"Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt
This Wednesday morning was oddly calm, and bright. The clouds had parted for the first time in a while, and now the sun poked its rays through the blinds on her dorm's window. It really soured Juliet Watson's mood, having to sit here in her room and languish in this silence. There were things to do, things that ought to be done out there than to be stuck in this small space.
The hearsay she had eavesdropped from the security guards spoke of some kind of break-in, something that shook the bejeezus out of all the girls on the second floor, most especially the poor soul whose room was having to be cleaned out by the single Blackwell custodian on shift. Ol' Samuel had spared her a few minutes and made the assertion that he had not forgotten to lock the dorm building's entrance before turning in the previous night.
It wasn't much to go off, as there were no names to point to, no glaring suspects to focus on. However, it did mean that someone on the inside could have opened the door to let someone from outside slip in, and this was a practice most common for those who might spend a couple hours or so past curfew for any given reason. She'd covered for her friend Dana one time, when she'd forgotten her laptop in the Main Building's Library and had to open the dorm's entrance once Dana had come back. Anyone could have held that door open last night and asking about it would make everyone start to clam up. Once word spreads, it spreads fast—and when the word says the reporter is on the case, then everyone conveniently shuts their mouths.
So, not only was she stressed about this god-forsaken editorial assignment that looked more and more like it wasn't going to be finished by its deadline, but she also had to worry about who was terrorizing her friend, Marsh. It was bad enough that Juliet decided to quit classes today, sending copy-pasted emails to her teachers about being sick and digging through her cranium over getting her work done, and figuring out who was daring enough to order a hit-n-run on a fellow student.
Although, if I really thought about it, I only have two reasonable candidates.
Juliet Watson looked to her silver-colored computer, its screen glowing white from a Word document on its display. Grumbling at the sight of the editorial assignment and how tiring it was, she switched over to another exposé, this one touching on all she had concerning the ransacking of Marsh's dorm. Watson had about half a page of what she knew was credible, but after that she only had rumors and speculation, and with stories like this, word of mouth either made or broke one's work.
It didn't have to be some extended piece about what was going on per se, but she wanted it to be. If not out of personal pride for creating an article worth its weight, then to spite the poor bastards that'll be on the receiving end of it, once it's published and made its rounds through the student populous.
Actually, scratch the word poor from that description: Prescott and Chase don't do poor, their greed for money and power was too stark to consider them akin to others. Juliet snickers to herself at the thought of the Prescott heir and the Queen of Blackwell, sitting on their ivory pedestal and looking down with fright, as she and many others take hammering blows to its foundation. How comical it would be, to think of their power, their infamy that is inflamed like a raging wound, red hot and burning to the touch, be broken to pieces by words alone. For this was the plight of authority, of which lives the decisive point of contention between they who sit upon the throne and they who toil in the fields: that the good deeds of both must be backed by action. Where one fails to make good with their words and their actions, then the other shall speak its gripes, and rightfully demand a rescinding of the other's will. Juliet held the gleam of justice in her eye, of wanting to lay these gripes bare before the Blackwell nobility and crush them of their pretenses.
Though she may not admit it outright, Watson found the sniveling brats in power to be despicable, and cruel. All they have to do for life to bend the knee in their favor is wave their stacks of money around, a simple fanfare that was unavailable for people like her.
Oh, no—the reporter and the many other students like her were left to struggle for their achievements. Alone, with no help.
Okay, that isn't really true. Juliet eyed the photo sitting to the right of her computer, framed in a warm mahogany border and encompassing a group picture of four girls, herself included. A smile made its way to her lips, for while she may not have thought much of having that photo taken in that moment, looking back on it now brought the nostalgia of simpler times.
From right to left, with her holding the camera up with a smirk on her face, Juliet looked upon the sophomore version of herself, wearing the double-layered leather jacket that she treasured the most of all her wardrobe, standing beside her best friend of four years and still strong, Dana Ward. Never once had Dana passed up an opportunity to smile for the camera, it was simply the way she was. Not only that, but she was also Juliet's first friend when they started Blackwell in 2009, and Watson was glad to have someone to be there for her who wasn't her immediate family. Plus, Dana was tall, tall enough to reach in the back of the shelves where the Blackwell News club kept the spare printing paper that was always out of Juliet's reach.
Next to Dana was a slightly smaller girl, with jet black hair and black rimmed glasses, framing bored eyes that were squinted from the flash of the camera. Juliet had first met this girl during freshman year, as she was a third-generation immigrant from the Philippines that got a ride into Blackwell from a scholarship of some sort. Her name was Brooke Scott, although Juliet reminds herself that the spectacled girl doesn't like how similar her last name was to the resident Prince in the academy, and almost always goes by 'Brooke'. Juliet appreciated Brooke in one quality: the Asian girl was blunt, almost excessively so. There was never any bullshit to be given by Brooke, and it made their interactions short but meaningful. Watson only wished that the Filipina would find where her sense of humor was, for she could be so apathetic, so stubbornly cynical at times.
Last was the smallest of the quartet, though not by much. Her navy-blue hoodie contrasted to her ebony skin and was topped with a toothy smile and a one-handed peace sign. Stella Hill, also enrolled in Blackwell from a scholarship, and hailing from a half African American and half Tanzanian ancestry. Juliet was reminded of Stella's knack to be the impromptu comedian, though the reporter often wondered how the girl coped with the workload that she seemed to brush off whenever they hung out. The girl had so much free time, yet for Juliet it seemed like she was near the brink of lagging behind her work, and she wondered so fervently how Stella made it seem so easy. Stella could best be described as a chatterbox, and while it was nice to hang out with the ebony brunette, to sit through a thirty-minute conversation of nothing but how a hotdog could be technically classified as a sandwich was not something Juliet wanted to do often.
So sure, Juliet wasn't alone necessarily, but it certainly felt like it was the case. She looked to the draft still opened and went over for the third time what she had. Her focal point was that the Internationale—specifically Nathan Prescott—was becoming too lenient with the kinds of "entertainment" that were prevalent within club parties. So much so, that on the fourth of October, last Friday, a show of drama erupted after the most prominent Christian on campus, Kate Marsh, was seen acting high out of her mind and—Juliet frowned at the words but knew them to be the cold truth—the girl was seen kissing, having intimate interactions with multiple partygoers. This claim was further backed up by the video that was uploaded on YouTube sometime after the party, and having to watch the entire thing made Juliet sick to her stomach. It was obvious that Marsh was out of it, was far too drunk to consider her actions.
Now, almost everyone was of the opinion that the devout believer was actually a perverted freak, the true antithesis of the "façade" she put on to fool the populace. A lot of them just didn't care but went with it anyways, as any mockery not placed on them was welcomed mockery indeed. Juliet's blood boiled at the thought.
Fuckin' cowards.
Juliet had first met Kate in person, attending one of those abstinence meetings the blonde hosted for some time before Marsh cancelled them altogether. The meetup was for a selfish reason, to be truthful. She had wanted to know if Kate had any juicy details on some then-current spew between two other dorm members, but it ended up with Juliet being invited over for tea. From there a friendship was born, even despite how inconvenient it was since they shared no classes together. Juliet supposed it be the kind of kinship that was similar to sisterhood, in that Kate cared about her enough to go out of her way whenever Watson needed help, and in return, Juliet was there for the blonde whenever she could be. This feeling is what sparked her encouragement to the timid blonde when she first saw her at that party. If only her and Dana knew what would happen, they would've never coaxed Kate into that situation.
All the promises, all the assurances. Snuffed out like a flame.
Thus, when Juliet woke up this morning to see Kate's dorm room ransacked and the girl in question being tended to by some brunette on their dorm floor—went by the name Max, or something—Watson felt a kind of low she'd never experienced before. It festered in her heart and compelled her to spontaneous action, for who was she, if not Kate's friend? She'd be no better than those heartless bastards and bitches who did nothing but squabble over drama like pigeons to breadcrumbs.
A sigh, a hand brushing the loose bangs of hair off her forehead and with a creak of the wooden chair Juliet leaned back in her posture. This was going to be tedious as all hell. Some company couldn't hurt.
With a plan in mind, the bronze-brunette picked up her phone, and began typing a message.
A knock sounded, and Juliet looked to the door. She'd been expecting this since midday.
"Come on in, Dana."
The door swung open, and Dana entered, swiftly closing the door and locking it. The tall auburnette made her way over to the reporter's desk, taking the spare foldable chair and setting it up in one swift motion, plopping herself onto it and sporting the brightest grin. It was infectious, and Juliet took comfort in the good news that was sure to be relayed.
"I finally got the flash drive—Brooke managed to get Warren to pass it on before they took him to the nurse's office," she pulled the little device from her pocket, "She was real upset that he got hurt and all, the poor guy had a black eye from what she told me."
"Poor bastard," Juliet somberly concurred, thumbing the drive into the USB slot, and waited for the computer to bring up the notification.
"Don't worry, he's gonna be fine. I heard they gave him two weeks detention for the fight—"
"Two weeks? He isn't poor now, he's lucky!"
"I know, right? Brooke didn't like it though; she spends lunch hour with him and now she's got nothing to swoon over."
A snort erupted from the bronze-brunette, as she steadied herself and tried to copy the files onto the flash drive to her personal hard drive while containing her laughter.
"Damn, not even gonna hold back on that, are you?" Watson cackled.
"Yeah, I know, but you've seen the way she looks at him. I mean, like, come on, I almost wanna dare her to ask him out."
"You think she would?" The files were all copied to the thumb drive, Juliet properly ejected it from her laptop and set the piece aside.
"I don't know. You know how she gets really nervous, whenever we make her try something out of the blue? She'd probably faint if we dared her to do it."
"Heh, yeah, she 'prolly would."
A pause, as the two think of a flustered Brooke trying to ask her long-known crush out on a date for the first time. For all her cunning in machinery and engineering, Brooke was pretty lacking in the romance department.
"Hey, you okay?"
It was a bit softer tone than Dana normally used, and Juliet knew from experience that Dana didn't appreciate liars in the slightest.
"Just, stressed."
"…you mean about this morning?"
"Yeah," Juliet whispered.
A sympathetic nod, before Ward scooted her chair as close to her friend as she could and wrapped an arm around Watson's shoulders.
"Wanna talk about it?"
A frown, not directed at Dana but rather the present situation, crossed Juliet's face.
"It just…I feel like I'm not doing enough."
Dana pulled her close, silently protesting.
"I know that she's got other people to keep an eye on her, but I just can't help but feel like I should be there for her too. I mean, I just—" with a frustrated groan, Juliet shrugged her taller friend off her; Watson became huffy as anger stewed, "It's fucking bullshit, the way everyone treats her. If Kate was a stuck-up bitch and tried forcing her beliefs on others I would understand, but she doesn't. She doesn't deserve all this shit, and she is my friend. I couldn't give less a damn about the Internationale anymore, but the way Nathan and fuckin' Bitchtoria have been bullying Kate recently?"
She looks Dana in the eye, "Nah, that's where I draw the line."
"You sure it was them?" Dana asked, curious.
"It has to be, no one else either cares enough or has the ability to get away with it. Besides," Juliet opens up File Explorer, and clicks the folder that was copied to the thumb drive. Her screen displays the content, including a multitude of pictures. Most are of the inside of a desk drawer, full of unopened prescription bottles, chock full of pills. The detailed information of the bottle as well as its recipient show that it was for Prescott himself, however it became obvious that he shouldn't have as many bottles as the picture showed. Moreover, there were a few pictures of what looked to be an outdated flip phone in a plastic bag. To anyone who understood the essence of what crime movies tried to visualize, it would seem like the only reason Nathan would have such a phone was if it served as a burner phone, meant to be used whenever he was up to something not so legal.
"You tell Justin and Trevor that I'm buying the next time we all go out together, seriously."
A chuckle, "I'm sure they'd appreciate the praise from you, sassy-ass."
"We've been over this, D'. I got the sass; you got the ass."
"Damn straight!" Dana chuckles proudly.
"Seriously though," a finger points to the photos of the pill bottles. "With something like this, it's gonna get the attention of everyone, even Principal Wells. We should go ask for an appointment today, he's bound to be stuck in his office doing whatever a principal does. Who knows, maybe he'll get that paranoid head of security, Madsen, to throw Prescott out of Blackwell for good. The point is, we got to shed the light on this, and once we do, that rat bastard will have nowhere left to hide."
Dana smiled a bright, toothy smile, "I'll let the others know, then."
In the quiet ambience of Room 217, only the faint sounds of scribbles could be heard. The occupant sat there at her desk before the window, a table lamp switched on and illuminating the desk's surface, there where her pencil made itself known. The afternoon light shone through the open blinds adding to the illumination and making the normally dim color of her navy-blue hoodie glow. A buzz-buzz came from her iPhone, and a free hand reached out to see who messaged her.
Stella Hill paused, reading the message, then reading it again, and with anticipation she smiled. It seems that Miss Sherlock needs their help, and she was just tuckered out from doing math homework for three hours straight. Bouncing out of her seat, she slipped on her worn pair of sneakers and strode out of her room, lightly jogging down the hallway and stopping at the door at the far end. She gave a courtesy knock and stood patiently.
"Brooke?"
Stella was greeted with silence still. Another knock on the door.
"Brooke~?"
She tested her luck, taking the door by the handle and opening it slightly. She eased it just past the threshold, calling out softly again, "Hey, Brooke, you up?"
The room was still dark as night, and the light was mostly shielded from the shut blinds on the opposite wall. From the dim, Stella could see that her best friend had been up last night, for the abomination of metal trinkets and tools upon the girl's desk were scattered all over the counterspace, some lay on the floor, either put there or from falling off. At the lack of cleanliness, Stella frowned, concerned.
She's been at it again. Gotta do what you gotta do, I suppose. Still, I should try to help her get back on a normal sleep schedule.
She looked to the mass of blankets on the bed, which was perched to the right of the door and shoved into the opposite corner of the desk. Stella waited all of the one second before she cupped her hands to her mouth, calling at the top of her lungs.
"Wake yo' ass up, B! Holmes has a mission for us, we gotta get moving!"
From that dimness and cluttered space, a mass flailed from underneath the blankets on the bed, rolling off and landing with a thump on the thick, hard carpet floor. Yet already had Stella made her way into the room, crossing the clutter with practiced ease and pulling at the blinds, flicking them open.
"I'm up, I'm up, fuck!" from the shroud of the covers came squinted, tired eyes that looked to Stella, and with a pinched brow and a mean looking case of bedhead, Brooke reached for her glasses on the nightstand, "Ah—what, what time is it?"
"It's around four o'clock, classes are just about over," then a concerning pause, "Wait, did you sleep in until just now?"
Already the stiffness in her mannerisms told Stella that something was wrong, and Brooke huffed a defeated sigh, "I must've slept through my alarm—I guess since it's my first absence they'll cut me some slack, but I can't let this happen again," the implication was not lost, as Brooke blinked the tiredness away, "...thanks for getting me up."
Stella smiled, "No problem B', you know I gotchu whenever you need me!"
"Just please, try to not give me a fuckin' heart attack next time, goddamn."
A hearty laugh, "Consider this as me keeping your sleep cycle in check, I know how you are with your beauty sleep, especially once you start getting all caught up on your works," Stella jested, and the annoyed glare the Filipina sent her way was met with an equally cheeky grin, "come on, you can cuss me out all you want later, we gotta go help Jules. Hurry up now, I'm gonna go get Alyssa to join us—"
"Putik na buhay naman ito," Brooke muttered, shuffling to her feet as Stella swiftly departed, crossing to a perpendicular hallway where the rest of the second-floor dorms resided. Of the three doors down this smaller hallway, Stella trotted up to the middle one, and rapped upon the wooden surface, waiting patiently for some time, then knocking again.
"Alyssa?"
A third time, before Stella dared to ease the door open, and peek inside, "Alyssa, you there?"
Being on the far side of where the sun sets, Alyssa's room was now lit only by what sunlight could reach from the blinds and the hallway. In the middle of said room, sitting on a small square ottoman, was a girl with waist length, violet-blackish hair at work with pumping a fifteen-pound iron dumbbell, and Stella could now hear the music silently blaring from headphones that this girl—Alyssa—wore. The movement of the door caught the toned-girl's attention, and she set the dumbbell down, pulling her headset away, "Stella? What's up?"
"Hey, you know how I said you'd meet up with the rest of my friends besides Brooke? Well, today's the day, so I hope you're ready," Stella declared, and with a glance back down the hall she witnessed Brooke trudge out of her room, still half-asleep, "Look, I don't mean to rush you, but the whole gang's gonna be meeting up in Juliet's room, and I wouldn't want you to miss this."
For all her toned arms and sharp, intimidating brow, Alyssa's wide blue eyes looked nervous then, "I uh, yeah, sure. Just, uhm—I need to take a shower first, so if you don't mind—"
"I gotchu; I'll see you there!" the ebony brunette chirped, and closed Anderson's door. With a happy-go-lucky grin, she skipped for Juliet's dorm room, catching up to the slow-going Brooke along the way and tugging the sleepy girl forward, earning her a salty mouthful from her best friend.
A/N - Putik na buhay naman ito - Filipino Tagalog, "What a rotten/muddy life"