 'accidentally' for thinking she was prettier than Brittany," Benjamin recounts.

Money is power, and Reece Dormer's family is made of money. If the Monarchy needs anyone bribed, it's between Brittany and Reece that the money is pooled. Reece is a simple guy with simple motivations: use important people to get him into college on a sports scholarship. Beat up whicher unimportant people he so chooses. School is the last place he'd rather be, evident by his combative nature. He fights, drinks, he flirts, but there are limits to his behaviour when scouts come into the question.

Derek Hale steps in where all else fails. If Brittany's manipulation, Madison's contacts, Reece's brawn and Terrence's tricks can't get the job done, he will. Drew knows nothing about his life after they drifted apart in middle school. And somehow, I don't think the image of an antisocial band geek quite fits our current rebel. He keeps his cards close to his chest, but I'm told he has nothing holding him back. No admissions deans, public image, scouts or morals to consider.

I can't figure out how no-one stopped their rise to power. Or if they became friends organically, or Brittany selected people with a wide set of abilities. The Monarchy has only five people, but with those five, every sort of talent and skill seems to be covered. It's a perfectly-executed plan, personalities and skills woven into one another like an unbreakable chain mail.

Do things that convenient arise naturally?

I blink, and the image of Derek's rings, twisted, sharp edges, slash across my field of vision. But then so do Reece's fists. Terrence's coy smile. Madison's face obscured behind her phone, poised to film. Brittany's remorseless eyes. Who's the most dangerous?

Or are they most dangerous as a whole?

I sneak a look over to their table, the five of them conversing lazily over their lunch. "What about boyfriends and girlfriends?"

Delaney shrugs. "Nada. Some of them have dated in the past. Reece gets his kicks with one night stands. And maybe they could get away with dating someone at another school, but everyone at Carsonville knows that they're bullies. I'm kind of proud of our generation for being smart enough not to get mixed up with those sorts of people."

"Damn it," I mutter, tapping my pen against the lip. "At least that way, we could have looked at getting someone on the inside."

"People have already thought about that. They think if they can pretend to like the Monarchy, get close and suck up, then they'll be safe, and some of the power will rub off on them," Benjamin says.

"Does that work?"

He scoffs lightly. "No."

A frustrated groan rips through the air, and I run my hands down my face. "Then we got nothing on them. How are we supposed to convince people that we have a fighting chance?"

Benjamin answers for me, "We present a new option for the school."

"What do you mean?"

He spreads his hands knowingly. "The Monarchy only gets their power by deception. Brittany waltzed in and claimed she was in charge, and no-one questioned her. That gave her the perfect opportunity to scare everyone down. We should have fought back then."

"Too late for that," I reply. Silence falls over our table, light and muffled. Eventually, I marvel, "Everyone's scared shitless of the Monarchy."

"Shocking discovery, Sherlock," Drew says dryly.

"Har har. My point is, if the people they beat up are still standing up to them, maybe the Monarchy will become less scary in their eyes. Less all-powerful." I ask, "How do they scare everyone into submission?"

"Heaps of ways," Benjamin says. "Reece throws these raging afterparties that everyone wants access to. Madison handles the online stuff. At fair days and school events, they're usually there making drama. Picking on some freshman, starting fights, or winning all the prizes. It's a way of reinforcing who they are in front of heaps of people."

"Okay, then that's where we strike," I say decisively. "That'll get us attention, and give us a way to spread the message."

I click the pen, and slide my workbook closer. I can see some words pop out at me, specifically the ones about their history. Delaney's handwriting starts the page off, thin and slanted, before Benjamin got mad at her shorthand and insisted on taking over the job of notetaking. His handwriting is loosely-formed cursive, and interrupts Delaney's in the middle of a sentence.

I start penning down the growing plan in my head. Step one: get attention. That's probably going to be the easy part. My writing starts out neat, and ends up looking pretty tattered when I dot the period after the last sentence.

Step two: spread the message.

To bring up our numbers, we've plotted to create a message strong enough to rouse a movement. Being reminded of the worst features of the Monarchy will be a bleak option — everyone was unanimous in this area — but I can't see any other way to express why we need to be free of this. Hopefully it rouses, rather than douses, Carsonville's spirit.

Step three: recruit people.

If all goes to plan, we can begin searching for supporters. Five people aren't going to stamp out bullying on their own. But I hope, if enough students are motivated, that we can recruit enough people into our plan. People who promise to defend the bullied, keep watch over the vulnerable and stand up to the Monarchy at every opportunity.

Our ideal recruit is someone personally vested in anti-bullying. Quentin, Ashley and Callum come to mind, but I haven't ever spoken to them seriously enough to find out their stance, social position, or willingness to fight. Benjamin has presented his fellow Mathletes as a viable option, as did Delaney with Debate Club, so going around the academic extracurriculars might be an option.

I try not to think about what'll happen if everything goes awry, and everyone says no to us.

Step four: win all battles.

Benjamin's mention of publicity and attention was the inspiration for the battles. It seems that the more attention the Monarchy gets, the more inclined people are to listen to them without need for physical force. And we are going to put ourselves right next to them on every occasion, a power play to undermine their hegemony.

Drew tells us, "First battle is next week."

"That soon?" I ask him. "What is it?"

"The carwash, isn't it?" Delaney says.

Drew nods, and turns to me. "Carsonville hosts an annual car washing contest for the town. Students enter in teams of five to ten, and the team who washes the most cars wins one. Like the last two years, the Monarchy will enter, pay a bunch of kids to do the work for them and leave with the grand prize."

"People who don't want to wash the cars can come along with their filthy modes of transport, pay a few bucks to get it washed and feel like they contributed," Delaney adds. "Even when they are just sitting in their car while the washers slave away. Hey, BJ, you should do that. Camry's looking a bit scruffy."

Benjamin narrows his eyes at her. "Who the fuck asked you, Morrison—"

I interrupt with a hard stare at both of them. "So, we have to win the carwash?"

Delaney laughs, her natural derision pouring out with a crooked smile. "That'll happen."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Brittany is a winner. She'll commit to the job, and won't stop till she's cruising around town with a gorgeous, brand-new vehicle purring under her ass."

"Well, there are the best-dressed and teamwork awards we could win," Drew mentions. "I think the prizes are cameras or bikes or something."

For a moment, an image of us washing cars in stilettos and showgirl outfits flashes. Waves of worry are sent barreling up my throat, as I manage to croak out, "Best-dressed?"

"Probably not what you're thinking," Drew chuckles. "The carwash always has a theme. Best-dressed is rewarding the team that fits it or portrays it most creatively."

"Thank God. I was scared for a minute there," I sigh relievedly. "So who's our team?"

With a satisfied smile, Leah informs us, "I talked to Quen, Ash and Cal already. They've agreed to join in with us."

"Eight people's pretty good," I muse.

"But don't expect to win," says Delaney. Ever the pessimist. After the pointed looks Drew and I give her, she sighs. "All we want to do is show a little defiance against the Monarchy. Right?"

"Right," I nod.

"Well. That's doable." Delaney flicks her fiery hair over her shoulder.

We're going to show them that we aren't going to lie down while they walk all over us. Give the people something new and determined to ogle over, even if from the outside, it looks like social suicide.

I push the workbook further out on the table, letting the group read the plan for the last time. "You all got it?"

Everyone skims the page. We've reread it so many times that we'll see the letters behind our eyelids at night. There's no chance of all five of us forgetting — not something this important.

Leah says quietly, "You better get rid of that piece of paper. If Brittany finds it, we're done for." She also tells us not to take photos of it, since things on our phones aren't ever guaranteed safety from Terrence, who can both hack and pickpocket. Secrets are only safe inside memories.

Part of the reason we're being so clandestine is to keep them unsuspecting; it'll hit harder if they don't see it coming. And the other part is to protect us.

We'll all end up looking like Drew did last week if they find out early that we're planning something. Or maybe they'll get more creative this time; Madison could deep-fake some porn and spread it around the school like they did when Brittany's boyfriend in sophomore year dumped her.

I separate the planning page from the rest of my workbook. In every other circumstance, I would balk at the thought of ripping a page out of a fresh workbook. But the thought of Brittany finding out our plan and bringing it to swift end terrifies me more.

With steady hands, I tear the page out and shred it into pieces, laying each smaller half on top of the rest. When my hands are full of white confetti, I drop them into the rest of my uneaten slop and stir it thoroughly. That'll get dumped in the compost bins at the end of lunch.

Then the plan will only exist in our minds.

When the end of lunch bell rings, my friends and I clear out our trays and deposit them on the dishwashing trolleys. Till the carwash, there's no point obsessing over the plan. Especially while I have schoolwork to do. But I'm trying so hard not to think about it, which only makes me think about it more.

As Benjamin and I walk to AP Calculus, I spot Derek accompanied by Brittany approaching from the opposite end of the hall. So Derek decided to show up on time, for once.

Without diverting her gaze, Brittany's foot sneaks out and trips a boy holding a cardboard box of paint bottles. He fumbles to keep the box upright, succeeds, and looks up to face Brittany's mocking giggle. Then, almost as if I imagined it, she locks eyes with me for just a second, before looking at Derek again.

The urge to just walk up to Brittany and yell in her face is almost irresistible. I didn't realise I had stepped out of my straight path to the AP Calculus classroom when Benjamin catches my wrist in his hand.

"Brittany will be watching you to see if you cause any more trouble. For a couple of weeks at least, you can't seem suspicious." His warm grip falls away when I nod resolutely. "Act as if you've heard her message and accepted it. It'll make our job way easier."

A frustrated sigh escapes me. He's dealt with four years of the Monarchy. He knows what he's talking about. I need to play it calm.

Calm before the storm.