FRIDAY IS CARSONVILLE'S HOMECOMING FAIR, the last day of Spirit Week.

Classes were cancelled for all seniors so that they could set up the food stands, games and fundraising activities on the campus green. Each stall at the Homecoming Fair is run by either a school club, sports team, teaching faculty, or some member of the public that volunteered.

For example; the Mathletes have a stall where people guess the number of jellybeans in a jar; I think the basketball team is the one running the mini putt-putt course; the Arts department teachers have set up a face-painting stall. The only group that won't be involved in setting up or running the Fair is the boys football team, since they're going to start warming up for the Homecoming game tonight as soon as school ends.

I spend the whole day, six hours, in the library. Even though I didn't go to my usual periods, I did revision for my classes and typed up an essay for AP English. After three-thirty, I was kicked out of the library and bunkered down on a picnic table on the green to wait for Mom and Luke to arrive. Now that they're on their way, I pack up my things and weave through the growing crowd, excited to finally get amongst the fairground.

On the green and around the football field, there's lots of activity going on. Decorations like bunting, banners and colourful signage have transformed the school. Balloons are starting to rise above the heads of the student body as everyone flocks to the Fair, and a majority of people have dressed in our school colours — blue and gold.

I haven't seen any of my friends yet today. Drew thought that coming to school when classes were cancelled would be useless, so he's only arriving at the Homecoming Fair with his mom and sister after dinner. Benjamin and Delaney, as Presidents of their respective clubs, have since morning been setting up stalls and managing their club underclassmen. Leah went to watch the marching band's full-day practice in preparation for the Homecoming game.

The coolness of the evening breeze is sweeping across my bare arms, settling over the heat from today. Stray blurs of gold linger in the sky, merging with mauve. Sunset over the town is only a beginning for the Homecoming Fair.

By the entrance of the school, Drew and Sasha emerge from a car to join the party. Drew's mother waves goodbye to them before leaving to find parking. Parking at school has long since been snatched up, so it's a good thing Mom has a tendency to over-prepare and arrive early to everything.

With the number of people around, it feels like a literal party. Benjamin, Leah and her family, Delaney and her family — her sisters look uncannily similar to her — Luke and Mom are all conversing under a young hickory tree.

Mothers have toddlers sat snugly on their hips; teenagers are posing for pictures under the welcoming banner strung across the poles on either side of the main gate; it feels like the whole town turned up. And when there's so many people around, the air starts smelling of sweat and the food being carried around.

Still, the effort the school has put in to transform the field into a fairground is kind of magical. A sweeping glance of my surroundings puts a big smile on my face; the streets upon streets of temporary food and game stalls, through which hundreds of people are walking.

I find the energy here contagious, and knowing all profits will be donated to charity warms me up even more. There's delicious food to be smelt and tasted, glowing souvenirs and blinking lights to be seen. Laughter rings in my ears, the entire atmosphere is indulging all of my senses.

Mrs. Morrison, fresh from a political conversation with my mom, regards Delaney with a cautious look, before patting her shoulders. "I saw some great stalls selling antique china, so we're going to go check it out. You guys better not do anything stupid. Delaney, I'm talking to you. No tricking people, no taking money, no—"

"—nudity, no making anyone cry. I got it," Delaney completes. "I was six, Mom."

"That makes it worse," Delaney's older sister rolls her eyes.

"Try not to throw my parenting skills into disrepute," her mother smiles sassily. "At least till I've had my fill of haute couture cutlery for the night."

Delaney rolls her eyes. "You are an embarrassment, mother."

"Shut up, daughter."

Okay, now I see where Delaney gets it.

Drew, Leah Benjamin and I exchange amused looks. I know the exact same sentiment ran through their heads. Like mother, like daughter. Daughters, actually, it seems.

After the parents drift away, Delaney smirks and brings out her crossed fingers from behind her back. Aloofly tapping her palms on her tattered jeans, she says wickedly, "No promises either. So, what are we doing first?"

"They're starting off with a dunking," Benjamin suggests. He points west, where a looming crowd is waiting. He must have seen it over everyone's heads, for I look in that direction and see nothing other than more people.

Delaney gasps excitedly, "Oh, I'm totally checking that out."

This sounds interesting. We struggle through the crowd until we reach a cylindrical tank filled to the brim with water. A target is held in front of it, connected to a seat with a system of pulleys and chains, which'll swing out when the target is hit. It's awfully deep for a dunk tank, taller than any person I've seen, and a part of me wonders if people are actually going to let someone be dropped into there.

Principal Fisher is standing in front of it, on the elevated stage that is snug around the cylinder's curve, holding a microphone and a bowl filled to the brim with paper scraps.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Homecoming Fair! I hope you've been enjoying everything we've set up, including this dunk tank behind me," he says, smacking the tank with warm affection. "This year, we decided to try something a little different to a teacher being dunked."

I cast a glance at my friends. They seem relaxed, clearly being familiar with the tradition. I think the dunk tank usually picks a random teacher as its victim, but Fisher said it was different this year. For some reason, I find myself on high alert.

"Actually, one of our students came up with this idea, which is quite brilliant. He did most of the work on the gears and mechanisms for the dunk tank, and will be your host for tonight's dunking," Fisher completes, stepping neatly away from centre stage. "Please, welcome Terrence Hollister, everyone!"

With long, confident strides, Terrence moves up on stage, looking particularly smug. He and our principal shake hands, before the latter leaves to handle the donations. Any other time and place, I would be all for a charitable dunk, but there's something off about how deep the tank is. And suddenly, I have a bad feeling about this, especially since Terrence is involved.

He scans the crowd, searching the faces until he finds me. I give him a stone cold glare, lips pressed into a punishing frown. Without words, without anything other than a narrowing of my eyes, I ask Terrence, what did you do?

His reply, in a cheeky grin and quick glance to the tank—

You'll see.

His adroit fingers grasp the microphone, spinning it once, twice, before holding it up to his lips.

"How are we all tonight? Because I, for one, am ready to have some fun."

People cheer and clap for him. I don't blame them at all. Even Delaney still has an amused smile on her face. No-one seems to think anything is wrong, though that is a member of the freaking Monarchy, who we just called out in front of the whole school, standing on the stage. Am I the only one worried?

I can only watch with a pounding heart, trying to figure out what it is about Terrence's smile that sends a foreboding shiver down my spine. It's too toothy, I realise at length. Like a shark's smile.

"It's a great turnout here tonight. I'm overjoyed to see everyone supporting this year's charity, Amnesty International, so much," he beams. "But, as a student body, I think we could do a bit more to participate. So, this year's dunk tank victim will be drawn from the pool of seniors at Carsonville High School. Whoever's name I pull from this bowl," Terrence gives a suggestive shake, "—please come up onstage."

Understanding settles in, washing over me like a frigid ocean current, and I look at Terrence leaning casually against the tank. I knew we wouldn't get off so easily as with a week's worth of detention and school service. He, or maybe Brittany, wants us here, in the arena where he can control what happens to us.

I hope we all can swim.

Right now, I'm faced with a confusing situation. Terrence helped me play the video. He never asked for any favours or thanks after unlocking the sound booth door the way I expected of a bully — in fact, he pretends like it never happened. But maybe that's what he has to do in order to now act manipulative as the rest of them, remorseless and seeming to thoroughly enjoy the power he has.

Terrence claims that every Carsonville senior is in the draw, but I am nearly certain one of us five revolutionaries will get picked. I wouldn't be surprised if it's only five names, repeated over and over, on all those slips of paper. Or no names at all, the person chosen completely at Terrence's whims.

It's nothing to do with the luck of the draw, but all to do with revenge.

I just don't know what they have planned because it's only a dunk tank, right? Deep as it may be, what harm can be done with something so innocent?

However, I've learnt firsthand how resourceful Terrence is. Surely, finding a way to attack us with a dunk tank can't be harder than unlocking doors with bobby pins. Terrence's hand dips into the bowl, and I feel a collective chill of anticipation run through the crowd.

I recognise a group of senior boys from the wrestling team, all looking eager to jump in. Everyone looks excited for the dunking, actually, even my friends. Everyone except for me. Call it paranoia, but something is telling me to run far away from Terrence and that ominous glint in his eye.

Out comes a thin strip of blue paper. At this point, I see some students start to make their way away from the dunk tank, as if to outrun a possible danger. They have no reason to worry, since it won't be their names called out.

The thought of smashing the tank comes randomly into my head, before I realise a couple of things. One: it's plastic, and not glass. Two: it won't change anything. The Monarchy will still be out for vengeance and even a flood couldn't sweep my problems away. They are the flood. We're all just trying to stay afloat.

When I come back to my senses, I realise Terrence has been staring at me the whole time, with such a fiery certainty, too. It makes me think my name is on the tip of his tongue, and when he inhales to speak, the name I expect to hear is not—

"Benjamin Wilks."

All eyes slowly make their way to Benjamin, who looks composed as always, if not a little determined. His jaw is set and he is eyeing the tank in a calculating way, probably analysing how cold it will be.

I lean closer to Ben and pat him on the back, murmuring under my breath, "Get in, and get out as fast as you can. I have a bad feeling about this."

He chuckles once, short and contrived. "Nothing's going to happen, Sophie. Tonight is supposed to be a stress reliever."

I smile faintly. He's right. I'm worrying for nothing. "Right. Sorry."

Everyone watches with encouraging smiles as he takes off his shoes and jacket, giving it to me. I tie the sleeves of his jacket around my hips, and stand next to his shoes on the ground. He takes out his wallet, keys and phone and hands them to Drew, before turning and staring dauntlessly up at Terrence.

Ben's jacket is still warm, and smells faintly of lavender and crisp pine. The scent is faint and fading fast, but for the few moments I detect it, I feel at peace.

People try to make way for him as he shuffles through, but there's just so many in the crowd that it doesn't do much. One of the boys I noticed before slings his beefy arm over Benjamin's neck, pulling him down to his height, and offering quite loudly to switch places with him if he chickens out.

Terrence watches that exchange with narrowed eyes, and quickly intervenes. "No swapsies. Benjamin, get up here now." Then his face brightens, as if he remembered he was being watched by hundreds of people. "Please."

If I weren't so pissed that Terrence rigged the draw, I probably would be looking forward to the dunk myself. Benjamin has reached the elevated stage on which the tank and Terrence stands, has climbed up the ladder fixed next to it, and is perched on the rickety seat. Waiting.

When Terrence picks up a tennis ball and steps in front of the tank, Benjamin lowers his head. He's looking down at the water so none of us can see his expression. I wonder what he's thinking.

Terrence is looking nothing short of predatory. Of course, he is in his element, striding back and forth in front of Benjamin, who rolls his eyes at the histrionics. This, and the clear annoyance Benjamin has for the situation, makes me chuckle to myself. Terrence notices and seems a bit confused as to why I don't seem too worried.

I am, but I also know Benjamin can take care of himself. It's a good thing I don't show my concern outwardly. Terrence raises the ball to eye level, the vein in his forearm flexing. I know he won't miss, even though the dunk tank protocol affords him three chances to hit the target. He'll do it right the first time.

Many things happen at once.

The ball hits the target with a sharp thud, and a split second later, the chair collapses back with a slap of wood against wood. I hear sloshes, from when Benjamin drops into the water, and the following squeals of people in the splash zone. Applause erupts from the audience, rising up into the evening sky like the millions of bubbles in the tank.

It's like the water is some thick substance, because suddenly, Benjamin's limbs stop flailing as violently and his treads are slowing down. I realise, with a start, that there's a faint mist falling down the side of the side of the tank. Why would there be mist on such a warm evening?

Subconsciously, I've pushed my way closer to Benjamin, elbowing everyone aside. He still hasn't come up for air. When I reach the stage, looking up at the tank, he resurfaces with a big splash, and all the tension melts away from my heart. He's okay.

Gasping for breath, Benjamin shakes his hair, flinging water onto those closer to the tank. A comforting smile is forming on his face, which has paled considerably, and all seems to be fine. He's alright. I was stupid to worry so much.

Someone screams.

To anyone else, it could have been a scream of joy or excitement. But I've been on edge all night, and I can hear the undertones of what it really is. A scream of horror. One that slices through the chatter coming from the crowd and strikes deep in my bones. I think I heard a word, but I'm not sure until—

"There's a snake in the tank!"