Author's Note

Sorry if it looks scrambled, I promise it'll all make sense soon:) Hope you enjoy and please review if you have any comments or suggestions!

Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious, or any of the songs mentioned in this story.


Reva's POV

I gloomily stare out the window, cursing the rare LA rain that caused mum to offer me a ride to school in her ridiculously expensive car. The one small mercy is that I've stopped her from having Malcolm drive us. She is babbling non-stop, like she has done all weekend. Darling this and darling that, flashing her perfectly straight, white teeth with every sentence.

'It was wonderful having you back, darling.'

I grunt in response.

'Fergus too, he absolutely adores you my dear.'

This time I turn my head to look at her in surprise. 'He does?'

She laughs an airy, tinkling laugh. 'Of course, darling! He thinks you're just fabulous, and very talented. Didn't you hear him say that he'd look into his contact list and see what he could do for you?'

'Oh yeah,' I answer, not exactly thrilled by the idea of my stepdad laying out my future career before I've even obtained a high school diploma, 'that.'

'Did you like him?'

I shrug. 'S'pose.' It's true. Fergus is likeable enough, with his high-pitched laughter and seemingly genuine interest in my musical abilities.

'Darling, please don't mumble like that. You're not in Scotland anymore.'

Refraining from rolling my eyes, I look out the window again.

'It took me years to get rid of that accent, dear. It's best if you start working on that asap. You know this industry, the tiniest imperfection and you're out.' She snaps her fingers and I zone out, letting mum drone on about Hollywood's beauty standards and how she would love to see me in one of the dresses she's sent me.

Like hell I will.

When we're two streets away from Hollywood Arts, I ask her to stop the car and let me out there. She turns and eyes me with the shrewd expression film reviewers adore. I like it a whole lot less.

'Darling, it's still at least a ten minute walk.'

'Exactly.'

She sighs. 'Have you not told…'

'No.'

'Revie, I'm sure no one would mind.'

'I would mind. And don't call me that.'

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and close the door. Mum leans over and smiles ruefully.

'Well okay then, have fun at school. Let me know how it goes.'

Something pulls at my heart when I move away from the car and catch her disappointed expression. Biting my lip, I quickly lean over and awkwardly pat her arm.

'Thanks, mum. See ye.'

The smile widens and she blows an air kiss before waving and driving away. Walking to Hollywood Arts, I think of this past weekend at Fergus and mum's place. If I am completely honest, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Sure, their house still feels like a modern art gallery and my room was way too pink for my liking, but mum and Fergus seemed genuinely happy to have me over and a little upset when I came home on Sunday after having spent almost the entire day with André and Tori.

Tori.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, growing into a grin at the thought of Tori's bright red head when she asked about Jackie's number, which now lies crumpled at the bottom of a bin.

Do girls often… Obviously it wouldn't matter, but… I mean… Are you…

So maybe I have been reading her well. Perhaps Tori Vega is not as straight as everyone seems to think she is.

Or you're only seeing what you wish to see.

It wouldn't be the first time I interpret signals, which turn out not to be signals at all, completely the wrong way. And yet… And yet…

'Look, that's her!'

I have reached the parking lot and immediately sense that something is not right. People stop in their tracks, turn to their friends, whisper.

Relax, Reev. You're just being paranoid.

Glaring at a group of giggling girls, I stride past them through the front entrance but as soon as I enter the hallway, I freeze. People stop and turn their heads. They stare. Whisper. Giggle. Someone snaps a picture and the flash momentarily blinds me. I never knew blood could actually feel as if its boiling your veins. My ears buzz and tiny fireworks pop in my brain.

How did they find out?

'She doesn't look like Liz at all. I mean, look at that hair.'

'I heard she got arrested.'

Breathe. Put one foot in front of the other. Ignore them.

But it's so hard. I scan the crowd for Tori, or André, but it is Jade I find first, grinning devilishly and twirling a pair of scissors between her fingers. Robbie is standing next to her, guiltily avoiding my eyes, his cheeks a brilliant shade of magenta.

'Did you know she's gay? Yeah, I read it online.'

'No wonder she got in here. I mean who wouldn't, with Liz Whittaker as your mom?'

Clutching the strap of my backpack I quickly walk towards my locker, keeping my head down. Struggling to remember which course I have first, I chuck some random books in my bag and slam my locker shut.

'Why do you think she transferred? Will she go and live with Liz?'

'If she does, do you think I can get Liz to sign my bag?'

Anderson. You've got Anderson first. Ignore them. Don't listen.

Scotland. Rain. Birds flying overhead. Loch Tanna glistening in the sun. Dallas' mischievous grin. Her hand in mine. These are images I focus on as I make my way through the crowd.

'Ugh, she clearly got the wrong set of genes.'

'Apparently she got expelled from her last school.'

Even as I sit down in the front row of Anderson's room, the whispers don't stop. I close my eyes, pretend they're the rustling of trees in the wind. Someone snaps their fingers in front of my face and I look up.

'Your homework, McEwan.' Anderson holds out an impatient hand and huffs when I dig it out of my bag. She walks on, collecting everyone's papers, then stands in front of the class and continues last week's monologue on 'the disgrace we call pop music'. I doodle in my notebook, jotting down loose sentences.

But every time they look at me

it's her that they see

Someone taps my shoulder and I look around. A guy with sandy blond hair grins and hands me a piece of paper. Frowning, I fold it open and scowl. A badly drawn cartoon with thick scratches of black hair next to a tall, thin stick figure with red hair. A text balloon flows out of the mouth I'm sure is supposed to be mine, and reads: 'Are you sure I'm not adopted?'

'McEwan!'

I jump and am too late to conceal the paper. Anderson snatches it away from me and frowns at it for a second.

'One more of these and I'll send you to Lane, understood?'

I nod and she rolls her eyes. 'When I address you in this class, you will call me Ms Anderson, McEwan. Understood?'

Scotland. Rain. Birds. Loch Tanna. Dallas. A stolen kiss beneath the tree.

'McEwan!'

Warm hand in mine. Warm hands toying with my hair. Warm hands roaming feverishly over my body. Dallas. Loch Tanna. Birds. Rain. Scotland.

Home.

'McEwan, if I have to –'

'I understand, miss Anderson.'

She raises an eyebrow, unsure of whether I actually respect her or not. Then her lips purse into a thin line.

'Out. Now.'

I don't even protest. The whispers return as I pack my bag and march towards the door, my eyes trained on the floor and ignoring Tori who is sitting at the back. Closing the door behind me, I lean against a nearby wall and slowly exhale. Then I take out my phone and scroll through the contacts. Her name is listed under 'favourites', but it hasn't been used for weeks now.

I will never leave you. Not in a million years.

She was so mad. So angry. Hurt. My mind reels back to the day before dad and I took the plane to this plastic town. Her blue eyes glaring in accusation, warm hands wiping away tears. The wish to call her now and hear her voice is overpowering. Even if she still feels betrayed, to hear a familiar voice in my ear not whispering rumours or half truths would make me feel so much better; less trapped. Three heartbeats. Four. Five.

'Reva?'

Shit.

Lane is coming down the stairs, his arms loaded with files. 'Why aren't you in class?'

'I uh... I overslept. I was just about to…'

'Well, hurry up. Don't let me catch you here again.'

I nod meekly and he walks away. When he's out of sight, I stuff my phone in my pocket and take out my earphones. Scotland. Rain. Birds. Loch Tanna: this is what I need now. Ten minutes later I'm on a rattling bus towards mum's, staring through the dirty window when my phone buzzes.

- Where are you?

Tori. Great. Half-and-half wishing I wouldn't have opened her text, I press the stop button to get off the bus. Getting my bike back is easier than expected: it stands shining on the driveway behind the iron gate which opens at the click of the remote mum gave me. Looking back at the large, modern mansion I grimace and swing my leg over the frame. Half an hour later, I cycle faster and faster up the hill towards Stough Canyon. Unshed tears blur my vision, fogging the bright blue sky and green front lawns into a greyish mist.

'She doesn't look like Liz at all. I mean, look at that hair.'

'Did you know she's gay? Yeah, I read it online.'

I shake my head, but now Tori's high-pitched laughter joins the whispered rumours.

I don't know really, you're just… real.

'Fuck,' I mutter, in time with my pumping legs, 'fuck. Fuck. Fuck.'

A car honks loudly, the driver swearing and flipping me off. I ignore him, despite knowing it would be safer to walk. I speed up, the steady whoosh of the wheels whizzing over the asphalt echoing pleasantly in my ears.

Obviously it wouldn't matter, but… I mean…are you…

I am swaying onto the left side of the road; the same as home. My breath comes in rapid pants, following the pattern of Tori's last question. I. Mean. Are. You. Whoosh. Whoosh. I. Mean. Are. You.

Did she read that article?

Trees rustle, tires screech. I only need a split second to realise that the expensive, dark blue car is already too close to avoid and apply the brakes so hard, I fly over the handlebars and land painfully on the pavement next to the road. Colours cartwheel into a kaleidoscopic blur, then gradually return to normal. My bike's front wheel slowly spins to a halt. Whoosh. Whoosh. The car haphazardly parks a few feet away and running footsteps come closer. I stare up at the incredibly blue sky and watch fluffs of white clouds lazily drag themselves across the atmosphere. Or stratosphere. Dallas would know. An upside-down face looms over me, half shocked, half angry.

'Are you okay?' I lift my head and groan. The man frowns compassionately. 'Yeah, you'll feel that for a couple of days. What were you doing, cycling on the wrong side of the road? Do you have a death wish?'

I glare at him. 'Maybe.'

He sighs. 'One of those edgy teens? Look, I get it, life's tough. But next time, try not to get run over by my car. Or any car, really.'

I nod and slowly get to my feet, dusting off my jeans and inspecting my arms for any damage. The guy hands me some tissues and points vaguely at me forehead and elbow.

'You've got some grazes there, nothing major as far as I can see.' He scratches his neck, adjusts his blazer and surreptitiously checks his watch.

'I'm fine,' I mutter, 'no need to stay and check. Technically, ye didn't run me over.'

He nervously smiles and my first impression of him as a cold businessman, with his sharp suit and expensive car, does not match his soft brown eyes and shy smile. 'No, technically I didn't. Are you sure you're okay?' I nod and he glances at my mangled bike. 'How will you get back home?'

Hopefully not for a while.

'I'll find a way. The wheel's just a little bent, I can fix it.'

He hesitates. 'Aren't you supposed to be at school?'

'I'm home-schooled,' I quickly lie, but he shakes his head.

'Right. Listen, just get in the car. Your bike can go in the back.'

I cross my arms and glare at him. 'Didn't your parents ever warn you about stranger danger?'

The man sighs and hands me his business card. 'There, now you know my name. I don't know yours, so really it's me who's getting into trouble here.'

My mouth falls open upon reading the card. 'You… you work at Platinum Records?' I ask, flipping it over, 'David?'

David nods. 'Assistant production manager. Now, you could either get a free lift back to school, or I can call the police and you'll get a free lift to the station. What's it going to be?'

Five minutes later, surrounded by luxurious beige leather and mahogany wood panelling, David smoothly steers his car through the busy LA traffic. Feeling a little scruffy and ungrateful, I begrudgingly tell him my name and where I go to school. He nods, impressed. 'Hollywood Arts, huh? I'm an alumni, actually. Great memories. Do you like it?'

Thinking of this morning's reception, I grunt an incomprehensible answer and David glances at me, but doesn't press on. Instead, he asks: 'Do you know what you want to do after this?'

My stomach clenches upon recognising the school's entrance at the end of the street and I bite my lower lip. David, thinking I'm uncertain of my future prospects, says in a reassuring voice: 'I'm sure you'll figure it out. I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do either, and spent two years travelling and working random jobs.'

I look at him curiously. 'Ye don't look like… Ye look like ye've got it all figured out.'

He smiles. 'Perhaps. I like my job. I love music, but I soon discovered I was better at producing other people's work than my own. Do you play music?' He parks in front of the school's entrance and shuts off the engine as I mumble an affirmative answer.

'Well, if you're ever interested in having a look around Platinum Records, give me a call. I'm sorry about your bike, I hope you can get it fixed.'

The smile I manage to give him is genuine. 'That's very kind of ye, thanks. And for taking me back. Ye didn't… I hope I didn't make ye late for anything, or…' David makes a dismissive gesture.

'Don't worry about it. It was nice meeting you, Reva.' He extends his hand and I shake it, fleetingly noting his expensive watch and soft, manicured palms. Stepping out onto the warm parking lot, I carefully lift my bike from the back seat and and watch him drive away until he has rounded the corner. Then I turn towards the school and sigh.

'Hour and a half later, give or take,' I mutter, glancing at my own watch, 'ready for round two.' I lock my bike to a nearby rack and quickly enter the girl's bathroom. Checking my face for any cuts or bruises, I wipe away the remaining dried up blood from the graze on my forehead and run a hand through my tangled mess of curls.

Ye shouldn't let them get to ye.

The words come randomly. Said, it seems, a lifetime ago by Dallas in a different girl's bathroom across the ocean. Then too, I remember, glaring at my own reflection, had I been wiping blood of my face and then too had I ran a hand through my hair only to find Dallas' hand resting on my shoulder. There's no hand now, no soft voice telling me it'll be alright. The bell rings and soon the hall crowds with people. Straightening my shoulders I exit the girl's bathroom and go to math, where the stares and whispers are mercifully silenced by an unexpected test I can hardly focus on. Science isn't much better with me almost setting fire to my notes when I turn the valve of my gas burner open too quickly. Ignoring the sniggers and whispers, I am almost grateful for the bell announcing it is lunchtime. Almost.

'Oh my God, I can't believe you're really Liz Whittaker's daughter!' A freshman girl with blond pigtails and dark framed glasses enthusiastically jumps in front of me before I can reach my locker. Grunting, I try to get past her but she simply skips from side to side, smiling so broadly it must hurt. 'Do you live with her? Is she nice? Does she really use silk sheets and pillowcases only? When does her next movie –' Another girl cuts in: 'Can you get us her autograph? Or an interview? Or a picture?' More people join them now, surrounding me from all sides. My mouth already opened to tell all of them to fuck off, a slender hand closes around my wrist and pulls me out of the tight circle.

'Come on,' Tori pants, running out the hall and into bright sunshine, nearly dislocating my arm with her hard yanks. We cross the street, run up a grassy hill and stop at the very top with Tori panting heavily and doubling over, finally releasing my wrist. Absentmindedly rubbing it, I look back over my shoulder to check if no one followed us and when no one has, I turn back to Tori who is still catching her breath.

'Ye need ta work on yer stamina.'

She cocks her head. 'Yeah, thanks captain obvious. How about a: "thank you for getting me out of there, Tori"?'

After a short silence, I mutter a thank you and she smiles. 'You're welcome. I thought maybe you wanted to have lunch here, away from… You know.' She vaguely gestures towards the school and the weight in my stomach falls a little deeper.

Did she read it?

Tori scrutinises my face and points at the scratch on my forehead.

'What happened?'

'Fell off me bike like a complete tit.' I can tell she's fighting back a laugh as she bites her lip, nods, and sits down on the only bench digging her lunch out of her idiotically large bag. I slowly sit next to her, realise my lunch is still in my locker and am touched when Tori hands me half of her wrap without saying anything.

'Jade convinced Robbie to set up the email,' Tori says after a short silence and my head snaps towards her, 'I overheard her during Anderson's monologue.'

'She dinnae have the right to send it. The whole bloody school knows about it now,' I say angrily and the colour on Tori's cheek deepens.

'Yes,' she says quietly, 'well… I mean, what did you expect? You can't keep something like that quiet for ever.'

The hint of accusation does not go unnoticed. 'Look, Tori,' I begin, but she shakes her head. 'It's okay,' she smiles, but her eyes don't hold their usual warmth and I know she's lying.

'It's not… I wasn't going to keep it a secret,' I mumble, toying with the wrap and avoiding looking her in the eye, 'I just… for once, I didn't want people to know me as Liz Whittaker's only child. Cause once they know, that's all they're interested in.'

'I didn't know you like that,' Tori says hastily, 'I wanted to be friends with you because… just because.' She blushes, stuffs the tortilla into her mouth and mumbles: 'I mean, when I read those articles, I didn't…' She stops talking, eyes widening in shock. My insides freeze.

'Ye read…'

'I didn't mean… Trina clicked on the link and I couldn't – No, Reev, wait!' But I've already stood up and am marching down the hill, ignoring her calls, knowing I'm being immature but not giving a shit. Right when I'm about to go inside to fetch my keys and skip the rest of the day, someone drawls: 'What, the angry hobbit's Liz Whittaker's daughter?'

I close my eyes for a moment, then turn. Ryder Daniels, his arm around some random girl who is vigorously chewing gum and laughing at his comment, is grinning at me.

'You sure you weren't adopted or anything? Or did you only inherit you dad's loser genes?' He jeers, and now people are gathering around us, keen to watch my humiliation unfold. Too much has happened already today and the wall holding back the anger is crumbling.

Ignore him. Ignore him. Think of Scotland. Rain. Loch Tanna.

'What,' Ryder says, lifting his arm from the girl's shoulder and taking a step forward, 'did you lose your tongue back in angry hobbit-land?'

Dallas. Birds.

But the thoughts scramble to find their resonance with home and instead, thoughts of punching Ryder in the face come to the fore.

'Hey! Leave her!'

Tori.

She is battling her way through the crowd, using her ridiculously large bag as useful prop in pushing people aside. Ryder looks back at Tori, then at me, comprehension dawning on his face. 'Forget it, you filthy fag,' he hisses and my hands clench into fists, 'not even a famous mom is gonna get you in her pants, desperate though she may be.'

It's all I need to lose control, and I'm almost glad to have an excuse. My bag drops to the ground and connecting my fist with his jaw, his head snaps sideways. Students cheer, close in on us. For a second, I'm back at Milngavie, fighting with one of the jocks who made a comment at Dallas. Ryder charges forward, face down, slamming me hard against the brick wall and I double over, wheezing.

'Stop it, you two! Back it up, back it up!' Lane. But the crowd of students is so thick, it takes him a few seconds too long to get to us and Ryder retaliates by punching me hard in the face. Once. Twice. Blood is pouring out of my nose, someone screams, cameras flash. Then Lane pulls Ryder away.

'You, my office. McEwan, nurse.' He turns to the students. 'And everyone else, go to class.' As the students murmur and walk away, I gingerly touch my swollen eye socket and wince.

'Are you okay?'

To my surprise, it's not Tori, but Cat who quietly squeaks into my ear. Taking deep breaths to avoid puking all over her glittery pink shoes, I lean my head back against the wall. Someone gasps.

'Come on,' Cat says softly, taking my hand and guiding me away, her head a fuzzy red ball dancing in front of me, 'I'll take you to the nurse. One time, my brother tried to make the vacuum cleaner into a spaceship, but he clogged the bag and the vacuum cleaner exploded as I was sitting on it and I had to go to the nurse too.'

The words wash over me like a warm shower and tears now sting my eyes.

'W-why did ye sit on it?' I hear myself ask and Cat turns, smiling.

'Because he said he'd been to space on it and I wanted to visit the moon.'

'Course ye did,' I mumble, my vision blurring for the second time that day and with the adrenaline fading, so does the pain numbing effect it has on my body. Everything hurts and Cat's smile fades.

'He was mean,' she whispers, brown eyes wide and angry, 'I don't like him.'

'Me neither.'

We walk on in silence, until Cat stops and turns. 'Reva?' I blink and Cat's fuzzy outline becomes only a little sharper, my left eye now starting to close. 'We're at the nurse's office. I should go to class, the bell rang five minutes ago.'

'Sorry,' I mumble and she giggles.

'I like your accent,' she says, softly poking me in my ribs and I suppress the urge to grimace in pain.

'I… I like your hair,' I say lamely, the nausea now definitely kicking in. Cat's bright red hair is spinning around her like an absurdly misplaced halo and I stumble forwards. Cat yelps, the door opens and a large, stocky woman catches me just before I fall into her office.

'I've got her, Cat. You can go.'

'Kay kay,' Cat says happily, 'thanks Norma. Bye Reva!'

She waves and I limply raise my hand. Giggling, she skips away.

'Right,' Norma says sternly, opening the door to her private bathroom, 'you look like you're about to spew your breakfast onto my newly polished floor and I ain't having that.'

Twenty minutes later and breakfast and half a tortilla lighter, I'm waiting outside Lane's office with an icepack pressed against my swollen eye and the realisation of what I've done slowly seeps through my mildly concussed brain. A fight. Another fight. I can already hear dad giving me a right telling off and mum calling in a therapist.

'Fuck,' I whisper, slowly sitting down on the only chair and staring at the scuffed linoleum. One week it lasted, one week of good behaviour, actually trying to succeed an assignment and faintly enjoying school. Now I'm sitting here with a stupid icepack pressed against my face like a complete tit and surely awaiting suspension for starting a fight. Then Lane sticks his head out of his office and invites me in with a curt nod of the head. He sits down not behind his desk, but on a sofa and gestures to an armchair across from it. Mildly intrigued by this, I gingerly sit down and wince.

'The nurse says you haven't managed to break anything,' Lane says, 'which is a miracle in itself. How's the nose?'

I shrug silently and Lane sighs, picking up a large stack of files from beside him. 'This,' he says, removing the strong rubber bands holding it together, 'is your file, McEwan. It is three times as big as Jade's, and that's saying something.' He rifles through the many referrals and slips of absences from my old school and fishes out an official looking letter with many stamps at the bottom. 'And this,' Lane says, handing me the paper, 'is a letter from your former principal telling me exactly why I should not let you attend my school.'

Knowing its contents already, I think again of Dallas. Her shocked expression when I told her I had to leave Milngavie. Leave her. Lane coughs.

'So you can imagine my surprise when I hear that two students are fighting outside, one of whom is a transfer student from Scotland.'

'Ryder was –'

'I don't care what he was saying or doing,' Lane says quietly and I sink back a little deeper into the armchair, the shame reddening my neck and ears, 'you started the fight, McEwan. You must have known the consequences. Did you not realise what would happen if you started throwing punches? Do you have anything to say for yourself?'

I bite my lip and think of Jade, telling everyone about my famous mother. Of Ryder, calling me a filthy fag and Tori desperate. Of this town where nothing's safe and familiar and I can't even ride my bike on the wrong side of the road that feels right to me without almost getting run over. Of dad's difficulties with his job. Of home. Dallas. I glance at the letter hanging limply from my fingers and the words 'violent outbursts' jump out at me. I remain silent.

'Reva,' Lane says softly and I notice without much interest that he uses my first name, 'if you don't tell me why, I am forced to suspend you and I'd really rather not do that.'

'It doesn't matter,' I grumble and the letter spirals to the floor and slides under Lane's desk, 'I hit him first. I started it.' Lane waits a few more moments, clearly expecting further explanation. When none is forthcoming, he stands, moves to his desk and writes a note as he speaks.

'Reva McEwan, you are hereby given an in-school suspension for the rest of the week. I will call both your parents and invite them here for a constructive talk about your behaviour.'

'Fine,' I mutter and am about to leave when he adds: 'You will also be excluded from performing in the Full Moon Jam. I will inform professor Dillard.'

I freeze. 'But… What about André and Tori?'

'Well,' Lane says, folding his note and holding it out to me, 'they will have to perform without you. I cannot allow a student who continually displays bad behaviour to negatively influence those who do abide by the rules.'

You could teach me, I could use a bit more assertiveness.

'I haven't… This is the first time I got in trouble here.'

'Yes, and on your first try you managed to almost dislocate Ryder Daniels' jaw.'

'Ye can't punish them for something I did, that's… that's unfair!'

Lane stands from his chair and pushes the note forcefully into my hand. 'You should stop thinking that your actions only influence you, McEwan. Now, report to your suspensions officer and be warned,' he looks gravely at me, then pointedly at my file, 'talent alone will not grant your presence at my school. Stars are made and broken in an instant, McEwan. I thought you of all people would know that.'

The angry retort gets stuck in my throat. I crumple up the paper in my fist and leave his office without saying another word, throwing the icepack into the nearest bin.

I thought you of all people would know that.

'Wanker,' I mutter, rounding the corner and almost colliding with André, who just in time holds out his hands and stops me.

'There you are,' he says, 'I've been looking all – Holy chizz, did Ryder do that?!'

'Not all of it,' I correct him, a sly grin curling up my lips, 'his punches are not that powerful.'

André chuckles. 'Well from what I've heard, you nearly dislocated his jaw.'

'Tosser deserved it.'

'I bet he did.'

We stand there, smiling awkwardly at each other and I am struck by how good of a friend André is, and what I have lost by not telling –

'Oh man,' he yells suddenly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me along the hallway, 'I forgot! You've got to come and see this!'

'André, what…'

But as we enter the large entrance hallway, I've already seen what. I stop and stare at my locker. Cat, Tori, Robbie, and Sinjin are all working hard at something that has been spray painted over the dull, greyish green metal. I sigh.

'It's no big deal, André, it happened all the time back in –'

But then I notice the bright green and blue in the corner where Cat is working. A blue lint of a river sprawling through green hills. Robbie and Rex are painting black birds flying at the top corner and Sinjin is doing something tech-y with wires. It is Tori I focus on, scrubbing aggressively at the black, three-letter word and huffing a frustrated sigh. She looks up, sponge in one hand, and sees André.

'It's coming off, but it's so hard to… oh.' Her eyes travel over his shoulder to me and she drops the sponge.

'Holy chizz,' she mutters, unconsciously echoing André, 'Reev, your face…' I want to say that it's fine, it'll heal in a few days, but I don't get the chance. All but Robbie rally round, offer water, chocolate, a ride on a vacuum cleaner that might or might not get me into space. Robbie hesitantly joins, avoids my eyes, and mumbles an apology. Everyone falls silent and they anxiously await my response. My eyes dart from Robbie's crimson face, to the birds in the upper right corner.

'It's alright, Rob. Don't worry about it.'

He smiles and starts talking about how Tori thought of painting over the words, how André got spray cans and Cat some pencils and Sinjin the wires that will light it up if I press a button inside that's not exactly there yet, but will be soon. I smile, nod, and pretend to listen. The anger subsides as I covertly look at the five of them, standing proudly, protectively, around me. They don't ask about mum, nor do they seem to be angry I didn't tell them. But I'm angry at myself, angry I didn't realise how much more they deserve.

'I'm sorry for not… I just didn't… I didn't want…' I run a hand through my hair and am surprised to find a hand hovering over my shoulder.

'It's okay,' Tori says quietly, and André nods, 'it'll be okay, Reev.' They put their hands on my shoulder, Cat strokes my arm and Robbie and Sinjin pet my head awkwardly. I know that they want to know more, that they're restraining their curiosity for now, that I will have to tell them the whole story at some point. Right now though they're here, painting my locker and despite everything, I find myself smiling at the group of oddballs and relax under their touch.

'Thank you,' I say quietly and Tori or André grips my shoulder a little tighter.

'That's what friends are for,' Cat says brightly and I smile at her, clearing my throat and picking up a sponge.

'Rob, your birds look like that dead pigeon on your head.'

'I don't have a dead pigeon… Rex! How many times do I have to tell you that it's not funny to joke about my hair!'

I laugh, despite the pain in my ribs and throbbing eye. Tori stands beside me, furiously scrubbing off the black paint, then looking up and smiling.

'I'm sorry,' I mouth and the smile fades a little. Then she bumps my sponge with hers and very quickly strokes my bloody knuckles.

'We'll talk later,' she whispers so that none of the others can hear and I nod, not exactly looking forward to it, but knowing that I owe her at least that.

'Alright,' I say, 'let's violate the school's property some more.'

Rex agrees enthusiastically, Cat starts a story about how one time her brother violated their neighbours' privacy, André hums a tune and Sinjin offers all of us some birdseed.

'You guys are so weird,' I mutter but I return Tori's smile and continue scrubbing my locker, knowing full well that the flutter of my heart is completely undeserved. But I enjoy it anyway.