Disclaimer: I do not own "House of Anubis" or am affiliated with the show—even if I have gotten tweets from all the actors, the show and one of the guys who works on the show. And some of the dialogue was taken from the episode Mara actually did win school rep in the show.

Author's Note: No one's brought this up yet but thought I should lay it as a forewarning—there may be words in the chapter that appear misspelled; they're actually British spelling of words, like shavers means children. It's REALLY exciting actually, I have my word processor on English (UK) language and am trying to learn as many British words as I can for my own original story! Credit to lifeisveryshortsoami for her fanfiction "C.O.W: Crush of the Week" to inspire some moments that relate to 'garbage.'

"You kissed Mara!" Alfie exclaimed, delight in his marvel. "Yes! Way to go, dude!" Fabian's expression carried no resemblance to Alfie's—on the contrary, his eyes were wide with horror.

"But she's with Mick!" he whispered forcefully.

"Oh..." Alfie muttered, wrinkling his nose. "Well, bother!"

The speech portion of the student representative election had just finished off as Robby the lower year counted each votes while the rest of the year who studied with the Anubis mates relaxed and ate either Mara's cupcakes, Amber's delicacy or Amelia's lollies. Really, poor Amelia couldn't stand a chance—Alfie regarded this as his responsibility, sadly—but Amber...Amber was fair competition. Instead of a speech, she had let her body and sparkling cheerleader's outfit done the talking for her, or so Jerome heard. As soon as he heard the festivities ending, he left the empty class room, with hands in pockets, peering into the room. No way would he enter into the same room as Mara and Mick...Normally he wouldn't care. But kissing a girl + their boyfriend watching and nearly pummelling you + girl slapping you, blaming you whilst she avoided her own willingly action = trouble.

He hadn't meant to catch anyone's attention as he looked into the room, anywhere else but Mick and Mara, who thankfully were hidden near the back, Alfie and Fabian had seen him while discussing the latest Sibuna secrets and puzzles, about if Sarah's death was really caused by old age even when just hours previous, she had gone to visit Victor of all people. Usually he wouldn't had answered a "Hey, how are you, man?" with "Oh, I dunno. I just snogged Mara and Mick saw and now he's after my life!" but there you have it—his mind was in no strong state to defend himself.

Jerome grumbled, his sight avoiding anyone's eyes, wishing he could evade their questions. "I still kissed her."

Exchanging looks, the two friends appeared sceptical.

"Oh yeah!...again. Wait..." Alfie's eyes narrowed in confusion, having now been caught up in why the situation was so detrimental. "Ohh, I take my 'yeah again' back ...and just to be clear, my first 'yeah' also," his finger pointed accusingly.

Loud heel taps were heard as the students spotted Mrs. Andrews and Mr. Sweet on stage and began to quiet down—an envelope was in Andrews' hand; Amber, Mara and Amelia all held their breath.

"So..." the teacher smiled, making her announcement as dramatically paused as possible, "the votes have been counted and verified and now Mr. Sweet will announce the new school representative!" The same years cheered and clapped, Mara finding herself leaning on closer to Mick for support. Why did today have to be so emotional for her?

"You're gonna win it, babes. I know you will," Mick offered her a warming smile and a hug.

"This is...amazing," Mr. Sweet looked at the uncovered card, "by a two votes win—" The crowd was hushed, "Mara!"

Half the years roared in cheer as Mara was called up stage, her cheeks bright, sweet brown eyes shining as all the girls in cheerleading gear, Amber and her campaign manager Alfie watched in disbelief—Jerome gave out a brief chuckle, he couldn't tell who was more upset between them. He had to avoid watching her—he knew others would find his glaring at Mara onstage questionable and ask him about it and either way, he felt strong bubbling furious words about to escape if he looked her direction.

Eyes glinting across the room, he spotted Nina whom he thought was still at the house. Fabian and Alfie's earlier conversation before they had come to talk to him involved how Nina had gone to a funeral—whose, he did not know and honestly couldn't care at this time. Why should he care? It wasn't like their gang would include him in their hang when nearly for his whole life, Jerome was excluded from everything.

Her cheeks have never ached worse from smiling for so long as Mr. Sweet placed the ribbon, the light reflecting off the "SCHOOL REPRESENTATIVE" sash. And the look on Amber's face—generally she wasn't so egotistical but Mara saw this now as a popularity contest and she had beaten Amber! On stage, she looked at her wondrous boyfriend who too was all smiles for her.

"Firstly," her grinning voice boomed through the stereos, "I want to thank everyone who supported me to everyone who voted and my amazing boyfriend, Mick." Jerome could just vomit right then and there as his eyes flashed towards the other blond boy—Mick, as if he had done anything to help her campaign. What exactly could she ever have seen in him—he just didn't understand it! Body, hair, build, looks...sure, sure...but they were superficial. He wasn't even that great at sports if he hadn't been given the scholarship. Jerome didn't care if his thoughts were mean, for they were his and he could insult Mick in his mind for all he wanted. He watched with narrowed eyes as Mick walked towards the stage as well, leading questions.

"May I, Mara?" he motioned for the microphone, his eyes too flashing back at Jerome—yeah, he had noticed his glare. He too received a loud applause.

"Thank you all, from Amber and Amelia being such...tough competition to m'lady,"-neither girl smiled-, "to all voters," the boy grinned on. Jerome narrowed his eyes even further—something wasn't right. "But there's someone you're forgetting, Mara, aren't you, babe?" Mara's plastered grin began to fall apart. No. He wouldn't.

"You had a-," Mick feigned forgetfulness, "a campaign manager, right?" By now, the Anubis attendants knew something was up. "Believe me, guys," he laughed at the quiet audience, "Mara would had gotten no where if it weren't for him. She won because he made it so." Mara couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had never known for his hot temper to get this out of hand.

"So, ladies and gents, can we give a big hand for the big man himself, Jerome Clarke!" he cheered, his enthusiasm unmatched by the forced claps.

"Mick," she raced up to him, hands on his shoulders as if it could stop his words. "What are you doing? St-stop this—"

"Mara!" She could see the danger in his eyes, his non-remorse for what he was about to do. "Surely you didn't think you won all those voters because of your speech, did you? Maybe it was because of those cupcakes you made with Jerome. Maybe it was because of his posters he made of you," he sneered before whipping his glance onto Jerome, fuming on spot. "By the way, Jerome, what did inspire you to make Mara so illuminating and powerful, bright and beautiful."

On the side, he was deaf to Mara's pleading words as she tried pulling him away from the limelight; even the teachers were stunned—they did not expect this from one of their model-behaviour students, even if he wasn't so fantastic in academia.

"Did you fall in love along the way, Clarke? Can't stand up here on stage when just an hour ago, you kissed my girlfriend!" he roared, his voice booming across, more so because of the microphone.

Jerome closed his eyes. He had to escape.

"But I forgot, Mara," he turned to his girlfriend quietly, tears brimmed in her eyes yet again, "I am so sorry I forgot—it's not Jerome's fault, is it, now? He has no idea what he's doing because no one ever taught him, have they?"

"Guess we should award Mr. Clarke with something more than just a commendation for being such a sweet helper to our dear Mara, shan't we? I don't think I've ever known someone to be so loyal when his own parents abandoned him."

His eyes met Jerome's dark glassy blue eyes. He knew. Every person in their year, in the room, held their breath. No one could expect what would happen.

"Tell me, Jerome, how proud will your parents be to hear you've helped our star student have a school prestigious title, huh? What?" Mick mockingly gasped. "They still don't know? You haven't heard from then since you were five?"

Nothing could had been more uglier. No one could stand hearing the filth from Mick's mouth and yet everyone was too entranced to leave, too beguiled, wanting to hear more, their ears being feed poison. Not a single eye was on Jerome oddly enough—maybe then there could had been a forewarning as Jerome's whole figure shook with wrath, his eyes like black pools of ice as his face was cover in the shadows, fists tight beside him.

Taking a deep breath, he said his last statement solemnly. "Next time you ever get to hear from them, man...tell them from me they should dispose their garbage elsewhere and not at an elite English boarding sch—!"

Within seconds, punches were being thrown. No one had seen how fast Jerome had jumped onto stage, the mike stand clashing down as he reached for Mick's throat until the two were on the stage floor, rolling around, knuckles meeting flesh meeting bone. It didn't take the audience's gasp and screams for Mrs. Andrews and Mr. Sweet to be alerted.

"Good heavens, get off him, Campbell!" Mrs. Andrews screamed over their threatening words as Sweet kept reciting his Latin quotes in horror. Seconds soon, when Mrs. Andrews' means of persecution meant nothing to the two continuous battling, Alfie and Fabian had both gotten on stage, wrestling too with their roommate to pull them apart.

Jerome had never felt so raw, so relinquished; he could feel the punches to his stomach, the spots some hair strands were ripped off, multiple cuts on the lips nor the previous long-lasting cheek injury that was now surely forming a bruise. And yet his soul was tarnished—he had never once held the upper hand even from the tone of his surprise attack on Mick. Mick, being the better of the two in terms of strengths had him flat on the face by the first minute.

Could someone please knock the life out of him? He was sick of being embarrassed, sick of being excluded, unwanted...feelings from childhood were beginning to surface up—the memories he had spent years trying to force into the back of his mind, away from thought...all those letters that never sent through...crying in bed nearly every day when he was first placed alone, the daily calls that were never answered, not one...

"Leave me!" he roared, still unable to get up like some worthless turtle who had fallen on his shelled back. Not one student cheered 'fight!'-and yet not one student besides Alfie tried to help him.

Both Fabian and Sweet held powerfully onto Mick, who stood now shaking, a gash on his forehead, his throat weak and tight as if he could still feel Jerome's piercing fingers around as he held his stomach from the knee-jerk Jerome had also supplied.

"Amantes sunt amentes" Mr. Sweete stated warily, his usual air of pleasure no where to be found. "Come with me. My office. Now," he glared at Mick, still holding onto his arms as if he were arrested as Jerome was helped up to his feet by Alfie, stiffly walking obediently though with every step he winced, head down.

"Well," Mrs. Andrews cleared her throat as she picked up the microphone, noticing the slight blood on her fingers so at once, hid them. "You may carry on—go to your classes, go on."

At once, murmurs of the incidents were relived as the students shuffled out the door, into the corridor. Mara though didn't move...her tearful eyes followed the two boys as the stepped into the headmaster's office. If she had told Mick the truth in the first place...sure, maybe she would be hurting more but Jerome...he was so lenient, like he accepted that he needed a beating. She was raised to do what was right...so what was right?

"Act anything like this again and your future holds an expulsion from this school, is that clear?"

The boys had sat in Mr. Sweet's office for what had seemed like 30 minutes. Like a scene from a reality judge show, the two screamed out each their own side and yet Mr. Sweet cared not.

No, I do not want to hear any more, Mr. Campbell," he urged as Mick frowned, about to open his mouth again. "Please, now, go back to class. And yes, I will know have you gone there or not as I'll stop by Mr. Winkler's room after I speak to young Clarke here."

What words Mick had left unsaid, he had no reason to call them back as he smirked lightly—so he had more to say to Jerome now, did he? This would be intriguing.

"Before you go," Sweet raised his voice to call Mick to a stop. "Shake hands please."

A brief pause hit before both boys' hand grabbed each other, their nails piercing each other's tightly and had let go within seconds. Better to have gotten over with it and leave before Mr. Sweet made it more humiliating and asked them to hug each other like stupid naïve shavers.

With the door shut almost shutting behind him, Mick instantly placed his shoe in between the door and its frame so that he could eavesdrop.

"Mick!" he turned besides himself to find Mara waiting for him, his school belongings in her hands. "I brought you your thin—"

"Shush, not now, Mara!" he whispered as he tried listening into the conversation.

"-nice young man, Jerome and I don't want to have you expelled. Particularly because of the consequences," they could hear Sweet's voice. "You do understand what they are, I presume?"

Mara leaned in closer—she couldn't understand why she was harming her usual righteous spirit even more by now eavesdropping after having lied to Mick but—Jerome's words didn't let her thought finish.

"They won't pay for any more school since I'm nearly 16 and I'll most likely be on the streets unless I work and support myself," Jerome's voice was monotonous, numb. She had only ever heard him talk like that when something horrid had happened to Alfie just a few months earlier.

Sweet sighed, shaking his head. "Abyssus abyssum invocat." Jerome wrinkled his nose at Mr. Sweet's common Latin phrases.

"Did you just say I'm going to turn into an old cat man?" Mara had to slap her mouth shut to not giggle.

"No, son. Hell calls Hell—or one misstep leads to another. You must be strong, Jerome," he stood upward, signifying their meet was towards an end. Mara shook her head, pulling Mick away from the doorway as Mr. Sweet continued talking; it was truth time.

"What are yo—! They weren't done—!" Mick exclaimed, wanting to hear more.

"You've heard enough," Mara whispered harshly, unable to look him in the eyes. "And either way...what was that about!"

Mick looked around with a blank stare. "What?"

"Beating Jerome up? Telling his secret! I trusted you! "

Mick shook his head, his jaw tight. "He deserved it, Babes—"

"Don't call me that," she shoved his approaching arms away, her eyes on fire.

The boy grew more confused by the minute. "Mara, he kissed you. You said before you felt horrible he could do such a thing—"

"—I never said that." It was like in new light, Mick was finally looking her over. His Mara...suddenly not...but no...she couldn't...for Jerome?

"You mean you liked it?" his voice was strict. This wasn't time for games. Forcing herself to look up to him, she could see all the questions she wished she hadn't caused within his eyes.

"I don't know, Mick," her voice cracked. As always, confusion was such a betrayal. For nearly a year, she had wanted Mick, asking for nothing else. Now she had him, Jerome had suddenly come into play—how could all of this had happened?

"Mara," his voice was soft. Oh, if his voice was truly soft, if she could tell him the truth and he would forgive her, he truly would be extraordinary. "I like you..." he held her hands as she lowered her head, tears peeking out from the sides of her eyes, unconstrained, "but...I'd like you... to like me...and only me, if that makes sense."

Once again, she was given leeway to bypass the truth and again, she took it—always turning the blame around.

"Mick, what you did was still wrong. You and me...we just..." Mick was shaking his head at this point, his eyes wide, "...bring out the worst in each other...I'm sorry but..." the door opened revealing Jerome who was stunned to find Mara and Mick blocking his way, "we're finished."

The air was quiet, they just realized how quiet it was: all other students were in their own classes, Mr. Sweet was softly humming a tune in his room, Jerome froze, looking from Mara to Mick to Mara again as if that would clarify what he had just heard. Meanwhile, all of Mick's muscles tightened as he let her words sunk in as Mara just shut her eyes softly.

"Now that's what I call a result," Jerome looked down, arms crossed. Normally he probably would had thrown an exuberant air punch but now was not the time, especially when Mick glared towards him— being less than one foot away from the headmaster's office offered no safety to his already-sore body.

"Leave me alone, Clarke!" the less taller boy made a start before Sweet's head appeared from out the doorway.

"What are you three still doing here? Aut disce aut discede –either learn or leave, children!"

"Come on, Jerome," Mara muttered, taking his arm into hers as she drew him away from the hurting Mick. Numbed and daze, Jerome felt himself being lead by Mara, her soft warm hands holding his own cold hand as they started—the one thing he had always wished for, to be with Mara...but what of the price he had to pay?

He stopped heavy on his feet, so that Mara was forced to cease likewise as he ripped his arm away from her grasp.

"What is it?" she sniffled, the last of her tears drying up. He avoided her eyes. Would it be so easy to tell her?

"Go."

"What?" She was awarded by a dark chuckle as the two faced each other.

"Don't pretend that by being breaking up with Mick, everything's dandy between us now," he scorned, Mick a few metres away, hearing this. "How dare you tell him about my parents?"

Mara was speechless. She hadn't been expecting his outburst. "I thought I could trust him—"
"Well you thought wrong." His voice had never been so sharp and dark. With heavy steps, he paced away hurriedly.

On both of her sides, the two walked away from her, neither one listening to her pleas. Needless to say, she had broken both their hearts, both their hearts had broken hers. It was like another glass house. No matter how hard she tried to invite them inside, something always went wrong. There was always miscommunication or wrong of judgement that parted their ways, unable to allow them in. With no sun, a strong draft stirred everywhere inside her own glass house. Particularly, her own glass house with no light inside was creating shadows on the others.

Supper had past. It was nearly seven hours past noon—two before curfew—and Jerome laid asleep. Mr. Sweet had given him leave to go rest and care for his wounds and he had honestly been tired out by all the beatings, by the whole stress of the day, he had collapsed as soon as he staggered to his own bed—shoes, bag and uniform still all on. He would had reckoned he didn't fall asleep, despite being so bushed, but how else had he heard the voices of his Mum and Dad? However undistinguishable, the voices were pretty loud though, and then Mara's and Mick's voice had joined in like a dissonant orchestra and oddly enough Victor's as well. Victor...his only real father-figure he's really ever had. And then somehow his mind began playing the ending conversation with Mr. Sweet from today.

"You must be strong, Jerome," Mr. Sweet had said as he stood to his feet. "Victor isn't the nicest or most tolerable of men but he had taken you in when you first started, knowing your circumstance," the man sighed, using his handkerchief to wipe the phantom sweat off his forehead. "Sometimes I believe Victor sees his own childhood within your own, in relevance with both of your fathers..."

"Sir?"

He snapped out, remembering his duty to the young adult right now. "Take rest—I'll send a note to your teachers with my permission. Remember, accipere quam facere praestat injuriam –It is better to suffer an injustice than to do an injustice."

Why oh why did Mr. Sweet and his stupid Latin have to be such an influence on me? He soon as he had formed this thought, all his external senses kicked him, budding him in pain as he groaned.

"You alright, Jerome?"

Instinctively, his eyes fluttered open, his facial muscles aching likewise. As soon as he saw his visitor, he cursed in his mind. Sitting beside him, Mara Jaffray had his dinner plate on her lap, a fork in one hand, a cold wet rag on the other as she looked as white as a sheet. Apparently she was surprised at Jerome's being awaken as much as he himself was.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I have like 3 more scenes planned out for the next chapter but then I'm totally out of ideas so offer up anything you think might suit the future of this story and I'll definitely consider it! Thanks so much, everyone, for all your reviews!