The Geek Revolution ✓

14 | apology

HOME ECONOMICS IS THE LAST period of the last day of week, so safe to say all I want to do is go home and take a nap.

In study terms, heaps of things happened this week. Mrs. Fern set a partnered assessment, and I almost failed my Gym assessment — though that is the only class in which I don't really care about my grade. But in Monarchy terms, the waters stayed statuesquely still.

It was part of Benjamin's idea of laying low until they're lulled into false security — which meant turning my cheek the other way every time Reece beat up a kid for homework and Brittany screamed a freshman's ears off for doing practically nothing to her. It almost felt like a retreat. I was disgusted with them, and largely myself, for letting the bullying go on more.

But I know it was necessary, to ensure the Monarchy doesn't instigate a proactive strike. It hasn't been that long since Benjamin and Drew's nicks and scratches disappeared. I won't put them, or any others, at risk so soon.

Today is the day of the Home Economics assessment, and my usual cooking partner is nowhere to be seen. I lean over to a boy sitting at the next counter. I've seen him talking to Angela before, in a rather friendly manner. "Is Angela sick today?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. She wasn't in our homeroom class this morning."

"Okay," I mutter, settling back into my seat.

Angela is kind of needed today. Our abilities to exhibit understanding of nutritional components are supposed to be tested in a partnered cooking task, and the best cooking buddy I could ever ask for is not here. Shit.

But, maybe, Mrs. Fern will let me do half the work, if she sees I have half the womanpower. Or I could stay after school to complete the work myself. The possibility of this happening keeps me fairly optimistic for the test, until the moment Terrence sits down in Angela's chair.

I scowl at his apologetic face, turning my face away. He talks anyway, seeming needing to get the words out. "Brittany was way out of line last Friday. Things just got out of hand."

His words are genuine, with the intention of protecting our burgeoning friendship, pleading even. And the lilt of his voice asking for a second chance is very easy to stomp down and ignore. I'm trying to reimagine what exactly happened last Friday, before the punches started leaving bruises everywhere. I had a fleeting moment of blank fear, like ice water poured down my back without warning.

Until I was in danger, I'd never thought about my fight or flight instinct. Both Delaney and Leah were ready to fight. But I just recall being paralysed, staring Brittany down. Her large brown irises reminded me of shark eyes. I hate to think that she saw me afraid. I search the hazy faces of the people behind her in that memory, trying to remember where Terrence was when Reece and Derek started approaching, whether he had any sort of remorse in his eyes.

"It wasn't my fault," he tries to tell me. "I feel so bad that I couldn't stop it."

No, it wasn't his fault. He wasn't the one who made the call, Brittany was. He wasn't the one who stepped up to fight, Reece and Derek were. Countless people in the hallways watched it happen and didn't try to stop it — part of a senseless high school code of conduct against interfering with other people's business.

But none of those people in the corridor, none of the Monarchy, are trying to be my friend like Terrence is. There's nothing but sincerity when Terrence talks. Is he lying? Do I want to give him a chance? Because it's inevitable: Brittany will pull another mean stunt, and he'll apologise again like he wasn't part of it. It might be smarter to be paranoid rather than gullible.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say icily, deciding not to meet his eyes.

Terrence sighs heavily. He doesn't leave the table. I busy myself with the recipe sheet. Each counter had two copies of the biscuit recipe when I walked in, prepared for the assessment. Mrs. Fern walks to her seat at the front corner of the room, drops her canvas tote bag there and pushes a trolley loaded with ingredients to the front of the workstations.