Start a Riot, Chapter 6. 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: TW - description of a panic attack. I'd like to think it's not very detailed, as it's someone else's PoV of the person having the panic attack, but still, if this is going to negatively affect you, you may want to skip the third scene. Please take care of yourselves.
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Mr. Englund came into the classroom a couple of minutes before noon, and the students did their stand up/greet him back/sit down routine. Wilhelm looked around at his classmates' faces. They all knew they didn't have to do it— there wouldn't be a class today— but it was almost automatic by now.
Their teacher seemed to be aware of that, as well. "I'm told you are all planning some sort of protest action today," he started, leaning against the edge of his desk with a disgruntled expression. "The administration has asked me to remind you that truancy is a school offense, and anyone caught skipping class without a valid excuse may be subject to disciplinary action."
So the school did know. That was fine, though; it didn't really make a difference at that point. There was silence for maybe a second or two before Felice stood up. She gave their maths teacher a polite smile. "Thanks for the warning, Mr. Englund," she said, "but some things are more important than class."
She turned to Madison, who was sitting beside her with a huge grin on her face, and extended her hand. Madison bent down to grab a cardboard sign that was resting against the foot of her desk, then handed it to Felice. It said "DO BETTER" in big block letters, much like Felice's initial Instagram post had. She turned to look at the rest of the students sitting behind her. "Everyone, we're meeting up at the front steps of the main building, around the fountain! Let's do this!"
There was a flurry of voices, sounds, and movement as everybody started getting up, exchanging excited chatter with each other, and pulling signs and banners out from under their desks. Soon everybody was filing out of the room, the girls splitting up in the hallway outside to make sure people from other classrooms knew where to go.
Soon, the classroom was nearly empty, save for Mr. Englund and Wilhelm, who still sat at his desk, smiling to himself. The older man sighed. "Well, Your Royal Highness, you might as well go. It seems we're not going to have a class today."
Wilhelm flipped the notebook in front of him closed— he wasn't sure why he'd thought to bring a notebook to the class that day; probably just being pessimistic— and smiled up at the man. "That's quite all right, Mr. Englund," he said. He stood up, grabbed his stuff, and nodded at his teacher. "Have a nice day." With that, he walked out, dropped his things at his locker, grabbed his coat, and put it on, listening for the murmur of voices nearby as more and more people made their way out of classrooms and out of the building.
They were really doing this. And it was going to work.
It had to.
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Felice grinned brightly as she looked down at the crowd congregated at the base of the steps— dozens and dozens of her fellow students, bundled up against the cold, but dancing and clapping and waving colorful signs in the air and chanting loudly when prompted, phones up and recording. Madison had set up her speakers in the corner and was playing what she called her "Stick It to the Man" playlist as background music. Fredrika had somehow procured them an electric megaphone, apparently out of thin air (where she found such a thing anywhere within school grounds, Felice had no idea), and they were taking turns hyping up the crowd.
"...And is that what we want everyone to think of us?" Fredrika spoke into the megaphone, her voice getting louder and louder the more worked up she got. "All of Sweden is looking at us right now!" she added, pointing toward Maddie, who was in charge of live streaming the rally on Felice's phone. "It's bad enough that they already know us as that school with the sex tape. Now we're also going to be the homophobic school. I don't know about you guys, but I am not okay with that!"
The crowd hollered, a few of the signs being waved even more enthusiastically at her words. Felice took a second to read them and smiled proudly. Some were straight to the point— "YOU SAY JUSTIFIED PUNISHMENT, WE SAY HOMOPHOBIA"— while others crammed eloquent messages into barely enough space in tightly squished letters— "Your decision to judge a person for their sexual orientation, relationships, or situations outside of their control defines your character, not theirs." One that Felice particularly liked read "Things that are actual problems:" followed by checkboxes for "same-sex relationships," "love," "intimacy," and last but not least, "SLEAZEBAGS LURKING OUTSIDE WINDOWS WITH A CAMERA." (Only the last option was checked.)
"The administration did this without thinking how it would affect the rest of us," Fredrika continued. Felice snuck a glance behind her, where Headmistress Lilja, the school counselor (Boris, was it?), and a few of the teachers stood just off to the side near the main entrance of the building, watching everything that was going on but not intervening. Right to protest and all— there really wasn't much they could do, other than possibly take disciplinary action (which they wouldn't; not against every single student, and pretty much everyone was out in force).
"This could follow us everywhere we go!" Frederika added. "Do you want to be labeled a homophobe when you're making business deals, chatting with your peers at the golf club, or in the middle of an international conference? I know I don't!" The crowd roared at that. Felice tried not to roll her eyes; trust them rich kids to revolt at the idea of having their golf time soiled. But hey, whatever worked. "So join me in telling the administration that we will not stand for this!"
Fredrika passed the megaphone to Stella, who took over moderator duties for a bit. "It's not just that, either!" she declared. "By blaming the person who was in the video, instead of looking for the person who took the video, they're basically telling us that we're on our own if this ever happens again." She shook her head. The crowd erupted into boos. Felice spotted several signs relating directly to this particular issue— straightforward ones such as "STOP VICTIM-BLAMING," "BLAME THE SYSTEM, NOT THE VICTIM," and "If you blame the victim, you stand for the culprit."
"How can the school assure our parents of our safety if they just let this happen?" Stella continued. "I've started keeping my drapes closed at all times because I don't know when the next sicko will peek in on me! And I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. We shouldn't have to live in fear like this. Am I right, girls?"
The crowd cheered, more and more signs coming to life as she spoke. Some of these were a little more imaginative, too, like the ones that read "OPEN DRAPES ARE NOT CONSENT," "Decent humans don't record other people without their permission," and— Felice had to snicker because, oh, she so hoped August stuck around long enough that morning to catch sight of this last one— "My open window is not at fault for your moral depravity."
"And it's not just girls!" Stella added, pointing directly to a sign held by a second-year girl near the front that read "BOYS CAN BE VICTIMS TOO" in big square letters. "We know they never would've done this if this had happened to a girl, right? It would've looked terrible! But because it was two boys, they don't care. And to make it worse, only one of the boys got punished! We all know why, too. Can they be any more obvious with their favoritism?"
The crowd below jeered, and Felice noted more signs relating to this being lifted high— "ENOUGH OF THE RICH KIDS CLUB" caught her attention because it was unexpected (she'd definitely ask around to find whose sign that was later), and "THIS IS A SCHOOL, SO EDUCATE YOUR DUDEBROS" near the back, which made her chuckle.
"This awful decision by the school administration affects all of us," Stella finished up her bit, gesturing to the entirety of the crowd with her hand. "That means we have to keep pushing until they take it back! Are you guys with us?" The crowd went wild.
Stella handed the megaphone to Felice then, as it was her turn. She moved closer to the center of the top step so that everyone could see her. "Hi, everybody! I'm so glad you're all here to support the strike and that you're all so pumped up to get our demands heard." The crowd cheered and clapped in response.
As she thought about what she wanted to say next, her gaze fell on one more sign she had forgotten about. It was Walter who held it up in the air— Felice was pretty sure Maddie had hoisted it onto him right before the rally started because his original sign, a black-and-white one that said "IT SUCKS THAT I HAVE TO BE HERE," was vetoed by pretty much all the girls in unison when he proudly showed it to them that morning. (Henry might still be carrying it, but at least he wasn't holding it up for everyone and their cameras to see.) His new sign said, in purple sparkly letters, "SIMON DOESN'T DESERVE THIS."
Felice smiled, finally settling on her next words. "Stella's right that this is an institutional issue, and it affects all of us. But I don't want us to lose sight of the fact that some among us are affected more, and more directly, than most. Whenever we witness injustice, we have to think about more than just ourselves, and keep in mind the people who truly are affected the most by it."
Her audience was quiet, and Felice could imagine they were wondering where she was going with this. "I know most of you don't know Simon very well. I don't either; just from the choir, but we don't talk much. But I would like to be his friend! He sounds like a great guy. At least that's what I hear from some of my friends, and so I think if we want to remind ourselves that we're doing this for Simon, it's only fair to pass the megaphone to the people who really know him."
"Like biblically?!" came the exclamation from the back of the crowd. A few people ooh-ed and laughed at the stupid comment. Felice did roll her eyes this time, disappointed at the immaturity. It wasn't hard to figure out whose voice that had been.
Madison, who had been standing off to the side recording everything, pulled Felice's arm, which was holding the megaphone, slightly to the side so she could speak into it. Or more like growl into it. "Just because you're the Virgin Mary, doesn't mean everyone else has to be, Vincent!" she fired out in English. The crowd ooh-ed even louder.
"Maddie!" Felice chastised her in a mutter, keeping the megaphone away from her so no one apart from Madison would be able to hear her. "If we're on TV, we don't want to give them a reason to cut away from us. Can we keep the sacrilege to a minimum, please?"
"Right. Sorry," Madison said, giving her roommate a sheepish grin. Then she pulled the megaphone back up to her mouth and said, "My apologies to the Virgin Mary. She's cool." She paused, and for a moment Felice was afraid she was going to tell Vincent to fuck off (profanity was going to get them off the air for sure!), but she seemed to think better of it and instead released Felice's arm, gesturing for her to continue.
"Anyways," Felice said into the megaphone, then turned to look in Sara's direction. Her newest friend had stayed off to the side, looking a little bit overwhelmed by the crowd, but also kind of excited, if that was possible? Felice thought this situation might be the kind where her autism might affect her, but she couldn't be sure, and she hadn't had time to ask. At least Sara wasn't keeping her distance because of what happened with August the previous evening, though; that much, Felice was absolutely certain of.
After the nurse had cleaned and bandaged Sara's cut on the back of her hand, Felice had been about to leave, honestly too upset at everything she'd learned and thinking she needed to cool down before she could think about it calmly. But Sara had begged her to stay so she could explain, and given that she was hurt and already crying for different reasons on top of that, Felice couldn't say no.
So Sara had explained. All the way from her parents' divorce, how her father's addiction had hurt her, and how she felt her mother should've acted earlier— though she understood now that it wasn't that easy, but when you're a kid, especially a neurodivergent one, and the world is crumbling around you, you can't help the way you feel.
All through the bullying at Marieberg, and how she always felt like a freak, even though her bullies weren't any better than her except in the way their brain processed the world around them. How much she loved her brother for always protecting her and supporting her, but also how she resented him sometimes because it felt like his constant hovering implied that she was incapable of taking care of herself.
How she always wished she could just be normal, and how she thought starting at Hillerska might give her that opportunity: to fit in, to have friends who didn't look down on her for being autistic, to be just a regular girl. Even if she had to change herself to do so, pretend to be fancy, pretend to be someone else. It was better than being excluded. She liked it. It made her happy, for the first time in a long time.
How being with August felt a bit like she'd achieved that goal. Sara admitted she'd liked fooling around with him, but it had never felt quite right, and sooner rather than later the guilt started eating at her. She'd betrayed her brother, the only person in the world who had never failed her, and she'd have to atone for that. And then August started stealing her pills, and that had been the last straw. She'd done the wrong thing in a moment of weakness, of insecurity, and she was so very sorry.
By the time she finished her story, they'd missed dinner, and it was almost lights out. Sara had been crying so hard that Felice could not for a second doubt that she was being sincere. What little anger she'd been holding onto fizzled out quickly, and taking her distraught friend in her arms, she assured Sara that she wasn't mad. She didn't mind that she'd hooked up with Felice's ex mere days after she broke up with him. She didn't care one bit for August, and the "girl code" didn't apply to him, as far as she was concerned. And she could understand making a rash decision out of insecurity; that's how Felice herself had ended up dating August to begin with, after all.
But she was disappointed that Sara had gone to him even after witnessing from Felice's experience what a piece of shit August was, that she'd even be capable of going behind her brother's back like that, and that she'd then pretended not to know about the video when Felice told her. That was a lie, she explained, and it hurt when a friend lied to you. It broke their trust.
Felice was hurt, but it didn't mean they weren't friends anymore. Sara just had to make sure she never did anything like that again, which the girl promptly promised. Felice assured her that she didn't have to change herself to fit in— dressing up and giving each other makeovers was fun and all, but it didn't really matter; Felice liked her no matter what she wore. And Sara was clearly trying to make up for betraying Simon now, so that counted for something.
So there was still a little residual tension there, but they were still good friends. It made no sense to hold a grudge when they would see each other and have to interact with each other every day. And Felice really liked having someone in her life who wasn't hung up on status. Who was real. Sara had fallen into that quicksand once, but at least she seemed determined to make up for her mistakes, even if the stress of it all could be triggering. She told Felice she wanted to do this— Felice wouldn't have asked.
She lifted the megaphone to her mouth. "I'm hoping Sara can tell us a little bit about her brother," she said, though it came out more like a question. Sara was listening, and expecting the request, but she still hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and accepting the megaphone when Felice handed it to her.
Sara stepped up to the front, tentative. Some in the crowd were nice enough to cheer in encouragement for her, particularly most of their fellow first years, who were standing near the front. Felice was glad for that, and it seemed to buoy Sara enough to give her the last push she needed. "Hi— hi, everyone," she said into the megaphone. More cheers and scattered applause. Sara smiled. "I appreciate that you're all here trying to help Simon. He doesn't know we're doing this, but if he knew, I'm sure he'd be... pleasantly surprised."
Felice did not miss the pause there, and it made her chuckle. Sara always had trouble saying things that were outright falsehoods, so sometimes she used roundabout ways of saying something that was... somewhat true, but not quite the same. Felice was sure Simon would be less than impressed that a bunch of rich kids who don't know him and mostly look down on him had shown up to support the strike for a thousand self-serving reasons that didn't involve him at all, and he probably wouldn't be grateful to them for it. "Pleasant surprise" was... somewhat more plausible, though. If you stretched the meaning of "pleasant."
"For those who don't know us," Sara continued, pointedly not looking at the crowd, but rather everywhere else, "Simon is my younger brother, and he's my best friend. He's really smart, he's funny, and he loves singing and dancing. He always takes care of me and Mamma. I know he can seem kind of standoffish a lot of the time, but that's just because he's trying to protect himself and the people he loves. He'd be anyone's friend if they only treat him as an equal. And Simon would do anything for his friends. He didn't even think twice about switching schools to help me out."
She paused for a second and pursed her lips before continuing. "I really like it here at Hillerska, and I want Simon to feel that way, too. So, thanks for being here, and..." She shook her head. "That's it, I guess. Thank you." She smiled shakily at the crowd and quickly handed the megaphone back to Felice, who grinned at her and clapped in a supportive manner. This prompted the crowd below them to clap as well, as if they'd just woken up from being caught off-guard by the somewhat abrupt conclusion to Sara's speech. Sara went back to the side, where Maddie welcomed her with a one-armed side hug.
Felice spoke into the megaphone again. "Okay, so—"
"Yo, is the prince going to speak?!" came a holler from the back of the crowd, interrupting what Felice had been about to say. She looked over there to try and see if she could find who it was, but she couldn't tell.
They weren't alone, though. "Yeah, Wilhelm should say something!" someone else yelled from the left. Felice floundered a bit. She'd told Wille he didn't need to give a speech if he didn't want to, but now the crowd was organically breaking out into a chant of "Wille! Wille! Wille!" and she was afraid if they didn't give the people what they want, they might lose what little interest they posed to stations carrying the rally on TV.
Felice looked helplessly at her friends and fellow strike organizers. "Where's Wille?" she mouthed, lowering the megaphone. Her friends all responded with shrugs and clueless head shakes. The chant continued, unabated. If anything, it was getting louder the longer they took to figure things out.
"I'll go look for him," Sara mouthed back, running around Madison, past the school staff, and into the main school building. Felice turned back to the crowd, at a loss of what to do. She called Stella, Fredrika, and Madison into a huddle to figure out what else they could say to keep the crowd engaged until Sara came back. Hopefully, she'd come back with Wille.
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As Sara walked into the mostly empty building, the first person she saw was Wilhelm's bodyguard— the female one— standing in the main hallway. She seemed to be standing at attention like she did when she was guarding Wilhelm, but Wilhelm didn't appear to be anywhere nearby.
She was about to ask the woman where her charge was (and probably get herself bounced away as she wasn't particularly a known associate of the prince's) when she heard a desperate gasp coming from her left. There, in the first landing of the stairs, just hidden from view of the windows by the turn of the corner, was Wilhelm. He was standing, but leaning nearly the entire weight of his upper half against the wall, frantically trying to draw air into his lungs.
Sara was taken aback for a second. She knew very well what a panic attack looked like— anxiety is a comorbidity (or maybe even a symptom of) both ASD and ADHD, so she'd had to deal with panic attacks often, back before she was properly diagnosed, and before they found the best medication for her. She didn't know Wilhelm also had them, though. It seemed odd that someone with such resources would have to struggle like this, but maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising. Anxiety disorders could happen to anyone.
Deciding that she needed to do something, she turned to the bodyguard. She briefly considered asking her to get the nurse, but she thought Wilhelm might not want to draw attention to this, especially with the media's eyes on the school— not to mention a medical emergency would take attention away from the strike itself. "The prince is having a panic attack," she said. The older woman's eyes widened, and Sara figured Wilhelm must've managed to keep his heaving quiet enough that his bodyguard hadn't heard him. No time to parse that now, though. "I'm Sara, Simon's sister. I can help him through it, but could you get him a glass of water, please? He'll need it after."
The woman nodded and rushed to the kitchens to do what Sara requested. Sara made her way halfway up the stairs, approaching the prince. "Wilhelm?" she called out carefully. She saw him tense up, and it took a couple more deep gulps of air before he looked up and at her. "I don't know what triggered this, but I wanna help you with it, okay? Can you try to focus on me for a second?"
Wilhelm didn't outwardly respond, only kept breathing heavily, but he kept his gaze on Sara, which was good enough. "Can you sit down? It'll be easier for you if you're sitting down." He didn't move of his own accord, but let Sara pull him until she got him sitting down on the top step before the landing.
His hands immediately went for his head (to pull at his hair, maybe), but Sara intercepted them. "Wille? You're doing great. Can you look at me, please?" He did so, though it looked like it took an unspeakable amount of energy just for him to lift his gaze. His arms were shaking under her hold. "Okay, that's good. Now, I need you to watch me breathe, okay? In and out. Slowly. Can you do that?" He managed to nod that time. She breathed deeply a few times herself, to show him how to do it, then asked him to try and match her.
He did so, shakily and off-rhythm at first, but after a minute or so, he managed to coordinate his breathing with hers. They kept at it for a little while longer, until his breathing was stable. He was still trembling like a leaf, though. His bodyguard, who had come up behind them in the interim, handed Sara a glass of cold water, which she passed onto Wilhelm. Once he wasn't running on a parched throat, she had him put his head between his legs and count out loud. In Sara's experience, focusing on a mundane, repetitive task kept you from thinking back to whatever caused your anxiety in the first place.
It took maybe ten, fifteen minutes for him to be able to breathe easily and stop shaking. Sara knew Felice and the others were probably worried, but at the moment, getting Wilhelm up and running was the most important thing. Once he felt calm enough, he sat back up, wiping tears from his eyes. "Thanks," he mumbled in a scratchy tone, not meeting her eyes.
"No problem. You're the one who did the hard work," Sara said. Pushing herself to a standing position from the crouch she'd been in almost the whole time (her knees were starting to hurt), she looked the prince over, just to make sure that nothing else was wrong. "Was it the rally?" she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. "Felice said you don't have to speak if you don't want to."
"I have to, though," Wilhelm retorted with a shake of his head. "I want— I have to tell them. Not just the students here, but everyone. That it was me on the tape." He finally looked up at her. He still looked shaken. "Right? That's what Simon wants."
Sara frowned, not expecting him to bring that back up now of all times. She figured he'd already denied it, and what was done, was done. But he could take it back, she guessed. She didn't know how much of a difference it would make for everyone— some people still believed it was him even though he denied it, and some people would still believe it wasn't him even if he said it was— but it would probably make a huge difference to her brother. And still...
She pursed her lips, shifting her weight a little on her feet. "I think... I think Simon would want you to be okay," was what she settled on after some thought.
For some reason, Wille looked like she'd just punched him in the stomach. Sara looked into his wide, watery eyes, wondering if she should ask what she said wrong, but then he tilted his head down, ran his hands over his face with a groan, then ran them through his hair (thankfully not pulling this time). Keeping his gaze down on the steps in front of him, he took a deep breath— not a gulping one like before, but rather a calming one— and nodded, mostly to himself. "Okay," he said, and with one last sniff, stood up, squaring his shoulders and straightening his clothes.
"So you're not going to speak?" Sara asked.
"No, I will," Wille replied. Sara didn't understand. She was about to ask why, but he started speaking again. "Could you... could you not tell Simon about this, please?" he asked, referring to his panic attack, most likely. He cleared his throat. "It's... I know it's a lot."
"He doesn't know?" she asked. Wilhelm shook his head. "You should tell him," Sara assured him, much like Wilhelm had urged her to tell her brother about August the previous night. "He'll understand." She knew that for a fact because Simon was the one who had always been there for her when she had dealt with anxiety over the years. He'd be there for Wille, too, if he knew. He would want to help.
Wilhelm nodded. He turned toward the window, looking at the crowd outside. Sara noted that the girls were still trying to hype everyone up, but the chanting had died down. Not surprising, really; no way they could maintain that level of enthusiasm for twenty minutes straight.
"Let's go," Wilhelm said in what she thought sounded like a determined tone, starting his way down the steps. He assured his clearly concerned bodyguard that he was okay and there was no need to call for medical attention, then made for the exit. Sara followed him, half worried and half puzzled. She didn't know what he was going to say, but she hoped it didn't make things worse, either for her brother or for Wille himself.
The moment the Crown Prince stepped through the doorway, there was an absolute furor from the crowd, and the chants of "Wille! Wille! Wille!" resumed in full force.
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Simon was just pulling a bowl of shredded beef out of the microwave when the obnoxious knocking began.
His mom had taken to coming home for lunch every day during Simon's two-week suspension. Just so he wouldn't have to spend the entire day on his own, she said (or, as Rosh had more colorfully put it, so he wouldn't "haunt the house like a Victorian ghost" until his penance was over). Simon appreciated his mother's effort; by day five he was bored out of his mind, and he could only play videogames for so long, especially since the only other gamers online during Sweden's school/office hours that he could somewhat effectively communicate with were a rowdy, overly competitive bunch of Australians.
So every afternoon around one, Simon would put together something for lunch (nothing complicated— he wasn't a particularly good cook— but just leftovers or whatever quick re-jig he could manage from those leftovers), and have it mostly ready when his mother got home, so she wouldn't have to waste time with it. Today, he'd been just laying out the fixings for sandwiches made from last night's carne mechada when his mother arrived, and he thought he'd have time to plate real quick without any interruptions while she was in the bathroom.
That's when the urgent knocking came. Simon wondered who could be looking for them at this hour since there was usually no one at home at this time. He hoped it was not some paparazzo or reporter. He was damn glad those had left him alone a couple of weeks after Wilhelm's interview; they were driving him insane. Puzzled, he put the bowl down on the coffee table and went to check who was at the door, and what could possibly be so important that they felt the need to nearly tear the door down to get his attention.
When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Rosh and Ayub, heaviest winter coats and school backpacks still on, almost bouncing on the balls of their feet, for some reason. "Dude, are you watching?!" Ayub asked before Simon could even think of greeting them.
"Watching what?" Simon asked, utterly baffled, but Ayub ignored the question, pushing past his friend and making for the living room TV. Simon turned to Rosh. "And aren't you two supposed to be in school right now?"
"Yeah, we snuck out— Sorry, Linda," Rosh replied, pre-empting a scolding from Simon's mom, who had just come back from the bathroom and seemed surprised to find Simon's two best friends in her home at that hour. Rosh pushed Simon inside and closed the door behind her, keeping out the cold. "We just weren't sure if you'd heard about this, and man, you really need to see this."
"See what?" Simon asked again, letting Rosh push him toward the couch. They sat down while Ayub hurriedly browsed the channels for TV4. Simon couldn't imagine what they so pressingly wanted him to see; as far as he could recall, the programming in the early afternoon was dominated by, like, vapid US talk shows or silly vignettes about buying property abroad— the kind of stuff his mother loved but he couldn't stand.
Then Ayub found the right channel, and Simon found himself looking not at Dr. Phil, as he'd been expecting, but rather at what looked to be an Instagram Live feed showing a crowd of people surrounding a very familiar statue, in front of a very familiar set of steps that led to a very familiar building. His jaw dropped. "Is that... is that Hillerska?" he asked, noting with a wince that the chyron on the lower third of the screen said "Breaking: Boarding school students hold protest for boy from Crown Prince-lookalike video."
"Yeah, man," Ayub explained as he sat down on the other side of Rosh. "They walked out to demand the school take back your suspension!"
Simon was speechless. Under normal circumstances, he would've wondered what kind of drugs they were on that had suddenly transformed all these spoiled rich brats into social justice warriors— and for his sake, of all people's— but honestly he was too curious as to what was going to happen to even consider being derisive.
The feed switched to a different Instagram Live shot (the username was shown on the top left corner of the newscast, but Simon couldn't recognize whose account that was). This person was closer to the front, which made it easier to see the people leading the rally, and hear them as well. The whole thing seemed to be airing in real-time, so the captions were delayed, and some bits were hard to understand, but it was pretty clear they'd gone all out with this "Strike for Justice" thing. Fredrika was passionately yelling into a megaphone about golf clubs, and Simon had no idea where she was going with any of it, but if it managed to get his suspension rescinded, he'd take it.
He turned to his mother, who'd come up to stand beside the couch. "Did you know about this?"
She shook her head, looking just as stunned as Simon felt. "No," she said, sitting down on the armrest beside him, the food long forgotten. "Sara just said they were working on a school project." Simon frowned. That was also what his sister had told him when he expressed via text earlier in the week that she seemed to be acting weird. Maybe Hillerska was making her better at lying, but hey, he was hardly going to complain about her withholding this particular plan from him. He'd just be ungrateful if he did that.
The four of them watched with rapt attention as Simon's first-year classmates— Felice's little group of equestrian friends— rotated the emceeing among them. Stella spoke next, and Felice herself also said a few words. She sounded the most sincerely social-justice oriented, which Simon respected, given that she was also the richest girl in school. Madison intervened with some snarky commentary, which made the three teens snort and Simon's mom roll her eyes and shake her head.
Then Felice handed the megaphone to Sara. She didn't speak for long; she was quick and to the point, as was her way, but Simon couldn't remember her ever speaking so assuredly in front of so many people. She was so earnest that she had Ayub rushing for the bathroom to grab some tissues for Simon's mom, who couldn't contain her tears. Simon just grinned— couldn't stop grinning, he was so proud of his sister. So glad to have her in his corner. The other girls as well; he'd barely even spoken to some of them, yet there they were, going against the school administration for him. He had no idea how they'd managed to get everyone to go along with this— none of those rich kids in the crowd cared one lick about him, he was sure— but he was really appreciative nonetheless. He held his mother's hand and squeezed it, and she smiled at him between sniffles.
Then the crowd started clamoring for Wille to speak. And Simon's heart sputtered to a halt inside his chest.
"Oh, he better not mess this up," he heard Rosh mutter under her breath. But she needn't have bothered, because Wilhelm never stepped up to the front. The girls were looking at each other in dismay, and whatever they were saying to each other away from the megaphone wasn't audible, but Simon got the feeling they didn't know where Wilhelm was. He certainly wasn't anywhere to be seen on the live stream. Simon's gaze would've zeroed in on him immediately; it always did, much to Simon's annoyance.
"I wonder if something's wrong," Simon's mom wondered aloud as they saw Sara run off toward the main building without any explanation.
The girls valiantly tried to keep people's attention in the interim, but it seemed like it was not enough to satisfy the ruling overlords of television programming, because shortly after the chants died down, the broadcast switched to En plats i solen, the protest at Hillerska relegated to a small rectangle on the lower-right corner of the screen.
Simon's mother took that break to finally assemble those sandwiches (she didn't have much time until she had to go back to work, after all), and thankfully there was enough food for Rosh and Ayub as well, so they all busied themselves with that. Simon did not take his eyes away from that little rectangle for even a second, though. Because the live streams they were drawing from were filmed in portrait mode, it was even harder to tell what was happening in a landscape frame at that tiny little resolution, but Simon was sure as hell going to try.
He was halfway through his sandwich when something changed in the protest feed. "Guys, I think something's happening," he said, putting his plate down on the coffee table and getting up to crouch closer to the TV. He couldn't quite tell what was going on in the strike, but the shot had jostled harshly, almost like the person who was recording it was jumping up and down.
When the shot stabilized again, Simon could barely make out two, maybe three figures walking out of the main building and toward the front of the protest. Ayub, who had come up to stand behind Simon, was also watching over his shoulder. "Is that Sara?" he asked, pointing at the smallest of the approaching figures.
Simon squinted at the screen. "I can't—" He cut himself off when the broadcast switched again, the protest now taking up the entirety of the TV screen. He didn't even need to read the now-updated chyron— "Crown Prince makes appearance at boarding school protest"— to know who it was walking up to the head of the rally.
"That's Wille," he murmured, thunderstruck, completely frozen for a second, not knowing what was going to happen.
Everyone scrambled back to the couch as Wilhelm walked up to Stella, who held the megaphone at that point, and said something inaudible to her with a smile— his princely smile, Simon thought to himself; the practiced, polite, and efficient, but mostly superficial, gesture he recognized from the time Wilhelm greeted his classmates' parents on Parents' Day. Stella replied with a bright grin, however, and handed the megaphone to him without a word. The crowd went crazy.
Simon might've stopped breathing for a few heartbeats. It was only when Rosh swung one of the couch cushions at his stomach that his lungs seemed to start working again.
The video shifted to a different Instagram feed— Simon could recognize Felice's username as the source credited in the top-left corner of the screen, though clearly, it wasn't her doing the recording because he could see her in the shot— and he could see Wilhelm much closer than before, from the side. He was looking out at the crowd. A gust of wind blew his hair into his eyes, and he reached up with the hand that wasn't holding the megaphone to push it back, but it fell right back into his field of vision the second he pulled his hand back to his side. Simon's fingers itched to reach into the television screen and delicately move it behind his ear.
The prince lifted the megaphone to his mouth. "Hey, everyone. I'm Wilhelm," he started, unassuming, like every single person laying eyes on him didn't already know who he was. The crowd cheered loudly, proving that point. "It's good to see so many of you out here!" Wilhelm added over the noise.
He shuffled his feet a bit, waiting for the frenzy to die down so he didn't have to speak too loudly. "I haven't been a student here for that long," he continued, the cacophony of voices in front of him dwindling to a low rumble as everyone listened attentively to what he was saying. "However, I'm privileged for having gotten to know Simon in my first semester at Hillerska. He's my..." He paused for a second, then took a breath. "...my classmate, my teammate. My friend."
Simon's heart clenched, but not in a bad way, for once. Wilhelm hadn't disclosed anything beyond friendship— he couldn't; Simon understood that— but he looked like he wanted to. This wasn't the Crown Prince speaking anymore. It was just Wille. His Wille. Speaking directly to him, directly to Simon, through the television screen.
"And he's... amazing," Wille admitted. The crowd broke out in some loud whooping and hollering, and Simon had the vague idea that it was because they'd taken Wille's last assertion as some kind of innuendo— but Wille was smiling, maybe even blushing a little, and Simon couldn't care less about the silly immaturity of his knuckleheaded classmates as long as that expression remained on Wille's face forever.
"He's amazing, and smart, and brave, and such... just such a good person," Wille added once he could get a word in. "In fact, he's— he's the best person I've ever known." Rosh smacked Simon's arm with a smirk, but Simon barely felt it; he couldn't have torn his gaze away from the screen if he tried.
"And he doesn't deserve what's happened to him," Wille went on, sounding stronger, surer of himself with each word. "No one ever does, really, but especially Simon. His privacy was invaded in the worst way, and a moment that was supposed to be deeply cherished and guarded by him and..." He trailed off momentarily. "...and his— his partner..."
His voice broke a little as he pronounced that last word, and Simon's heart broke a little as well, because that was himself Wille was talking about, his own pain and disappointment, and no one could know. No one could be rightfully upset for him. It wasn't fair. But he continued. "...their moment was blasted all over the internet for the entire world to see and judge like it was something... sleazy or indecent."
He shook his head emphatically, his floppy hair blowing in the wintry wind as he did. "But it's not," he declared, his tone sharp, leaving no room for any doubt in anyone's mind. His lips were pressed together tightly, and Simon wondered if he was clenching his jaw as he did sometimes when he was angry. "It was his important moment to treasure, and now that's been stolen from him, and he'll have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life."
The crowd booed as if they'd been prompted, and in the back of his mind, Simon wondered if August was listening to this somehow. God, he hoped he was. The jackass. But Wille carried on before Simon could ponder on it anymore. "But Simon's strong. He'll carry it with grace," he said. "Except now the school is punishing him for it like it was somehow his fault that he was victimized in the first place, and that is not okay."
He took a step back and lowered the megaphone a little, almost like he needed a moment to regroup, to calm himself down. The camera caught him taking a couple more deep breaths before he spoke into the amplifying device again. "I don't speak about issues like these very often," he started again, in a slightly more measured tone, "because it's considered political, and the royal family is supposed to stay away from political topics." He shook his head, almost like he was disappointed in himself, and Simon was reminded of the first time they ever talked, how Wille had seemed almost embarrassed of that very same precept.
"But you know what?" Simon swore he could see a fire in Wille's brown eyes that wasn't put there by an Instagram filter— it was just in him, and Simon found himself drawn to that flame like a helpless moth. "Saying that recording and distributing intimate images of people without their consent, of minors without their consent, is wrong... should not be political. Saying that revenge porn is wrong should not be political. And saying that blaming victims is wrong should not be political." Wille swept his gaze over the entire crowd, from side to side, almost like he was daring his audience to dissent. "I think we can all agree on that much, at least."
Simon had to hug the cushion to his chest to suppress a full-body shiver. He was aware he tended to separate his Wille from the prince of Sweden in his mind, but this? This was the future King. And Simon might be opposed to the monarchy on principle, but... damned if this Wilhelm wasn't really fucking hot.
He shook that thought out of his head. For fuck's sake, his mother was sitting right beside him. He needed to get a grip.
"So I'm standing here," Wille said, solemn and deliberate, "in full support of Simon, begging Hillerska School to please do the right thing." Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw Rosh's eyebrows rise high on her forehead. He knew what had surprised her, and frankly, he shared the feeling; begging wasn't something royalty was usually known to do. "And I'm asking every single one of you to not let up until they take the suspension back. If we fight this fight together, we can win."
Wille paused, closed his eyes for a second, then sighed, relieved. "Let's do this for Simon, everyone."
He stepped back, lowered the megaphone, and handed it back to Stella, but he might as well have dropped the mic with the way the crowd went absolutely nuts. As he walked to the side, just before he went out of sight of the camera, he gave it (or maybe the person who was filming— Madison, perhaps?) a quick and frankly adorable smile. It made Simon's heart flutter.
(He didn't know hearts could do that when they were already beating hard enough to be on the verge of bursting out of one's ribcage, but maybe that's just the kind of paradox that happens when a person falls in love.)
One of the girls (Felice, maybe?) started up a "Take the suspension back!" chant, and soon enough the entire crowd was chanting along with them. Simon wasn't listening anymore, though. His mind was just replaying Wilhelm's speech over and over, unable to process all the emotions it generated in him, all the feelings that flooded his body just thinking about it.
Ayub leaned forward to stare at Simon, wide-eyed, from across Rosh. His mouth was hanging open and he let out a few incredulous chuckles here and there like he couldn't believe what they had just seen. Rosh crossed her arms and fell back against the backrest of the couch, looking grudgingly impressed. "Well... damn," she muttered, and if that didn't sum up what they were all thinking, Simon didn't know what could.
His mother, on the other hand, was smiling bright and wide. She tried to discreetly wipe a tear off the corner of her eye (Simon caught the gesture, regardless), then threw one arm around her son, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "Ay, mi vida," she said, her voice quivering a little, "that boy really loves you."
Simon had to bite his lips to keep himself from bursting into giggles. His gaze kept drifting back, without him willing it, to the news chyron on the TV screen, which now read "Crown Prince Wilhelm gives impassioned defense of unjustly punished school friend."
"Yeah," Simon whispered, the corners of his mouth quirking up unbidden. "I know."
.
.
Author's notes!—
Sorry this took longer than usual, guys! It's the end of the semester and I had assignments to submit. The next one might take a while, too, because I've still got one final to hand in on the 10th, but hey, this chapter was by far the longest up till now, and I'm pretty sure the next one will be on the long side as well, so I will hear no complaints. ;)
I call this chapter "the one where we see everything happen from someone else's point of view." I'm not sure how every scene ended up that way, but I hope it's not too confusing. The events in and of themselves were enough of an emotional roller-coaster, I think. xD I hope the strike lived up to the hype! All the signs described here are inspired/based off of real signs seen in real protests over the past few years, particularly the yearly international Women's Marches, and I think there's a couple from BLM protests from last year.
Anxiety disorders are indeed common in people who have an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) or ADHD, though it's not fully understood if it's just a comorbidity (that is, a condition that statistically occurs concurrently to another, whether they're linked or not) or whether the anxiety might be a symptom of either of the other two. Regardless, it's something I think Sara and Wilhelm might have in common, and I wanted to explore things they might have in common outside of Simon. Carne mechada ("shredded beef"), is a Latin American dish consisting of pulled skirt steak cooked in a sofrito/guiso base (exact ingredients depend on where specifically it's made). Carne mechada is what they call it in Venezuela, but it's also known as ropa vieja ("old clothes"), which is what we call it where I'm from.
TV4 is one of the largest Swedish television networks, owned by TV4 Media. They have several (I believe about 25 currently?) local TV4 stations, including one in Linköping, which would be the nearest big market to Bjärstad, I think? Dr. Phil is a US talk show hosted by Dr. Phil McGraw; I don't recommend it (I hate it, actually), but it just so happened that this is what airs on TV4 on Fridays at 1 pm LOL. En plats i solen is the Swedish title for A place in the Sun, a British lifestyle/travel series. The Home or Away? version (En plats i solen: Borta eller hemma bäst?) airs on TV4 on Fridays at 1:55 pm. "Ay, mi vida" literally translates to "oh, my life;" it's a common term of endearment in Spanish-speaking countries, along the lines of "sweetheart" or "darling."
(Not me thirsting over kingly!Wilhelm pfffttt nah child, that's totally Simon, this is aaaaaall him, I'm telling ya)
(Also have I mentioned that I highly dislike Vincent? Because I think it bears repeating.)
Next up: The aftermath. Aka the one you've all been waiting for. ;)
Tell me how you liked this, and what you think is going to happen next, in a comment, or also via Twitter ( girls_are_weird) or Tumblr ( girls-are-weird) if that's easier for you. Kudos make me smile and encourage my writing, so those are also more than welcome! See you next time, everyone. :)