Start a Riot, Chapter 4. PG-13, Wille/Simon, romance/drama, directly post-S1.
On his first day back to school after the Christmas break, Simon is informed that he's been suspended for two weeks because of his involvement in the video making the rounds on the internet. Now it's up to Wille and his few allies to recruit as many out of the entire population of entitled rich kids at Hillerska as they can to go full Greta to try and pressure the school to reverse this decision before it ruins Simon's future.
Note: Inspired, most recently, by Netflix's Moxie and Sex Education, and a bajillion other teen movies and TV shows out there where high schoolers stage a school strike/walkout/protest against their school.
Note 2: This chapter is about 40% longer than my average because I love these dumb spoiled brats too much and I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!
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The full-on marketing push started the next morning.
"So what you're saying is," their formerly pink-haired classmate said, giving Felice and Madison a doubtful look, "you want us to walk out of class at noon and go stand outside in the cold?" Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. "It's the middle of January. Couldn't Simon have gotten himself suspended some other time?"
Felice winced. Their classmate (Lisa? Laila? Felice couldn't remember at the moment but she'd definitely check— trying to cajole people into doing something for you without even bothering to learn their name was seriously rude) had a point that the weather was not ideal for outdoor activism, but it's not like they had many options here.
And she didn't have to be a jerk about it, anyway, as Maddie was quick to point out. "Sorry," she intervened in her usual English, although she sounded anything but; her tone was mocking. "We'll make sure to tell the school board to rein in their homophobia until the Spring next time." Felice elbowed her in the ribs, as a reminder for her to behave— they were trying to get people to help, after all— and she gasped. "What? Spring is objectively the gayest season."
Felice narrowed her eyes at her. "Is it, though?" she asked. She was no expert, obviously, but she knew most of her gay friends went pretty crazy for a certain Starbucks fall staple. She wasn't sure how much of an indicator that was, though.
The girl, who had come back to school after the break with her hair a bright turquoise, sighed. "How long is this thing supposed to last?" she asked, sounding resigned, and Felice felt a spark of hope that it might mean she was starting to come along to their side.
"We're not sure," Felice admitted. She might be up to say anything necessary to get people to be there, but she also wasn't going to lie. "It depends on whether the school listens to us or not, I guess." The girl made a face, and that's when Felice realized she might lose her if she didn't do something quick.
Appeal to FOMO, she told herself. When thinking about their approach last night, she had considered it a last-resort measure, but she might have to pull it out early. "Look, everybody's going to be there." If we can convince them, she added in her head but did not say that out loud. "You don't want to be the only person missing the biggest social media event of the year, do you? You'd just be sitting here in an empty classroom by yourself. Sounds kinda boring, doesn't it?"
Their turquoise-haired classmate bit her lip, thinking about it for a moment before her eyes looked around the classroom for the few girls she usually hung out with (Felice didn't know their names either. For shame! It's not like Hillerska was a huge school or anything). They were near the door at the moment, talking with Stella and Frederika, and seemed receptive.
Gotcha, Felice thought, knowing the girl was thinking the same.
Finally, the girl sighed. "All right, I'll be there. But I can't guarantee that I'll stay there the entire time! This is why humans invented civilization," she finished with a grumble.
"Yay!" Madison cheered, giving the girl a big grin for the first time since they approached her.
"Don't worry, the crowd will warm you right up," Felice assured her, mentally patting herself in the back for a job well done. One, she reminded herself. They were making headway, but they were just getting started. "You'll be having so much fun, you won't even remember the cold. I promise!"
They were about to move on to their next victim— erm, target— when Maddie remembered something she still wanted to say. Tapping Felice on the shoulder, she signaled for her roommate to wait, and rounded back to the turquoise-haired girl. "By the way, I love your hair!" she said, to which the girl smiled, a little surprised by the abruptness of the compliment, but flattered nonetheless.
Madison leaned with her elbows on the girl's desk. "I was just wondering, though: does that color wash out easily? 'Cause, see, the theme color for the rally is purple—"
"Maddie!" Felice called out, signaling to her that they should move on. No use harassing people any more than they needed to, she figured, even though their classmate would definitely look awesome with purple hair. Their next class would start soon, so they didn't have much time.
Madison gave the girl a sheepish smile. "See you Friday!" she declared, pushing away from the desk and following Felice around the classroom.
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Stella and Fredrika had no qualms about going straight for FOMO right from the get-go.
"So, really, when you think about it, it's going to be more like one big party," Fredrika told the classmate they had ambushed at the entrance to the room. Stella was vaguely aware his name was Emil, but she hadn't interacted much with him since they started Hillerska together. Fredrika might've made out with him at some point, but Stella wasn't 100% sure.
"It'll be fun!" her roommate continued her charm assault. "We'll play some music, wave some protest signs, joke around..." Stella had no idea why she was making it sound like a concert. Or a date, perhaps. But whatever worked, she figured.
"Uh-huh," the boy said, clearly not impressed with the possible entertainment value of the event, though Fredrika didn't seem to notice. "Okay, cool. But can it get me out of our History quiz on Friday?"
Fredrika seemed a bit caught off-guard by the question, so Stella thought she had to jump in, lest they lose the guy. "Right. When do we have History on Friday again? Was that at two?" The new term had just started, after all, and she hadn't quite memorized their new class schedule just yet.
Emil nodded. Stella turned to Fredrika to quietly confer with her. "We might be able to pull that off, right? It will take some time for everybody to make their way outside and for the actual rally to be ready to go. We might not be able to start until one."
Fredrika nodded. "Felice was saying during breakfast that we should be ready to miss the entire rest of the school day," she pointed out since Stella had been late for breakfast that morning and had missed that bit.
"Okay," Stella agreed. They turned back to Emil. "That sounds doable," she told the boy, who seemed satisfied. "If we're all out there by noon, none of us will have to do the quiz. Just make sure all your friends are in on it, as well." Emil agreed that he would pass the news on, and walked past the two girls to finally make his way to his seat.
Fredrika turned to Stella with eyes as wide as plates. "We have a History quiz on Friday?!" she shout-whispered to her roommate. Stella rolled her eyes with a groan. Frederika was so scatterbrained. Shaking her head, Stella started making her way to their desk, since the class was about to start. Fredrika followed close at her heels. "What? I didn't hear anything about a quiz. We've only been back for like two days!"
"Eyes on the prize, Rika," Stella muttered between her teeth. They sat down just a few seconds before their teacher came in, so there was no more time to contemplate their possible impending History class doom.
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Since Simon wasn't going to be in school for at least the next week or so, Felice had offered to sit with Sara until he came back. Because there was a plan in motion, though, the time between classes wasn't conducive to the usual kind of chatter between friends. Case in point, Felice was, at the moment, focused more on the boy sitting on the opposite side of Sara than on Sara herself.
"So, can we count on you to be there?" she asked, smiling at the boy. She didn't know the guy's name— they'd never talked before— but Felice seemed to know him. She was twirling the ends of her hair around her finger as she spoke.
"I don't know." The boy didn't seem convinced by Felice's pitch, as far as Sara could tell. "I mean, it's not that I don't want to go," he added. "Like, I wouldn't mind. Sounds fun, and it can get us out of class, so..." He shook his head. "But I had tutoring with Mr. Englund after classes on Friday. I really shouldn't miss that, I almost failed his class last term as it is."
"Oh, Sara could help you out with it!" Felice said right away, catching Sara herself by surprise. She didn't know when Felice said "say whatever we have to say" last night, that included volunteering Sara to tutor people. "She's really good at maths. She's even here on an academic scholarship and everything!"
Sara frowned. "I'm not—" she started, meaning to correct her misconception. Yes, she was pretty good at maths— numbers came easier to her than more interpretative subjects, like literature and English— but she wasn't at Hillerska on an academic scholarship; her mother paid full tuition for both her and Simon, despite how expensive it was. She did get approved to board at Manor House on a grant, but that had been arguably more about August's influence than about her grades... not that Felice was aware of that.
Felice put a hand on Sara's forearm and gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head, which Sara understood by now meant she shouldn't say what she'd just been about to say. She wasn't sure why it was necessary to lie to this boy, but she trusted Felice enough to know that she'd explain eventually. There were a lot of white lies and half-truths in a regular friendship, she'd come to learn. Not all of them were equally bad, though.
"Yeah," she said instead with a nod. "I can help you. Over the weekend, maybe."
The guy looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time, and smiled at her. "Yeah, okay. I just really need to do well on the first exam, you know, so I won't be on edge for the rest of the semester. But I'll definitely be at the strike. It sucks, what they did to your brother."
Sara smiled at him, grateful for the support. She turned to Felice, who squeezed her forearm and winked at her. Sara wasn't sure what that meant but figured she'd done well. As their Sociology teacher came into the room, the thought crossed her mind that maybe this strike thing would work out, after all.
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"Hey, man," Henry greeted as he pulled back the empty seat beside Wilhelm and sat down. Wilhelm acknowledged him with a nod, pulling his hand away from his mouth where he'd been biting his nails. Knee bouncing incessantly under their desk, he looked around the classroom, watching the girls flit about from group to group trying to get people on board with Friday's strike.
He probably should've been doing more to help, but he'd never been great at small talk; he could pull it off just fine, but it always felt fake and he hated that. Also, he couldn't shake his mother's voice out of his head that the royal family should not put their thumb on the scale for or against a private institution. Of course, he knew some things were too important to stay quiet about— he'd told his mother as much— but he wasn't sure where to draw the line between not doing enough and outright abusing his privilege, and that made him hesitate.
Plus, every time he brought up the strike, people would give him this look, like they knew exactly why he was so invested in getting Simon back to school as soon as possible. Which, okay, they were right for the most part, but also he didn't need people rubbing in every five minutes just how fucking gone he was for that boy.
Still, he should help. This whole damn mess was his fault, after all, so the least he could do was get over the awkwardness of it all and start selling it. "So, uh," he started, looking down at his hands on the desk rather than at Henry, "did you hear about the, um, the strike? On Friday?"
Henry, who was slumped back in his chair with his gaze fixed on his phone's screen, nodded. "Ah, yeah, I think I saw someone talking about it on Insta," he described vaguely, his attention still on whatever he was doing on his phone. "Are you going?"
Wilhelm must've stared at him for like ten full seconds, trying to puzzle together what the inside of Henry's mind must be like for him to even think to ask that question. "Erm, yeah. Yeah, I'll be there," he replied, somewhere between bafflement and amusement. "You?"
Henry shrugged, unbothered, his eyes still glued to his phone. "I don't know. Probably," he said, completely non-committal.
Wilhelm leaned forward on the desk, a hand going up to scratch at the back of his neck. "It..." He cleared his throat. "It would mean a lot if you and some of the other guys could be there," he threw out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "To me, I mean. Personally." He looked at Henry out of the corner of his eye.
That finally got Henry's attention away from the screen, which he promptly turned off before setting the phone facedown on the desk in front of him. "Are we talking, like... 'VIP box at the Euro finals' personally?" he suggested carefully, very clearly trying not to seem too eager.
Once again, Wilhelm could only stare. And approximately 3.5 seconds later, he burst into a giant snort he couldn't hold inside, laughter he then had to cover up with a cough. Honestly, there was something oddly comforting about Henry pretending not to notice the shit being flung at Wilhelm from every direction just so he could continue brownnosing him for personal gain like it was just a normal Tuesday. As annoying as it was to have people sucking up to him all the time, at least Wilhelm could count on Henry's deliberate obliviousness to give him a brief respite from overthinking about everything else.
Besides, as Crown Prince, he probably would be expected to go support the Swedish National Team at their matches. His mother loathed sports-related engagements, and his father wouldn't go by himself. Erik had lived and breathed the blue and yellow, but Wilhelm had never been as into it as his brother had been. He'd have to get used to it now, though. Maybe if he brought a bunch of "friends" with him it would make things less awkward. Maybe it would even give him enough cover to, perhaps, bring Simon as well. If he'd allow it.
He shook himself out of his daydream, mirth still tinging his words. "Sure, Henry," he said, the corners of his mouth crinkled up tightly. "Sounds like a fun time."
"Sweet," Henry returned with a smirk like he could already picture himself in whichever European stadium the Euro finals were meant to take place that summer. Wilhelm didn't know, and he didn't really care, as long as Henry got his ass, and those of their fellow first-year boys, to the rally on Friday.
The ginger-haired boy went back to his phone and Wilhelm leaned sideways against the wall beside him, wondering what Simon was up to while Wilhelm was stuck in a classroom having inane conversations with his ridiculous classmates as part of a harebrained plan to bring the boy he loved back to school.
God, he really hoped this would work.
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They tackled the second and third years while at lunch, or during workies. As most of them had limited interaction with Simon as it was, content to think of him as "that non-boarding socialist kid," getting them involved with the strike was even more like pulling teeth than it had been with the first years.
"Why would I want to help that guy?" Nils asked, without an ounce of self-awareness of how awful he was being, once Felice and Madison finished explaining everything that was going to go down on Friday. "He obviously doesn't belong here. I'd say we're better off if he's gone for good."
Felice glowered at him. It's not that she was surprised that so many rich kids were so arrogant and patronizing to anyone who didn't have money. She'd grown up among them and had probably fallen into those same pitfalls more than once. But even before coming to Hillerska and meeting Sara and Simon, she at least tried to be nice to less privileged people. She could (most of the time) recognize when she was being unfair or insensitive, and actively tried to avoid that, because for all her money, she didn't enjoy hurting people, or putting them down.
But people like Nils? They wouldn't even pretend to be nice. It's like they'd grown up thinking of Draco Malfoy as a role model. Who even did that? They were such cliches. What in the world did anyone ever gain from treating other people like crap? It just made you look like a jerk. Even if it was just for the sake of good PR, treating other people like human beings at least earned you a modicum of goodwill and trust, which, if her father was to be believed (and he was if the value of his assets had anything to say about it), you actually needed in business.
Still, she should've known they'd get the worst pushback from someone like Nils. He was, after all, friends with August.
Felice was about to tell him off when Madison intervened. Having known Maddie for a long time, and having been her roommate and friend for their entire first term at Hillerska, Felice could tell she was as annoyed with Nils as Felice herself was; perhaps more, since she was closer to Simon. But the tone she took was purely transactional. "If you go to the rally on Friday, I'll go on a date with you," she offered, stepping up to him.
Nisse seemed surprised for a moment like he hadn't been expecting that; Felice took it as a good sign. But then his eyes narrowed at Madison, like a poker player trying to suss out a bluff. "Throw in a handjob and you've got yourself a deal."
Felice's scowl deepened. Did he have to be so gross? Who the hell did he think he was, treating Maddie like some kind of slut who would have sex with him just to get a favor back? What an asshole. Once again, she was about to give him a piece of her mind, when Madison cut in, instead.
"You may ask," she declared in a magnanimous tone, nose held high in the air and looking every bit like she was in charge of this... negotiation. "And I may consent if I feel like it that day," she added. Nils, once again, seemed responsive to that, at least for the moment.
Felice thought that might just be it, and so did Nils, apparently, as he looked like he was about to say something in return, but then Madison smirked almost... evilly. It stopped both of them in their tracks. "And if I don't feel like it," she said in a casual tone, almost like she was just talking about the weather, "I can always just rip off your balls." She finished the sentence with an unconcerned shrug, giving Nils a brilliant smile.
Felice swallowed a stunned laugh and turned to see Nisse's reaction. His eyes had widened to roughly the size of baseballs, and as funny as it was, for a second, Felice feared Maddie's audacity might've cost them his presence at the strike— and by extension most of the other third years'. (Not that she didn't think Madison's response was epic, mind you.)
Fortunately for them, Nils was still a gross, horny teenage dickhead, and after a few heartbeats of shock, the remark seemed to, if anything, make him even more eager. "Deal," he said, putting his hand out for Madison to shake.
"Deal," she said confidently, reciprocating the gesture. "Pleasure doing business with you." Then Nils spun on his heel, walking away from them and toward the door with a distinct swagger to his steps.
Felice and Maddie turned to each other and simultaneously burst into laughter. "Tell your friends!" Felice called out to Nisse's retreating back, and then the two girls collapsed on each other, giggling like crazy.
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Wilhelm carefully lined up his shot. It was the last ball, so it's not like he was going to miss it, but there was a certain theatrics to this he had to adhere to. He took a breath, held it for a second, then exhaled, hitting the cue ball with just enough force that it sent the ball rebounding off the opposite-side cushion, then another side and then another, finally disappearing into one of the side pockets with a satisfying clunk.
The crowd of rowdy boys surrounding the pool table erupted into cheers and jeers alike. His opponent groaned and hid his face in his arms. "Sorry, Jan," Wilhelm said, though he was mostly just amused. Apart from his initial turn, Jan had been pretty much just standing there as Wilhelm leisurely cleared the table. "So, since I won, that means you'll be at the strike on Friday, right?" he added, extending a hand for Jan to shake.
"Yeah, yeah," Jan mumbled, sounding reluctant, but accepting Wilhelm's handshake. No way any of these boys was going to lose face in front of their peers by not honoring the results of a wager between upstanding gentlemen. Especially not one against the Crown Prince.
"How are you even so good at this?" Vincent comment from the back of the crowd. He sounded almost angry about it, if Wilhelm had to guess. Through the different challenges Wilhelm had accepted (six or seven so far, because teenage boys were too competitive for their own good), Vincent had made a bunch of snide comments about how he didn't think people "like him" were good at gentlemen's sports. Wilhelm was pretty sure he meant "like him" as in "not straight," even if he never outright said it, and it made Wilhelm's jaw clench with anger every time. But he figured if he wasn't allowed to punch him, the best way to shut him up would be to prove him wrong. And that much Wilhelm could definitely do.
"My dad loves pool, so we have a table at home," he explained as he started pulling the balls out of the pockets and up to the baize bed so they could be racked again. The pool table in the Forest Ridge common room was smaller, clearly not meant to be professional, so Wilhelm had to adjust his technique a bit, but he was still confident that he was better at the game than most of the boys here. "Erik and I used to play a lot when we were younger."
There was silence as he finished resetting the table like he owned it, someone else moving in to rack the balls. As much as these boys' opinion of him might've soured after the sex tape, no one would dare make a sneering remark when the former Crown Prince's name still hung in the air. They all knew better.
Wilhelm's grip tightened almost painfully around his cue stick. "All right, then," he called out loud, looking around the Forest Ridge common room at his fellow students' uncertain expressions, "who's up next?"
A rumble went around the room again as three or four more of them lined up to play against him, though not all of them did. It didn't matter, anyway; he'd roped enough of them in already that the rest would gravitate toward the strike regardless because that's where everybody else would be.
As his next opponent finally stepped up to the table, Wilhelm lined up his cue stick for the break shot and started the game over.
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They were reasonably certain that someone in the school's administration had to have heard about the strike by the time Thursday rolled around, but none of them had been hauled to the headmistress's office just yet, so just to be safe, they had people do all the prep work for the strike at the palace, between and after classes.
That was around the time the girls really started getting the feeling that their plan might just work out after all. That was because people actually seemed to start having fun with it, with groups coming in and out of the place until late, the more creative types helping the rest make their protest signs, and people throwing out funny or incisive ideas left and right. The girls and Wilhelm weaved periodically among them, handing out markers and cardboard and paper stock they'd had Sara's mom bring them from Bjärstad "for a school project." It was a bit like Felice had said: they weren't making it about Simon, per se, but making it an event, a reason for people to hang out together and have fun, and for their purposes, that was more than enough.
But of course, whenever you put that many dumb teenagers in the same place and gave them any sort of responsibility, there were bound to be at least a couple of them who simply refused to take things seriously.
"...Really?" Stella said, staring down at Walter's protest sign, which he had spent an inordinate amount of time working on for the effort it required, and which he had just finished. It now said "SKOLSTREJK FÖR KLIMATET" in big, bold, black block letters.
Henry snuck a peek over Stella's shoulder and snorted. "Isn't your father on the board of Preem?" he asked with a smirk.
"Yeah," Walter replied, looking mighty pleased with himself. "It's supposed to be ironic."
Henry laughed some more, and Stella turned her head to glare at him. He recoiled slightly, his snickers fizzling out quickly at her obvious displeasure. Stella rolled her eyes. She was so glad she'd never taken him up on his request to hook up; first-year boys were so immature.
She then turned her glare on Walter, who was doing his best to look like an innocent little lamb (and failing). "Change it," she warned him in a no-nonsense voice, tossing an unused marker at him. It hit him on the head, prompting him to close his eyes with a cringe, then bounced off his hair and fell to the floor, rolling a few centimeters away from his knee. He reached out a hand to keep it from getting away from him.
Now that the boys looked properly chastised, Stella walked past them and toward the next group of students who were, thankfully, putting much more of an effort into actually being helpful.
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Outside, Felice had pulled Wilhelm, Madison, and Sara for an "emergency meeting." Wilhelm assumed the school had finally caught up with their plans, and they were perhaps demanding they stop, or something along those lines. He was surprised, however, when Felice started her explanation with, "So, my mother just called."
"Did she find out about the strike?" Wilhelm asked straight away, because his main priority at the moment, aside from getting Simon's suspension rescinded, was for his friends not to get hurt in the process. "Is she angry at you?"
"Oh, no, I knew she was going to hear about it," Felice said, sounding a little surprised by the question, but generally not sharing Wilhelm's level of concern. "She follows me on Instagram, so she would've seen it anyway."
Wilhelm nodded. He figured if she wasn't worried about her mother's reaction, neither should he. "Okay. What's the problem, then?"
"Well, you know how we weren't really speaking during the break? Because of the Lucia thing?" Wilhelm nodded. Felice had mentioned something along those lines in their text conversations during the break. Madison and Sara nodded as well. "Well, she must be trying to get back into my good graces or something, because she called to give me advice."
Madison scoffed. "Advice for the strike?"
Felice looked like she couldn't quite wrap her head around it herself. "I know. But honestly, I think she might actually know what she's talking about this time." She passed on her mother's assertion that, while making noise at Hillerska and getting the students' support was all well and good, if they really wanted to put pressure on the school, they had to get to the parents.
"Which means," she concluded, "it's not enough to get attention on social media. We need to get the attention of the actual media."
"Why would the news ever pick up this story, though?" Sara asked smartly. "They wouldn't care what happens at some random school over the fate of one student. It's not even a public school, either, so they can't even blame the Ministry of Education."
"Maybe we could get in as a kind of fluff piece?" Madison suggested. "They do those sometimes, right?"
Felice turned to look at Wilhelm and seemed hesitant about whatever she was about to suggest. Wilhelm had a feeling whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it. "They might pick it up," she finally said, pausing to bite at her bottom lip, "if the Crown Prince speaks at the rally."
Wilhelm felt something cold tug at the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat. "No— Felice, I—" He shook his head, emphatic. "I can't. I'm not allowed to speak in public about political issues."
"This isn't a political issue, though," she insisted. To her credit, it didn't seem to be happy or enthusiastic about having to ask him this. If anything, she seemed conscious of and empathetic to his reluctance. But she still insisted. "Simon is your friend, right?" she added, emphasizing the word "friend" like he needed a reminder of the official palace position on what his relationship with Simon, or lack thereof, entailed. "Surely no one would judge you for wanting to help him."
Wilhelm felt like bursting into hysterical laughter. Of course people would judge him. They always did. Those who didn't believe his statement of denial back in December would never believe Simon was "just a friend" to him— and thus accuse him of favoritism. Those who did believe his statement that he was not involved with Simon would be even angrier because he should not use the weight of his title to aid some nobody classmate who wasn't even that close to him. No matter how you looked at it, he couldn't win. Volunteering for such scrutiny on national television was pretty much his worst nightmare. And he wasn't even sure that it wouldn't make things worse. Somehow it always did.
Felice pursed her lips, apologetic. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I'm not going to force you or anything; it's up to you. Just... think about it?" she prompted softly. "I think it could really help."
Wilhelm nodded shakily. "I'll think about it," he conceded. Every cell in his body was constricting with apprehension at the prospect. But if it made the difference between the strike failing or achieving its goal... He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It didn't help much. He took his thumb up to his mouth and started chewing on his nail almost subconsciously.
"In the meantime, maybe we can reach out to media contacts ourselves?" Madison suggested, probably understanding from Wilhelm's incessant anxious ticks that a "maybe" was as far as he could go at the moment. "Felice, maybe your father knows someone?"
"I'm sure he does, but it's tricky," Felice admitted, a little crestfallen. "He puts out press releases all the time, but it's all done through the company, and asking him to put the company's name behind this is..." She winced. "...It's a lot."
"Yeah," Maddie agreed with a huff. "I figure most people at school would be in a similar situation. It's one thing to stand in a crowd of people and wave a piece of cardboard, and a whole other thing to put your parents' business reputation where your mouth is." She put her hands on her hips. "Unless you know someone who has a journalist for a parent? I can't think of anyone off the top of my head."
Felice shook her head. Wilhelm shrugged. But then Sara spoke up. "Isn't August's stepfather a media investor?"
The cold tug in Wilhelm's stomach transformed into a dense, heavy iceberg. "No," he said, shaking his head as he stumbled backward a bit on his feet.
It wasn't that Sara was wrong; Rickard had made most of his fortune investing in media corporations, so he had plenty of pull when it came to their operations. That was, in fact, one of the reasons why Louise's second marriage was seen as something of a joke within the nobility: royalty very deliberately did not get involved in romantic relationships with media personalities, as it could be a massive conflict of interest. But Louise had bucked that unwritten rule, and now the snide comments followed her wherever she went.
It only got worse when Rickard lost most of his fortune. His portfolio had originally mostly involved established media outlets, but shortly after his marriage he and his business partners entered a new venture: a pro-business, center-right (or perhaps more right than center) multiplatform conglomerate to cater to what they thought was an untapped market in Sweden. Turns out, they were wrong. The company never caught on among the better-established Swedish television networks and online news distribution platforms, and it was shuttered down a little over a year later, leaving Rickard, and by extension Louise and August, bankrupt.
Rickard was probably still close with many people in the business, though; Sara was decidedly right about that. But getting a favor from Rickard would have to involve talking to August, and Wilhelm's blood froze in his veins just thinking about it.
Sara frowned at him. "What do you mean? I'm pretty sure he is."
Wilhelm shook his head emphatically. "I mean no, we're not bringing August into this," he retorted, putting as much certainty in his words as he could. He wanted there to be no doubt that trusting August with anything remotely related to Simon's situation was one hundred percent off the table.
Sara glared at him. "Don't be stupid. This could be the one thing that actually helps Simon—"
"Why would August ever want to help Simon?!" he threw back. He didn't understand why Sara was pushing this. Shouldn't she be as angry at August as all of them were? "He's the one who fucking did this to us in the first place!" Wilhelm didn't know if Madison was aware of August's part in the whole sex tape thing, but she didn't seem surprised when he blurted that out, so he assumed Felice had probably already looped her in.
Sara shook her head. "I'm not saying you have to forgive him. But are you going to let this entire plan fail, and Simon's future along with it, just because you refuse to talk to August?"
Wilhelm's gut clenched painfully. "So, we can try something else. We can ask people, there's gotta be someone else—"
Sara didn't let him finish. "When? The strike is tomorrow!"
Wilhelm gritted his teeth. She was right, but it grated on him. How could he even begin to explain to her that every time he so much as became aware of being anywhere in August's vicinity, he felt like he was going to throw up? He couldn't help the visceral reaction he experienced at the mere mention of August's name. If he had to stand anywhere near his second cousin, let alone actually talk to him, he couldn't be held responsible for what he might do.
"How would we even get him to cooperate with us, anyway?" Felice intervened. She seemed just as skeptical as Wilhelm felt, but also more willing to hear Sara out. Perhaps that was for the best because Wilhelm felt like his head was about to explode. "If we had something we could hold over him, maybe that would work, but the Crown already cleaned up his involvement with the tape, and none of us has talked to him in weeks. And it's not like he's going to just trust any of us. I broke up with him via Instagram Story, and Wille..." She signaled to him. "Well. You know."
Sara shrugged almost like this was a non-issue. "So I'll do it."
Madison and Felice exchanged a puzzled gaze. "But how?" Felice insisted. "Have you ever even interacted with him at all? I mean, apart from that one time..." She trailed off, frowning. Wilhelm didn't know what "that one time" was, but Felice seemed almost disturbed by it. "Sara, what...?"
Wilhelm shook his head again. "No. I can't let you do this," he declared, tugging at his hair with one hand. "August uses people, Sara. He manipulates everyone around him for his own benefit. There's no way I'm letting him do that to you."
Sara glared at him and crossed her arms around her torso, obviously defensive. "I can take care of myself. I'm not stupid."
"That's not what I—" He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing at his face with his hands. "Remember how you said Simon wouldn't like me paying for a lawyer for him? Well, you should take your own advice, because I know for a fact that your brother would hate this."
Felice took a step closer to the center of the misshapen circle they had formed for maximum privacy. "I agree with Wille, Sara. August is going to have it out for you from the start just because you're friends with us. I think we can try, but I don't think we should trust him, and I definitely don't think you should talk to him alone."
Wilhelm nodded, heaving out a rough, resolute breath. "We do this together, or we don't do it at all."
Sara remained quiet for a moment as if measuring the two options in her mind. Felice and Wilhelm waited for her decision expectantly. Madison diverted her gaze between the three of them in turn, like she was watching a really intriguing TV show.
Finally, Sara decided. "Okay, fine. We all go." In the end, Maddie stayed behind at the palace— someone had to "supervise" the preparation activities for the strike— while the other three started in the direction of Forest Ridge, in search of the person they least expected, or ever wanted, to need in these circumstances.
.
.
Author's notes!—
(Lots of notes for this one, so strap in.)
The Starbucks "fall staple" Felice mentions is, of course, the pumpkin spice latte. Which I have never tried and don't ever intend to try, and as such I cannot independently confirm its true appeal with any individual group of people, including gay people. FOMO means "fear of missing out," for all the olds out there like myself who may need clarification lol; I can't even tell if the acronym's outdated by now. The UEFA European Championship, aka the EuroCup, is a Europe-wide men's football (as in soccer) championship that takes place every four years. Because of the pandemic, the 2020 edition was postponed until 2021; the finals took place at Wembley Stadium in London, with Italy winning the title and the UK coming in second. I know the show is pretending that COVID doesn't exist so in theory there should have been no Euro finals in the year this story takes place, but we gotta give poor Henry something, don't we? (He's gonna get the short end of the stick anyway, since Sweden was knocked out by Ukraine in the round of 16.)
(Somebody write me a fic about Wilhelm and Simon sneaking around to make out/get it on during the Euro finals, stat.)
Draco Malfoy is a character in the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Felice's call of "tell your friends!" is a reference to the show Julie and the Phantoms, which I also love and would very much appreciate if Netflix would renew already. "Skolstrejk för klimatet," literally translated to "school strike for the climate," is the slogan on Greta Thunberg's now-famous protest sign. (Okay, okay, I'll cool it with the Greta jokes now. It's just right there because she's also Swedish.) Preem is a Swedish petrol company, one of the largest in the country if I'm not mistaken; it started life as a state entity, but in 1994 it was sold to an Ethiopian-Saudi businessman, who still owns it to this day. The Ministry of Education and Research is the ministry in Sweden that is responsible for overseeing educational institutions, including schools; while they have responsibility over all schools, they're, of course, way more directly involved when it comes to public schools than private ones.
I'm not sure about this, but I think the pink-haired girl might be a second- or third-year student. I'll use her as a first year here, though, just because I like her hair. The mention of "Lisa" as a possible name for her is a small tribute to Young Royals creator Lisa Ambjörn, and also a humble request in case any of the powers that be are reading this (they're not, but let me have my delusions) to please give us more minor character names. I needs 'em. This is why most of the random students they recruit are unnamed, though of course there's Henry and Walter (aka "those two guys." I love them, the pair of little shits), Nils, and Vincent (whom I hate with a passion. I mean, August is the worst, but at least he's got layers. Vincent is just a pig). Oh, and poor Jan needs to internalize that he is just not good at pool (he gets trounced by Vincent in episode five, too). The story of Rickard's bankruptcy is pretty much all made up (doesn't he totally seem like a Fox Business kind of guy, though?). The part about there being a stigma to royalty marrying journalists does hold a grain of truth, however; I remember it being a Very Big Deal for "royal observers" when Prince (now King) Felipe of Spain married his wife, Letizia.
Next up: August enters the chat. (Sorry.) Feel free to yell at me on Tumblr (girls-are-weird) or Twitter (girls_are_weird) for subjecting you to such torture.