REECE'S CAR IS AN ABSOLUTE enigma to me.

There was a fair amount of shock when I realised he was leading me to the school car park, which only grew when Reece unlocked his car and gestured for me to get in. "Sorry for dragging you out here." Reece sullenly says, "This is my calm place. Better than a classroom, in my opinion."

I disagree. I've always taken a liking to classrooms. But if being in his car will make Reece more comfortable, therefore more likely to tell me things, then I will gladly oblige. "It's fine."

The outside of his car is so pristine, with a shiny black finish and sleek streamlines. But inside? Oh, boy.

It's practically a junkyard.

Old clothes, a folded lawn chair and books — so many books. I can't read any of the titles from my vantage point, but I do glimpse a football star's biography among them. The clutter is on the cusp of becoming a hoarder's dream. An easy explanation for this would be that Reece dumps whatever junk he can't be bothered taking home in the back seats.

Slightly disturbed, but mostly curious, I ask, "What's with all the junk?"

Reece stays frozen for a moment, then says roughly, defensively, "It's not junk."

"Oh."

Confused, I twist around. Upon further inspection, my impression of the paraphernalia in the backseat changes. The lawn chair is placed parallel to the door. While all the clothes are ratty and discoloured, they ultimately are folded neatly and stacked carefully. On top of the shirts and jackets are the books, gathering dust in symmetrical rows.

With each passing second, the mess in Reece's car morphs into something more structured than random discards. Little things tell me this is something intentional. Like everything here means a great deal to him. "Um. Not to be rude, but I didn't come here to stare at your childhood toys."

His eyebrows tug upwards ever so slightly, surprised at the lack of interest from me about why his car is so full of oddities. "I know," he begins. "Whatever you said to Brittany before winter break really rattled her. I've never seen her so anxious." So Reece doesn't know what we talked about. Does he know that I eavesdropped on him?

"Thanks to you and all the different ways you've come for her, she doesn't feel safe anywhere. You geeks have spread your little fight online, in front of the teachers, in front of the town, amongst the student body."

I stifle a scoff. So what if we used everything available to us? School events, town events, assemblies, the internet, the clubs. Video, photos, music, words. We had to get creative to fight the Monarchy.

"And we all realised that she was acting more and more crazy since your run-in. She started making threats not just to students but to us, too. She's never done that before, because we're worth way too much to her."

His voice is so smooth and pensive that I start rethinking what he said. Suddenly it's not so absurd, how his car is his safe place. He looks comfortable here, despite me soaking up every word I can. And being here when the car is clearly quite sacred to Reece should make me feel a bit imposing.

But I tell myself that if Reece didn't want me here, then he wouldn't have offered. The shadow of his thoughts graces his features, as he stares at the intricate charm hanging from the rearview mirror. It's a little sculpture of the Seattle Space Needle.

"The four of us made her take a mental health break."

I feel like spitting out that everyone deserves a mental health break from what Brittany's done to them, but I don't deny what the Revolution must have made her feel. Insecure, even threatened. Instead I ask, masking my irritation, "Why would she need a mental health break?"

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Again. "Controlling her emotions is her first priority when she acts the way she does. Before she was on top of her game, but a single rash decision might make all the consequences we've narrowly avoided all these years catch up to us." That would be especially detrimental to Reece, whose athletic career depends on his image. Sure, his parents can pay his way into any college that accepts him — but he must first be accepted. I can't imagine him settling for anything less than Division 1, whose standards are stringent.

I think I've been judging Reece too quickly. What I've seen before is so different from what I'm seeing now. He's... empathetic, albeit to a person totally undeserving of it. A far cry from a spoiled jock soaking up the glory of his high school prominence.

For a moment, volatile fists colliding with Benjamin's body flash behind my eyelids, then I blink and all I see is Reece's drawn brows and anguished green eyes. My brain is seriously trying to figure out which Reece is the real one. Because at this point of the Revolution, poor judgements of character could ruin everything.

What Reece said is correct in another manner unbeknownst to him: a single rash decision — trusting the wrong person, believing the wrong words — could ruin everything. "What rash decision would she make?"

"None of us know. At best, I can estimate her thought process. It's hard to explain," Reece adds, with solemn finality. "I don't think you'd understand."

"Try me. I can be pretty intuitive when I need to be."

Reece's jaw ticks as he weighs up his options. He probably took my earlier threat of going to Brittany as a sign that I knew how much I affected her — but I didn't know this was the case. I know now, however, and I might use it to my advantage if he doesn't keep talking.

"Brittany cares deeply how other people view her," he explains at length. "Not like wanting their approval. She wants perfect grades and good extracurriculars for the image they can give her. Sometimes that means using other people to do her homework and swaying where the school funding goes. She wants to be the most feared person in any room."

"She is."

"But sometimes she's afraid of you. Afraid of the things you say and the things you believe. So what does that make you?"

After a long pause, I say truthfully, "I don't want to scare anyone." Reece nods and turns his head away; I don't know if he believes me, let alone if he cares. "Do you feel that way? Do you want to scare people into doing what you want?"

"I did at first. I bought into her image — travel, parties, fame. But I would have run the opposite direction if I knew the entirety of the deal. Now I don't."

A disbelieving scoff tears out of my throat. What a convenient change of heart that changed absolutely nothing for the rest of the school. "Isn't the travel, parties and fame worth it? You got what you wanted."

"Not quite. Most of the perks I had in mind required people not being scared shitless of you. There's the ideal amount of status, where everyone does what you want, laughs at your jokes and gives you things on your birthday. Then there's what we have, where people do what you want, but nothing more than that."

"Right."

"They don't laugh at your jokes because you don't get close enough to them to be able to tell the joke. And they don't give us gifts, because they're so scared if we don't like them, they get beat up."

"That's accurate, given what you've done this year."

"I know," Reece says painedly. "But there are the answers you wanted. Things will be back to normal before you know it."

I nod, gathering my backpack into my hands. Before I leave, I pause. "Do they have to? Seems like this is a mental health break for you, too."

"Yes. Brittany will stake her claim as soon as possible."

"How soon?"

"I honestly don't know."

"So, we should expect another attack?"

Reece shakes his head exasperatedly. "Like I said, none of us know."

"Well, thanks. For explaining." I pop the passenger door open and step out. The cold wind hits me like a wave as I open the door. "I feel like I should tell you, you're not what I thought, Dipshit."

A sardonic chuckle is all the indication that he heard me. Reece makes no move to leave his car, though we both have AP Bio shortly. I'd actually be relieved if he ditched, however. Having him in the same classroom for another hour would effectively dash my chances of concentrating on schoolwork.

Reece's voice makes me turn back towards his car, a shivering hand resting on the door. His eyes flicker up to me, swimming with something I can't name. "And I feel like I should tell you: if everyone ends up getting hurt, just know that I didn't want this."

My breath catches at the vulnerability in his voice, a mirror of what it was with Terrence in an empty hallway before winter break. The right thing to do would be to tell him I overheard his conversation, that I know more about him than I let on, but I can't bring myself to admit this. I know you don't want this.

But I can't help him if he still helps Brittany. "Okay."

Then I slam his door shut, sealing Reece inside behind black tinted windows.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"Greetings, wench."

I glance up from the newsprint paper in front of me. In Home Ec. we're tie-dying our own fabric and sewing our shirts from the material. Mrs. Fern requires ideas and sketches from all of us before she trusts us with the cotton and dyes.

"Hey, Terrence," I smirk weakly. A part of me finds the return of his mannerless teasing a relief.

It was already weird discovering a frustratingly cryptic side to Reece, who before today seemed simple and shallow. Was he telling the truth? Or half-truths? He must be lying about something, because it just doesn't make sense. Why would Reece reveal so much to a girl who he thinks must be trying to ruin his life?

Never have I been so deeply involved in conversation with a Monarch before — not even Terrence — and I don't look forward to having more carpets ripped out from under me. It's confusing work, sifting through lies and truths.

"Aren't you supposed to be sketching, Terrence?"

"I've got it covered," he declares proudly. He unfolds his newsprint to reveal a vaguely humanoid figure, covered in rainbow stripes and no writing. Looks like a toddler's doodling. "Aren't I an artiste?"

So, the reason none of the Monarchy have been Monarch-like is because they've enacted a ceasefire? That explains why none of them hang out with each other, Brittany's disappeared, Derek's resumed ditching every day, Madison's been subdued and inactive on social media, Reece is less combative than usual, and Terrence is back to his immature antics. Problem is, this won't last.

"Mm-hm. Totally."

"Totally," he echoes proudly. "More importantly, Reece said you two had an interesting time in his car yesterday." Terrence drops a wicked grin, eyebrows dancing suggestively on his face.

Going by how emotional Reece was yesterday, I'm surprised he told the people he's supposedly trying to take a break from. Because, yesterday, he regarded them more with suppressed resentment than friendliness.

"Nothing happened. He just told me about how and why you guys are taking a break from this," I gesture vaguely with my pencil, "—madness."

"Huh. Why'd he tell you?"

From the impression I got, none of them really know what it means to be truly friends. Reece tolerates Brittany's presence even though she makes him do things that no real friend would. I can't imagine him being on warmer terms with the other three.

"Why'd he tell you he told me?" I retorted.

Terrence looks confused. "Why wouldn't he? We're all friends."

Reece never explained to me how private I had to be with his confessions yesterday, and it takes a moment of careful deliberation before telling Terrence, "He seemed suffocated by you guys."

"Suffocated by Brittany. Love her to pieces," Terrence smiles saccharinely, "But she's a handful sometimes. I've got no problem with anyone else. They're in the same situation I am."

"You are her friends by choice, though. All of you."

He looks like he disagrees intensely, but forces out in a sugary voice, "Yep. We sure are."

It confuses me why Terrence would remain friends with someone who he clearly dislikes, but I can't hope to understand his reasoning. He's a closed book underneath his open, guileless facade. "Are you closer to the rest of the Monarchy than to Brittany?"

"Ugh. How foolish, getting close to people," he quips. A flash of pain darkens his face, before Terrence's mirthful expression takes control again. "Do you have any design suggestions for the sleeves? I thought to make it a singlet, but Mrs. Fern said that's cutting corners on the workload."

"Do bluebell sleeves. Nice and airy."

Terrence laughs cheerfully, noting my suggestion down on his newsprint. I would have looked at him to see if his smile reaches his eyes, but I can't bring myself to meet his gaze. Intense feelings always follow when I do that; either guilt, or anger, or something else.

When Terrence is far enough away, I take a shaky breath of relief. I'm getting tired of constantly watching my back when he's around. I know he's in a tough position, just like Reece.

But I'd rather he not try to get out of it by using me as a lifeline.