A/N: OH MY GOODNESS. I was going through all the chapters and fixing grammatical mistakes and such, and I accidentally DELETED this chapter... MONTHS after it was originally published! So now I have to rewrite it, but my memory's a bit iffy... excuse any mistakes, I'm going off previous reviews... Geez, I am a mess...

December 15th

Mathias sat on his bed, a copy of The Great Gatsby in his hands. A mug of steaming hot chocolate sat on his nightstand, which he took periodic sips out of. He was wearing glasses, which very few people ever saw. He always wore contacts to school, especially after that day when Gilbert had told him that Mathias' glasses made him look like a twenty-five-year-old librarian/hipster.

Mathias' phone, which had been sitting next to his hot chocolate, rang, and he set his book down and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mathias? Hey, it's Antonio. Did you know that the Confidants' Club just had a meeting?"

"Huh?" Mathias swung his legs off his bed and took a few paces over to his window, where gentle snow was beginning to fall from the darkening sky. "I had no idea. Did they call you? Did you know?"

"No, I just found out. We were the only ones they didn't invite."

Mathias felt uncertain. "They are hiding things from us, Antonio. I know."

Nervous laughter. "Don't be silly. Why would the Confidants' Club hide anyth—"

"We've got to strike them before they strike us!" Mathias exclaimed. He was on a roll now. "Meet me tomorrow morning by the gym. Antonio, this—this is horrifying..."

"Mathias, it's—"

"No! They're terrible, lying people. Just meet me tomorrow. Yes, goodbye. Okay, see you then." Mathias ended the call. In a fit of confusion and fury, the teen grabbed The Great Gatsby and hurled it across the room, watching it hit the window and fall to the hardwood floor like a sad little bird with fluttering pages for wings.

This was not good.

December 16th

Arthur absentmindedly twisted in his locker combination. He had just arrived at school with twenty minutes to spare, and was looking forward to sitting down in homeroom, taking a breath, and maybe reading a little bit or listening to some music. He needed a breather.

A paper fluttered out of his locker. Arthur set his books on his locker shelf and bent down, picking the sheet up. A single word was written on the paper in strikingly red marker, as garish as if someone had used blood to write their message. The word hit Arthur right in the heart.

MURDERER.

Mathias was in shadow, waiting just outside of the doors of the gym. "Antonio?"

The Spaniard stepped up nervously. "Mathias, you sounded so upset on the phone yesterday... you were talking about striking? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Mathias said. He looked a bit sheepish. "I didn't really mean that stuff. I was just surprised. I didn't know that the Confidants' Club had a meeting, that's all. I know I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I don't know what got into me. Sorry."

Antonio relaxed into a smile. Yes, Mathias was back to normal. "Okay, great. Still, I want to find out what we missed at the meeting."

"Okay. Actually, I'll ask Arthur now." Mathias waved goodbye to Antonio then sped toward the academics hallway. Honestly, he didn't care about finding out what had happened at the meeting. He just wanted to get away from Antonio's concerned and suspicious looks. Mathias pretended to go into the hallway where Arthur's first class was, then sprinted out of the academics wing, making a break for the theater, until he ran smack into Michelle.

"Ow—oh, hey. How'd your audition go?" Mathias asked, rubbing his head.

Michelle hesitated. "It was fine, thanks for asking."

Meanwhile, Arthur was sitting in a classroom that Mathias had just passed, fretting with Alfred about the note he had just received.

Alfred patted his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry too much, Arthur. I'm sure it's just your secret-keeper or someone trying to get a rise out of you. Maybe someone in the Confidants' Club, if they were feeling extra confident."

"Who in the Confidants' Club would do that?" Arthur mumbled, his words muffled by the fact that he had his head on his desk.

"I don't know."

"This is so upsetting. What am I going to do if people find out?"

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of the right think to say. "Ah, um..."

"Speaking of which, have you told your parents about your secret?" Arthur turned his head so that one green eye was peering out from over his arm, his eyebrow raised questioningly. Alfred sighed. "I was actually planning to this Friday. They won't be happy, Arthur. They really won't."

"Your parents love you."

"Listen, dude..." Alfred lowered his voice. "I know they do. But they're like... I don't know. The Braginsky family, for example. I just, oh, maybe it'll be okay. Maybe."

"I'm always here if you need me." Despite the fact that Arthur was irritable and distressed, Alfred knew he was being honest.

"Thanks." Alfred forced a laugh. "Anyway, it could be worse, couldn't it? Like, I could have beaten up Gilbert all the time, or, or—"

"Or you could have let someone get hit by a bus," Arthur said dully, "then stood around while the entire school debated if it was a suicide or an accident." He groaned quietly, as if suddenly remembering his predicament, and buried his entire face back in his arms. "I hate this. I honestly have no clue who my secret-keeper could be, and this note is just like a reminder that things aren't going to be okay. I'm a murderer," Arthur practically shouted.

Alfred glanced around nervously. Thankfully, everyone else was wrapped up in their phones or prepping for the day, and no one noticed Arthur's commentary.

"Please lower your voice," Alfred said, as kindly as he could manage. Arthur took the hint and sighed. "Sorry."

"You know," Alfred began, trying his best to sound nonchalant, "you should apologize to Francis. He's your friend and all. Friends should stay friends. I know he's not very happy with you."

"You really think I should?" Arthur questioned.

"Yes."

"Fine."

There was a gap in the conversation.

"So, Friday," Arthur said. "Best of luck."

"Y-yeah."

"Whatever happens, I'll try to help."

"Arthur?"

"Hmm."

Alfred grinned. "I couldn't have asked for a stupider, grumpier, more loyal friend. Thank you."

Arthur lifted his head slightly. "The feeling is mutual, git."