LEAH TACKLES QUENTIN INTO A hug the second the three of them, including Callum, stop singing. On her face is an unmoveable smile, blinding and inspiring all at once. Confronting one of your deepest fears will do that to you.

The spotlights leave traces on my eyes, swirling across my vision through Quentin's long turned them off. Leah doesn't seem to care that the crowd is visible again, despite it having grown in number during the song. Hell, I'm not even prepared to see this many people.

Leah threads her way to our friends, laughing carefreely with Drew and Delaney and Benjamin. I've gotten into the habit of packing up after I play, but Ashley reminds me of the other groups scheduled to play later. So, I leave the keyboard as it is and move to exit the cordoned area from the back, since the front is overwhelmingly packed. Just before I get close enough for my friends to see, someone drags me sideways into the crowd.

I jolt in fright, and immediately leap to defend myself — whether it be by a fist to the face or a knee somewhere else. My posture relaxes when I see familiar hazel eyes and tawny hair. "Oh, it's just you."

Terrence doesn't seem the least bit fazed by the anger on my face. Instead, his face is flushed red and glowing with enthusiasm. "Scare you?"

"No," I reply instantly, keeping my face innocent and voice light. "Being grabbed and dragged away is one of my favourite pastimes. Absolutely sublime."

"That almost sounds like sarcasm. But, I just came to say that I saw your set, and wow — you're brilliant at the piano."

I eye him sceptically, but the exhilarated smile on his face doesn't fall. I'll admit, Terrence giving a genuine compliment renders me speechless. It's just not something I ever thought he'd do, after being the butt of so many jokes and pranks of his.

He continues, and my confusion only grows from there. "Gives us something in common."

"I'm sure you don't play the piano. What does that give you in common with me?"

"Keys," he states simply, drawing a straight sliver of metal from his pocket. Terrence always seems to carry at least two of those around with him, just in case he needs to randomly unlock—

"Oh." I roll my eyes, "Funny."

From the other side of the pier, I catch a distant glow and rising flurry of sparks. It sets the sky orange and sets my mind ablaze with disappointment when I realise I missed the lighting of the bonfire. "Shit," he swears, pocketing the metal again, and registering the annoyance on my face. "I didn't mean to make you late. Just wanted to talk to you."

Terrence is so bizarre. I don't understand him. He claims to want to be my friend, but then he tricks and humiliates my friends, and therefore me through association. He doesn't treat anyone that I care with the respect they deserve. I don't feel special being the only one he's nice to. If he oscillates between such extremes depending on the person, I don't think I'll ever feel at ease around him.

And, it's with this new resolution that I tell him, "You've talked to me. My friends are waiting, so can I go now?"

He's not satisfied with my sudden coldness, and I watch the frostiness creep into his eyes like ice forming on a window. It's always like this with him — he'll be civil if I'm civil, but neither of us are particularly built for decorum. "Then they can wait a bit longer. I actually have shit to say."

"About what?" I am always cautious when it comes to Terrence because he gets along with trouble like a shark in the ocean. Swimmingly.

"You know my friends and yours don't get along?"

I place a palm on my cheek, lowering my jaw in mock-surprise. "Oh, wow. I never knew. I always thought it was so tense between us was because Reece is a prostitute who lost his virginity to Delaney for three dollars. And, Brittany's prize show pony was stolen, killed and eaten by Drew. Not to mention the love triangle between Benjamin, Leah and Derek. I just assumed that's why we all hate each other. Silly me. But, thank you, Monsieur Hollister, for pointing out the truth to me."

If the look in his eye was a winter's frost, then Terrence's scowl belongs on another icy planet entirely. Neptune, maybe. "You don't always have to be so sarcastic, you know."

"I really do, Terry. It's my defence mechanism against stupidity." He smirks, moves to speak but I interject, "Don't distract me. What was your point?"

"Did you ever want to be my friend?" Now, I see it. The intent sharpness to him that reveals a whole other side. The side that has insecurities and desperately wants something. I just don't know what it is.

"Um..."

"Answer the question."

I sigh, steeling myself to admit the truth. "Yes. Back when school started. Back when I didn't know who you really were."

He presses on, making me decide that this Terrence — serious and demanding — is one I don't like. "Did I ever act like someone I wasn't on the first day we met?"

"Well, no. But I didn't have the whole picture."

"And is the whole picture so evil? Why can't we get along?"

"You know why." He can't actually be this blind. "Our friends are at war. Don't tell me you're just going to ignore that."

"What if we stopped fighting? Then, all our problems would be gone."

The desperation is unnerving to see, simply because it's Terrence — the boy who has all that he needs and steals anything else he might want. But I'm not going to stop fighting. The Revolution has given people courage and helped some to stand up.

Terrence might see it as another bug to squash, but the Revolution is the only thing I've ever felt this proud of. I can make more than just one person happy by continuing as planned — and whether it's logical or not, giving up would destroy me. I am not built for decorum, but I am also not built for abandoning those who have expectations of me.

If Terrence wants to change me just so we can get along, I'd rather not. "From what I've heard," I begin. Even from my very first word, Terrence hears the frigidity in my voice, and his eyes start to drain of hope. "—you've had years to get along with people. Calling it now seems a bit hypocritical, doesn't it?"

"They're not as bad as you think."

That's it.

How dare he insult my intelligence, and insult my friends by trying to downplay all the damage the Monarchy has caused? I keep thinking of Suki, the girl they drove out of school, that couple that was torn apart by them, Faune Dellman crying into her big sister, and the endless faces that filled social media this week.

Sometimes, Terrence and I came close to being good friends. Sometimes, I really thought we could be but this is just too much strain. On my conscience especially, since every interaction with him leaves me achingly guilty.

Terrence can be fun — a much-welcomed breeze that calms your stress — but that part of him is much smaller compared to the other side. Brittany cut him open, stuffed bad habits into his heart and sewed him back up. He steals and lies and bullies. Worse yet, I know there's a part of him that enjoys doing it.

"You ignorant prick. Do you even know the damage you guys have caused? My friend's sister cuts herself because of shit Madison's done to her. You guys have made it harder for students to express themselves and their passions just because Brittany wants rhinestone-bedazzled volleyball uniforms."

"Just give them a chance. I promise—"

"No. This is bigger than you and what you want. You tell Brittany to lay off, and then we might talk." He wanted to talk, well, now he's got it.

"Sophie—"

"Go fuck yourself."

Then I recognise I've won when a helpless, defeated sigh escapes his lips. Nothing more has to be said, because we've covered everything there is to say about this.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

I have barely spoken a word since Terrence talked to me, and my friends have picked up on my toxic mood.

But I am so thankful that they don't say anything. Instead, they just sit with me on the sand in front of the dying embers. It's late, way past curfew, but they're all still here for me. I don't know what time it is, but I swear the sky is lightening, so it must be early in the morning.

The bonfire was wonderful, soaring so high above our heads that at its base, I had to crane my neck to view its entirety. People were singing and dancing. The flames would flicker and contort, and I found myself tempted at moments to walk between their spaces.

People kept well away from the flames, and because the heat was so intense that it seared whatever skin was exposed to it, they turned and spun every few seconds to moderate the heat. And I sat quite close to it, took off my jacket and shoes and let the fire scorch me to the core. I'd have prefered the heat inside me though, purging the ache and bad memories. But my thoughts are iron, and everyone knows fire cannot melt that.

Now, the bonfire is merely a pile of scorched logs burnt to the verge of crumbling. A faint heat still emanates from it, as well as the occasional billow of sparks. But after sitting in front of the bonfire when it was at its zenith, and with the chill of the sea wind on my back, I am finding myself more cold than warm.

Tonight should have been fun. For a while, it was. The dancing, the socialising, the performance. Up until my talk with Terrence, everything was splendid.

I glance at my friends, sat in a loose circle around the embers. My head rests on Benjamin's shoulder, which, considering his height, is at the perfect point in space to be a pillow. Delaney sits next to me, her legs lazily thrown out in front of her. Drew and Leah are on the other side of the campfire, their faces lit up with the fading embers, playing thumb-war.

In the reprieve of warmth, my thoughts attack me full force. What if by the end of the year, the Monarchy turns me into a weak person, a geek without willpower, just like everyone else at school?

The thought terrifies me. If that happens, I am almost positive Terrence will leave me to collapse. He won't be so eager to be my friend then. Maybe it's only because I am in a position of strength that Terrence is interested. Everyone adores the sunflower that stands tall when all others wilt. But what if, eventually, I wilt, too?

Scarier still, what if I'm cut down?

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It's only six-thirty, and still dark when I hear Mom outside my room.

She takes great care in opening my door silently — it creaks anyway — but makes no move to come in.

"You're awake," Mom notices, despite my back being turned to her. I've only had two hours of solid sleep. And it's definitely taking its toll, because all I can focus on is the throbbing of my head, and the way sound ricochets in my ears like stray bullets.

I vaguely remember texting Mom that I'd be later than we planned, so she didn't have to wait up for me. Guessing by the stern but concerned look in her eyes, 'later than we planned' does not fully explain being coming home at three in the morning.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, hating the way my head is pounding, "I didn't mean to be so late."

"I know, darling. I was beside myself worrying, and Luke, too. Just, be more responsible when it comes to going out, Soph. You won't always have four good friends around you to look after you, especially on a college campus."

"Okay. Sorry, Mom."

"And," she smirks at me, radiating wisdom, "what held you up for so long, anyway?"

Put simply, Terrence was what held me up.

He really pissed me off, though it's partly my fault for letting him get to me. I just couldn't go home and face my family, when they don't know a thing about the Monarchy and when it was the only thing I could think about. With my friends, I could get what I needed — a break from it all, especially Terrence — without having to pretend like everything is daisies.

"Oh. A boy?"

I can't help but roll my eyes at this because one part of my mother is all pressed pantsuits and analytical thought patterns and the other is a sentimental, maternal soul who wants nothing more than to see her two children happy and settled down. Ugh.

"Yeah. It was a boy," I sigh. Because while Mom might be leaping to conclusions, Terrence truly was the reason for my lateness. Letting her think I have some romantic drama going on is easier than explaining my actual troubles.

"Name?"

"Terrence."

"No offence, Soph, but he sounds kind of geeky," Mom giggles.

"Actually," I mumble, thinking to myself about irony, "I would say he's the complete opposite."

"And do you like him?"

I roll over to face Mom, letting her see the deadset conviction in my eyes. "Nowhere near it. I hate him."