DOWNSTAIRS I CAN HEAR MOM and Luke angrily berating an exceptionally uneducated contestant on a trivia game show. "Jupiter! It's freaking Jupiter!" Luke's muffled but discernible voice permeates my room.

Sighing shallowly, I adjust my position on my bed. I would be down there with my family, answering the trivia questions with frustrated enthusiasm, too, if not for—

"Hello? Earth to Sophie."

"Sorry," I mumble to Terrence, my phone pressed to my ear. "As I said, I don't know if I can make a decision tonight."

"You kind of need to," he warns me. "Time is running out." I roll my eyes. I know better than anyone that we don't have long to make our last stand.

And the massive dilemma at hand? Whether to release the Monarchs' secrets or to respect their answer to if they were willing to change the status quo. Which was a firm, resounding no. They were willing to do anything, except tell the truth.

Derek, Reece, and Madison were overtly opposed to having that information revealed, even if it meant that they could finally escape Brittany's clutches. I suppose there was some deep-seated shame about having let Brittany control them for so long holding them back. It is exasperating knowing that the only barrier now to overcome is a psychological one, yet it is the one that could undo it all.

That is how I've found myself in a call with Terrence, discussing if now is the time to truly take matters into our own hands. To throw diplomacy out the window, and use any means to an end.

"I— I don't know if I could live with myself." Talk about a psychological barrier. Everything is organised. We've informed Kyler and his editorial team about what needs to be done. It's ready to go, at the push of a button.

But I'm worried about the consequences. These secrets — well, they're more than just secrets. They are lost family members, siblings, and children that have been intertwined into Derek, Reece, and Madison's hearts. To so callously use that knowledge in the way we're planning is, frankly, abhorrent.

And after hearing Derek speak about his enduring emotional wounds from hurting others, I'm not sure I could do the same. Terrence's voice breaks through my reverie, gentle, and understanding. "Hey, you're going to be fine. I know you've got crazily strong morals, but you're looking at this all wrong."

"Am I?" I scoff, "So, if we go ahead with this, Brittany won't stop her donation to the elementary's music program? She won't send heartbreaking screenshots to Carter? And she won't humiliate Reece's entire family by blaming suicide on them?"

A thick silence greets me from the other end of the line. Despairingly, I sigh. "It's a small pond, Terrence. And Brittany is the biggest fish here."

"No. Well, yes, she is, but that doesn't mean it's hopeless. Maybe the donations will come from other people. Maybe online, Madison has just as much sway as Brittany — if not more — and can combat her bullying. Maybe the town will support the family for what they've gone through. Have faith."

"And if it goes awry? If Brittany implements the worst-case scenarios?"

"Then it's her fault," Terrence insists. "Her fault. Not yours, Sophie. Have faith."

"Would you stop saying that? Not everything can be fixed with—"

"—faith," he interrupts.

"No. I meant—"

"—faith."

Annoyance flares in my chest, red and hot. "Oh, my fuck—"

"Say it, Sophie. And things will turn out okay. I promise."

Sighing heavily, I turn his words over in my head. I've relied only on logic and research this year, but Terrence is right. Some moments call for more than rationale. I just have to go for it.

"Faith," I murmur softly, testing the word on my tongue.

"Besides, you don't need to feel guilty about a thing. It's not you spilling the secrets, or sending that word file to Kyler," Terrence's smile is nearly palpable through the phone. "It's me."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

On Monday, I'm a fidgety, wired ball of anticipation.

When the bus rounds the corner onto our school's road, Terrence, Drew and I strain to see out the window. Terrence actually left his beloved bus seat this morning; instead, he joined Drew and me at the front of the bus to get the earliest possible view of the carnage we've wrought.

The chaos is imperceptible from this distance. It presents itself only as a flurry of activity on the lawn, and lilting white falling from the sky. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "Kyler's really outdone himself."

Terrence and Drew chuckle in agreement, shouldering their bags in anticipation of the bus doors opening. As soon as we step out into the warm, clear day, they start picking at the sheets of paper. In fact, their frantic curiosity to see what's on the paper blends rather smoothly with what everyone else is doing.

We had Kyler drop the flyers on the green at eight-thirty this morning, with a drone on loan from his friend. Since then, he's reported that more and more people have picked them up and banded together to voraciously gossip about the contents. Perfect, if I do say so myself.

The teachers are pleasantly unconcerned by all the paper waste and commotion because they've been expecting the senior pranking for a while. Compared to last year's senior pranking — which Terrence said included an arborist being hired to trim all the bushes and low-lying trees into shapes with certain... phallic resemblances — this year must be a relief.

It's far less immature, obscene, and disruptive, at least.

Terrence, Drew and I find a shaded patch of grass from which to watch all the excitement unfold. Eager to witness our masterpiece first-hand, we sit in a circle and spread the five papers between us. There are five different flyers. Each has a different colour — light pink for Madison, light yellow for Reece, grey for Derek, blue for Terrence, and a watery red for Brittany — with a picture of the highlighted Monarch. The writing is candid and brief, but at the same time, speaks volumes.

I am Derek. I am not just a bad boy. I love music and teach guitar at a struggling school. I am free.

The next poster features a family photo of Madison and Carter, obviously about five years younger than the present day. I am Madison. I am not just a gossip. I have been fluent in sign language since my older brother lost his hearing. I am free.

Surreptitiously glancing over to the flyer in Terrence's hands, I observe the flicker of pride in his eyes at our handiwork. I am Reece. I am not just a jock. I am battling mental illness and trying not to let it kill me like it did my brother. I am free.

When I see Cassie for the first time — albeit — on paper, I exhale a shaky breath. The brunette infant sits in a bathtub, various rubber toys floating around her. Another picture of Terrence is pasted next to Cassie because there are no photographs of them together. He's never seen or met his daughter.

I am Terrence. I am not just a prankster. I am going to be a capable and present father to my two-year-old daughter. I am free.

And, finally, the pièce de résistance. It's a picture of them all, arms linked over each other's shoulders in a seemingly fond show of comradery, with Brittany in the middle. Except now, everyone will see how shallow her friendship really is.

I am Brittany. I am not just a bitch. I have been blackmailing my closest friends and bullying my classmates for years. Am I free?

The last sentence of Brittany's poster makes me smile secretly. Kyler, Delaney, and I had deliberated painstakingly over each word of each profile to ensure maximum effect. We wanted to make our student body question Brittany. She has beauty, fame, and fortune. Luxury cosmetics and an outrageous Instagram following.

But is that what makes a person happy and free?

It's up to them to decide, which is why on the back of each paper is ARE YOU? in big, bold letters.

Are you free?

Are you the person you want to be?

"Shit. It reads better on paper than I expected," Terrence jokes. "Thought Delaney was going to pull the mushy, profound bullshit she always uses." Scoffing, I shove his shoulder.

When the bell rings, heralding the beginning of the first period, we all stand from the grass. I swipe at any debris which may have clung to my shorts, before walking through the doors with Terrence and Drew by my side.

Kyler, who has been steadily monitoring the prank since dawn, finds us quickly. Despite the joy apparent in his eyes, his mouth is set into a stern line. "What's wrong?" I ask immediately.

"It's Brittany. She hasn't done anything, um, bad, but— well, you'd better come and see."

I exchange worried glances between the three boys in my company, hastily following Kyler as he weaves through the crowd. Many students seem to have the same idea, all their heads turned towards an unknown but captivating spectacle. My stomach drops to the floor.

"Oh," Kyler adds, looking over his shoulder at me, "Try not to let Brittany see you three."

Drew pulls his hood over his messy curls. I dart behind Terrence, using his height to hide me. As for Terrence, however, he has no clothing or person which with to shield him.

"For fuck's sake," he curses, choosing instead to look intently at the floor.

I hear her before I see her. "Give those to me! Give them!" Brittany's shrill voice is unsteady with outrage. "It's slander, I tell you!"

When we finally come to the frontline of the action, I peer around Terrence's shoulder. The sight before me has my eyebrows raising in shock, but also, pity.

Brittany looks positively deranged. Her hair is no longer smooth and metal-sleek like it's been every other time I've seen her. I notice the knottiness and flyaways and realise with a start that she has naturally wavy hair. I've never seen it like that. The students are giving her a wide, wide berth, and as the scene plays out I soberly acknowledge why.

Storming up to a pair of sophomore boys, her slippers — slippers? — slapping on the floor, she snatches the paper out of their hands. I catch a glimpse of Derek's profile before Brittany rips the sheets in half, then into quarters, throwing the shreds into the air.

A low, infuriated growl erupts from her. "Don't let me see any of you with these lies in your hands again! It's slander! It's defamation. I'll have each and every one of you sued for the clothes on your backs!"

But there's too much paper to deal with.

As soon as Brittany disposes of one set, more will appear in the hands of others. She is ripping and clawing at every flash of white, screaming herself hoarse, her eyes maniacally wide. It's like watching a feral animal in a cage. I half expect a teacher to show up with a tranquiliser and shoot her in the butt.

Pity for her surges up, but I swallow it down when I remember everything she's done to bring this upon herself. Then, she spots Terrence's honey-brown head. I see it, the exact moment when her crazed eyes latch onto his familiar features and light up in hope. I duck back behind him, focusing on the comforting warmth radiating from him to calm my nerves.

She'll find me eventually, I realise.

Steeling myself, I step fully out from Terrence's shadow. Brittany has already seen Drew, her eyes darkening as the betrayal becomes clear to her. As it dawns on her that Terrence is the one who facilitated her humiliation, her eyes finally land on me.

It's like all the light is sucked from the corridor, into those vengeful, black-hole irises. "You," she spits venomously. "You worthless, filthy bitch! You did this!"

I meet her turbulent, demented eyes with an even stare. "I did."

At that, she unleashes an unworldly shriek and launches herself at me. It's so sudden I have scant time to react other than a small step backward. Then, a flash of skin clouds my vision before a sharp pain erupts on my cheek. Her hands aim for my neck, but then a flash of movement separates us.

Terrence immediately steps in front of me, forcing Brittany to retreat imperceptibly. Drew wraps an arm around me as I stumble backward from the force of the attack, his eyes widening in fright at something of my face. "What? What's wrong?" I wonder.

I press the back of my hand gently to my cheek, wincing at the bitter sting. Seeing the three lines of red on my skin disorients me.

She clawed me. I can hardly believe Brittany could draw blood so quickly. Her hair and outfit may be a shambles, but her nails are as lethal as ever.

Thanking Drew for propping me up, we shuffle closer to Terrence. He's holding Brittany by the wrists while she thrashes and screams, the spittle flying and noise and movement reminding me very much of an erupting volcano. "I will kill you!" she screeches at me. "You think these two scumbags can protect you?"

"Five scumbags, actually," I hear a familiar voice from behind me.

Delaney, hair flaming and eyes smoldering, is making steady progress towards us. Benjamin and Leah are also rushing through the throng of students, their eyes fierce and determined. Just seeing them sweeps away my distress, and in washes a wave of relief and confidence.

"Christ, girl. That is a nasty looking wound," Delaney remarks when she is close enough to see the cuts, to which I've pressed a spare serviette.

"You should see the other chick," I quip.

"Oh, we have," Leah pipes in. "Half these kids are broadcasting live. It didn't take long for us to figure out where you were."

Terrence is still detaining Brittany, who has been fighting and screaming like crazy in her attempt to maul me. But I can tell he's tiring. We need to get Brittany away from her, and somewhere safe. Preferably an institution, but detention sounds good for now.

There is another disturbance behind me, the students moving and parting down the middle. I watch as Reece, Derek, and Madison approach.

Well, fuck.

But to my utter surprise, they stop at my side, each giving me a small, grateful smile. Reece and Derek immediately leap into the brawl, trying to calm Brittany. "The principal — well, half the faculty, actually — are on their way," Derek murmurs smoothly to her. "You'd better pull yourself together or prepare for the punishment of a lifetime."

"And, it may well be a lifetime. Of community service," Reece reasons.

The mention of community service has Brittany slackening in their arms for a moment. But as quickly as her change in demeanour has come about, it vanishes.

"You think you and those puny geeks can do anything? You're disgusting, poor rejects who don't stand a chance. I can take all five of you with my pinky finger," Brittany sneers.

"Nine of us, you mean," Terrence says to Brittany. "We're with Sophie."

Addressing her former friends with undiluted shock and hurt, Brittany scowls bitterly. She is the picture of haughtiness, but I can see past it. The betrayal of not just Terrence, but all her friends, has her fraying at the edges. "Ten against one," Kyler interrupts.

"Fourteen, actually," Riley — when did she get here? — adds, backed up by Phoenix, Zoe and Isaac from the Book Club.

Wyn coughs dryly, jerking to the Photography Club friends behind her. "Twenty."

The number of people supporting us grows and grows, students shouting their encouragement from all around us. Eventually, the hallway bursts into pandemonium, applause for the revolution and boos for Brittany. The sound is deafening, ricocheting from lockers and floors like a thunderstorm of defiance.

I look at the four incredible revolutionaries to my left, the four stoic Monarchs to my right, and every other smiling, shouting student filling the hall. My heart swells with gratitude and happiness. I'm incredibly lucky to have found my four dedicated friends, and thankful the others came through in the end.

"You can ruin my life, Brittany. My friends' lives. Your friends' lives, even," I tell her. "But there's always going to be someone to stand up to you. Even after we leave. Even after they leave. You will never get all of us."

And as Principal Fisher's sonorous voice booms from the other end of the corridor — ordering everyone to class — as Brittany's angry fire is fully smothered by her inescapable reality, as the flyers we printed keep appearing among our schoolmates, I know.

The Revolution is well and truly is over.