A/N: And the drama hits the ground running! This chapter sure is one that went through a lot of heavy editing (including the fix of some pretty rushed writing) and hopefully it's patched up pretty well.

Gucci Mane LaFlare - Doom is always coming in Wawanakwa High! Also Heather gathering all her available assets is just a Heather thing to do. Like you said, she's really scheming on overtime. Speaking of schemes, a little more of it is revealed over this chapter.

Till next time,

D.L.D

Stresses and Problems

Anne-Maria's P.O.V

Heather. God, just the thought of her name makes my blood boil. Perfect, popular Heather Chang - the most popular and influential girl in the entire school. With just a snap of her fingers she could gain anything she wants; parties, cronies, booze: anything you can think to name is anything she can get. Heather is just that powerful, that influential.

But I'm so gonna change that.

Yes, I, Anne-Maria Jones, the late Jersey transfer, will be the one to replace reigning Queen Bee Heather Chang. I may not have the perfect pale skin, nor the thin and stick-like limbs of Heather and her 'Squad', but I do have the guts. The mettle. I have the substance to be something just as great as they are, to be someone running things and not being stepped on. But of course, everyone else thinks differently. Idiots.

My recent decline in popularity is what made Heather kick me off the Squad. My blatant honesty was something that got me booted off too. Majority of the school rely on a fake ass cloak of togetherness - a stupid sense of community - that secretly separates us all. They all float around like their shit doesn't stink, as if they don't do bad things too. They all act like huge assholes just because that's what Heather tells them to do.

I'm the only one who doesn't; I'm an asshole because I want to be. Whenever I act like a bitch it's because I choose to be honest.

So, in retaliation to my new labels, I've decided to throw a huge party on Saturday to restore my popularity levels. If I can pull off the perfect gig, stir up just the right mix of fun and entertainment, I'll win back my old crowd in the 'party-goer' social sector of the school. Once I do that, I have an easy in into gaining social influence.

But of course, that means I have to leave my usual party-planning bud, Geoff, out of the whole process. You see, unlike me, Geoff has a bit of an open-door policy to his gigs. He invites anyone and anybody to his parties, saying that 'the more the merrier' is a motto that every party dude and dudette should go by. Obviously, I'm little smarter than that and know that open-door policies are what often lead to Heather ruining everyone's night. (I speak from experience).

As a result, Saturday is a closed and exclusive event. Only those with invites, and a few exceptions, will be allowed in. One exception is Dakota, the poor thing being trapped right in the middle of Heather's sticky web of lies. I don't know how, but Heather's got a nasty grip on her, most likely over some embarrassing secret from their time together in middle school. If I have to guess, it's most likely something big going wrong - like a flunked social stunt - but people can surprise.

Grabbing my hairspray, I shake the can before pressing down on the nozzle and spreading the product over my poof. Instantly, the rich smell of oils and hair product fill the air, making me sigh in relief. It's been a while since I've topped up, breakfast and my last minute party planning taking longer than I'd thought. Keeping up the perfect, sexy image of a girl like me sure isn't the result of laziness and falling behind schedule.

"Ah, that's the good stuff," Grinning, I set down the spray and give my poof a good flick. None of my hair twitches. "Perfect! Just perfect!" My slight accent leaks into the 'perfect' making it sound like 'point-fect' instead. Another Jersey-based habit.

Coming here late, from New Jersey of all places, did not help my social standing. Everyone made fun of me, my fashion sense and my accent. To them, I was a walking stereotype of those crazy Jerseys who walked around in animal print and denim and fake tan. All other aspects of me, like my killer smartness and looks, were ignored in favour of those. That led to fights, arguments and the eventual explosion of my first high school brawl.

It was after that when I met Heather...

God, I'd been so impressionable back then. I was what, fifteen, and having her - the most popular kid in school - talk to me was like meeting a real life celebrity. I was quick to agree to being a part of her Squad, to changing myself to fit in and to turn the tables on those who laughed at me. My tan was traded for heavy concealer, my clothes were swapped for more colourful and glittery alternatives, and my makeup was replaced for more simplistic and popular styles; I lost everything that made me, me.

After a month of being at Wawanakwa High, I was another member of the Squad, the cool girls, and I had become another generic clone. At first, I liked it. I lived for it. Laughing at geeks, hanging out at the mall and floating above all the bullshit of our school was fun. Better. I didn't feel like the stupid Jersey Reject anymore.

But, apparently, someone had noticed that I was unhappy. They noticed how I picked at the concealer and played with my earrings. They noticed how I had a cheeky smoke when Heather was gone and how I got antsy when she was around. They noticed how I wore fur at home and liked to drive a motorcycle. They noticed I was a heavy drinker. They noticed that I hid it all; they noticed that I wasn't myself.

My hand clenches around the bathroom sink, my face fixed to the clear mirror in front of me, "Dakota..."

She noticed. She cared. She's the only one who goddamned cared. But where is she now? She is still stuck there, with Heather and her stupid web of lies, and I am gone now. I'm free. But she isn't. She won't be for a while. Heather is tightening her grip around everyone, all the people she has left, choking and choking and choking them until they have no air left. She isn't ever gonna let go. She ain't ever gonna let go. She has never intended to. She only let me go because I rebelled, because I don't care, because I am the stupid Jersey Reject.

But Dakota is different. Dakota does care. Dakota isn't a Jersey Reject. She doesn't want to rebel. She doesn't want to upset Heather. So, she'll always be trapped.

Releasing a heavy breath, I push back from the counter and toy with my hoop earrings. I need to help her; I need to save her. Even if it's stupid, it's the least I owe her for helping me out - for being one of my few real friends.

Pulling a cigarette from my jeans, I stick it between my lips and light it up. Instantly, the nicotine smoke slips from my lips. "God, I'm going soft."

Rolling my eyes, I shove open the bathroom door and head downstairs to help my parents set up the family biz for the day. The task of pulling out the tables and wiping them down gives me time to think, time to calm down, and when I'm climbing onto my motorbike and leaving for school, I'm ready and pumped for the day ahead.

Soon, I'll be throwing the best and first party of the year; soon I'll be closer to saving Dakota. Soon but not right now.

Sadie's P.O.V

Breakfast today is light: a bowl of shredded wheat and some classic OJ. Since I'm starting my diet today, I'm not allowed to have overly sugary things... or fatty things... or things that have too many carbs. I have to limit myself. I have to pace myself for a healthy intake. So that means, I have to give up my all time fave of breakfast muffins for a wheaty and boring alternative: oats, grains and fruits. But it will be worth it in the long run. It will be good for me. I hope.

Like always, Katie is helping me through everything. She wakes up early and helps me to prep breakfast and do a few exercises. She even joins in, stating that we do everything together and this should be no different. We even match in clothes, like always, both wearing white shirts and black skirts, paired with some cute designer boots we managed to snag in a sale this summer. I'm just tying my hair into pigtails when Katie honks the horn of her mum's car.

I always wonder how her mum lets her drive again after crashing it into a snack shack. The damage had cost both of our parents quite a lot of cash and insurance sky rocketed, but somehow Katie's still allowed to drive. Her license hasn't even been taken away. But even after the snack shack crash, Katie's still pretty reckless when driving. To this day, I'm not sure if it's totally lucky or really bad that Katie got away with it.

After a final mirror check, which was slightly uncomfortable, I grab my bag and head downstairs. As I close the front door, making sure to check for the spare key in the plant pot, Katie pokes her head out of the driver's window.

"You ready for today?" She wears a huge grin, her excitement obvious.

For me, it's a bit of the opposite. I'm kinda dreading today, seeing the results of the cheer tryouts, even though I know I got in. The dread is tied to my promise of losing weight, of making sure that I do well enough to please Heather. Pleasing Heather is never an easy job. Many girls have tried and failed before me - Beth being a pretty good example in our Freshman and Sophomore years. At first, she was a part of Heather's Squad and was always seen helping her out. But during Sophomore year, the two had a fight and ever since then Beth's been trying to get back into Heather's good graces.

It's kinda sad cause everyone knows that she never will; it's kinda frightening cause everyone knows they'll be Beth eventually.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I give Katie a small smile as I open the passenger door.

Music fills the background of the drive to school, Katie trying to focus on the road properly. I don't try to talk to her, mainly because I don't want to have a car crash before school, and instead focus on calming down my thoughts.

I know that Heather is giving me a once in a lifetime opportunity; I know that I can't screw this up; I know that there is no room for mistakes or assumptions. But everything I think relies on assumptions and mistakes. After all, dieting is never a clear-cut path. You relapse, you go too skinny, you miss old perks of your fat life...

No Sadie! You can't think that! You can't go against dieting because it means change. You can't think of dieting as self-hate. Dieting is being done to help you, to make it easier for you to fit in. The sooner you accept it's good, the sooner you'll get better.

My thoughts don't get any better once Katie parks up and we head inside the main school building. A ton of students are already inside, talking and gossiping and heading toward notice boards. At the main notice board, the one where older year cheer tryout results were posted, are a flock of girls. Many of them are talking loudly, pointing at different sheets and nudging each other. A few are crying, shoved into the outskirts.

"Excuse me!" Katie pushes us forward, shoving girls out of the way. She only stops once we're at the front of the crowd, dragging me to stand beside her and pointing at the sheet with Senior entrants names. "Oh my god, Sadie! We did it!"

*Cheer Squad Tryout Senior Results*

Heather Chang

Zoey Dale

Courtney Fairbank

Katie Gonzalez

Bridgette Knowles

Dakota Milton

Sadie Murphy

Lindsay Scotts

Amy Smith

There are a few other names on the sheet, but I don't really know those girls, so I kinda gloss over them. However, the names of people from the Squad, and those from Freshman year, like Zoey and Bridgette, are names that I notice. I need to know them. Girls like them are the ones Katie and I are most likely to get on with. Girls like Courtney and Heather are girls that I have to work to please and not disappoint.

"Sadie! Katie!" Heather approaches us with a wide grin, surprisingly wrapping us both into a warm hug. Nervous, Lindsay stands behind her, smiling kindly as Heather breaks the unexpected hug. "I'm hope you're both happy with the results."

"Oh yes, totally!" Katie nods eagerly, her hands clasped to stop them from clapping. Her own grin is so wide that it looks as if it stretches from ear to ear. "Thanks so much, Heather!"

"It's no problem at all," Heather responds calmly before turning to face me. Her gaze is sharp, analytical, as she blinks at me, still smiling widely. "Everything's going to be settled, right? You girls won't let me down."

Dread stabs my gut at Heather's words, making the message to lose weight sink in all the more. I have to do better. I have to make sure that I don't disappoint. If I want to stay on the Squad, to maintain my position, I have to work and work and work. I couldn't rest, I couldn't relapse. I'll have to be perfect. Perfect.

"Not at all!" Katie gives a salute, giggling. I follow suit, covering the cracks within my mind.

"We'll do our best, Heather!"

"That's what I like to hear," Heather hums in a satisfied note, nodding as she looks from us to the crowd. "Practice starts an hour before school and straight after. Friday and Wednesday are the only non-mandatory sessions. But on other days, we'll also have Squad bonding sessions," She turns back to us, handing us each a slip of paper. "Since you're part of the team now, I thought I'd better give you my number."

Glancing down at the paper, I read the list of digits. It's legit - real - but I still can't help but feel odd. Heather's never usually this nice, not without reason, and I have a feeling that Katie knows this too. I can tell from how she frowns a little at the paper.

"Why?" Katie speaks before I do, her confusion evident. "Why are you being so nice to us?"

"Because you're one of us now, silly!" Lindsay giggles, her kindness actually genuine. Rolling her eyes as she covers her mouth, almost as if she were suppressing more giggles, she adds, "And that means we can do sleepovers and makeovers together! Oh! And parties! And meeting some super cool college students and- "

"Trade secrets, Lindsay," Heather nudges Lindsay a little, shooting her a tiny, sharp glare. I don't miss it. "But that being said, you two are officially un-geeked!"

"For real?" I raise a brow, still skeptical.

"For real," Heather nods, smiling.

For a moment, Katie and I just stare at each other silently, the paper in our hands growing clammy. But soon, we're squealing and clasping hands, the skepticism towards Heather and her intentions being replaced with pure excitement.

"Squee!"

Oh my gosh, we're gonna be so popular! Like really popular! All thanks to Heather! I feel like crying!

"I'll leave you to celebrate," Heather flashes me a grin, already walking away with Lindsay. However her departure isn't noticed, my mind lost in the idea of hanging out with popular girls and finally not being a geek.

This year is gonna be so fun!

Dakota's P.O.V

This morning I arrive to a surprisingly empty parking lot. Well, I do until I remember that Heather has posted the cheer tryout results today. With that little piece of paper she could herd a hundred girls away - plus their friends and boyfriends. So the lack of people in the lot suddenly makes a lot more sense than it did a few moments ago. If anything, the relief it brought becomes an intense panic, a sense of incoming doom, and I know it would only be so long before a storm hit.

Sighing, I get out of and lock my prized white Chevrolet, adjusting my bag. Right now, everything is set to go well for once: I woke up on time, Daisy slathered me with her usual daytime kisses, and Heather has yet to text or call me. Plus, Sam is all set for a gaming sesh later on! Everything is bound to go well. Wonderfully! Nothing could ruin the good mood I'm in, not even a bad test grade or a pile of boring homework.

But, like the bad omen she is, just as I'm about to check off today as a potentially good one, I spot Heather approaching me along with Lindsay. Both walk with purpose, dignity, their heads and designer bags held high. For once, Courtney is nowhere in sight. Relieving but also foreboding; no Courtney means that Heather wants me to do something for her yet again.

"Hi, Heather!" My smile is up and ready before I can even think to summon it. I've been doing it for so many years that it's natural now. Normal. "What's up?"

We don't waste time beating around the bush anymore. Not after four years of this crap. Instead I'm fully trained to know, to expect, when Heather wants me to carry out her bidding. I'm so used to the routine that she doesn't even have to prompt me anymore; I can tell from just a single funny look.

"You know what's up," Heather's tone alerts me to her annoyance. So does the way her leather bag hangs from her arm, metal buckle gleaming in the sunlight as it swings violently. "I've got a plan for booting Courtney. Permanently."

"Oh no!" Lindsay gasps, a hand covering her mouth. Her eyes widen as she looks between me and Heather, stunned and almost pale with shock. "You don't mean - Helia! We can't kill her! That's illegal!"

Oh Lindsay... Lovable, scatter-brained Lindsay...

"Of course we're not killing her, Linds!" Heather huffs, rolling her eyes. She never has much patience for Lindsay, for anyone. I kinda pity Lindsay for being one of Heather's 'oldest and closest' friends. It must be a pain to deal with Heather twenty-four-seven. "We're going to embarrass her. Kill her social rep. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to get myself a criminal record?"

"No, of course not!" Lindsay quickly babbles her response, rapidly shaking her head. Her blue eyes shine with guilt, almost like sparkly tears. "It's just that when people usually say that, they mean death. You know, that killer psycho thing."

See? Lindsay is a complete airhead. Although, she does have a heart of gold. Out of all the girls that populate Heather's Squad, Lindsay is the only one I could ever rely on to be friendly and kind. Everyone else is all for themselves - selfish and mean and cruel. They'll use anything they could against you while Lindsay would simply talk to you and try to help. As much as she couldn't really help me feel better in the past, I'm thankful for her attempts to.

I'm thankful for her semi-friendship.

"Well, I'm not everyone," Heather states blatantly, grimacing. Turning her head, her sharp grey eyes sweep onto me. "Speaking of, I need you to do something for me, Dakota. You know how to record and edit, right?"

Record and Edit? Yeah, I know how to do that. I'm a genius, an expert, when it comes to camera manipulation. But not many people know that. I don't even think that Heather knows that. I did gain my editing skills through gaming - a little portion of it picked up from movie and animation study. But mostly, my editing skills are thanks to gaming.

Sharp and painful, a pang of realisation hits my skull. Did Heather find out about my secret? Does she know that I frequently game?

Timidly, my eyes flicker to hers. Sharp grey irises stare back at me. Heather doesn't appear to know anything - well, she always looks like she doesn't know much, but I have a good way of telling - knowing - if she does. That sense doesn't appear to be going off yet.

I bite my lip, "Yeah... I know a couple things."

"Great!" Suddenly, Heather lights up like a Christmas tree, her smile bright and eyes sparkling. She even clasps her hands together, an expression of false pleasure. "After school, you need to meet me by my locker. We can discuss it further once we're there."

"And if I don't?" I raise a brow, knowing that this will only lead to more bad. More guilt. A storm is brewing in Wawankwa High, a huge, big and destructive one. I feel like it's going to be bigger than any before, more explosive, and I can't help but dread that Heather will get me involved. Trapped.

"If you don't," Heather emphasizes, the 't' a harsh, little sound that is forced out between her grit teeth. Ironically, they are fixed into a tight, tense smile. "Then I'll spill your precious secret."

Secret? She doesn't refer to which one. She could know. She could know. Oh god...

"What secret?" I swallow, trying to settle the lump in my throat. Sticking fast, it refuses to budge as my heart races at a million miles per hour. I've always hoped that my hobby would be hidden from Heather. I have always planned for it to be concealed until I was free of her terrible, cruel grasp. But apparently, I wasn't careful enough. Apparently, she still has a way to find out about my secret gamer lifestyle.

"Remember seventh grade, Dakota?" Heather smirks triumphantly, examining her blood red nails. "Remember Greg? The guy who cost your popularity?"

Ah... Greg. Good old, first kiss Greg. Back in Middle School, he was the guy who could get any girl to swoon, the one who always had a little flock of secret admirers. What caught me was the fact his uncle was an actor - yes a freaking actor! Middle School me was a Hollywood freak - I still am a Hollywood freak. Nevertheless, his tales of his uncle's work and the promise of a ticket to a movie premier had caught me solid. I fell. Hard. So freaking hard.

But then... we both got braces. Yay! Those lovely, pesky train tracks. I really don't miss them. So as things progressed a little, and it came to a first kiss (which happened in front of eager peers) the train tracks got tangled. Yes, that is what caused everyone to flock away from me: a first kiss gone wrong. It was totally embarrassing. Totally degrading. And Heather still dangles it in front of me every day like a dog's favourite bone.

The thing is, though, I'm not scared of that anymore. Not after the past few years. What I'm scared of is Heather finding out that she doesn't have anything on me; once she realises that, she'll find out about my gamer life.

She'll ruin me for good this time.

"Fine," I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. "I'll do it."

"Perfect!" Heather smiles once more, her grey eyes narrowing into catlike slits. She looks as if she could purr. "I'll handle the convincing and you read the diary and find what I need."

"Diary?!" I splutter, frowning as she passes me a diary. Purple, not bound with a lock but embossed with a silver, curling 'C' that could only mean one person. "I didn't agree to- "

"Uh, uh, uh," Heather tuts, shaking her head. That stupid smile is fixed onto her lips once more, bright and evil and certain as she places her hands on her hips. Like a scolding mother. "You wouldn't want to upset me, would you?"

I hate her. I hate her so much. I don't hate many people, I don't even dislike a lot of people, but Heather is the rare exception. Heather is someone who makes my daily life hell. She is someone who controls me like a puppet tied with strings and I hate it. I hate her. I hate me. I hate it all. I hate the control and I hate the way I always bend to her will. I hate the desire within me to try and survive this high school, even though everyone's opinions of me will be irrelevant in a year's time.

I hate my need to be surrounded and loved by everyone else.

"No, Heather," I almost growl the words out, my annoyance not hidden as I thrust the diary into my bag. "I'll read the stupid diary."

"Good," Heather nods, turning on her heel, "I'll see you later then."

Massaging the knot forming in my temple, I watch as Heather struts away, Lindsay in tow like a lost little puppy. I should've never called today a good day before noon. I should've never assumed that Heather would leave me alone.

Another stab of guilt and hopelessness strikes my skull, this time spreading to my heart and gut. Why do I let myself get into these situations?

Gwen's P.O.V

Like the day before (and the one before it), school passes in a slow and distorted blur. Bridgette gets into the cheer squad; lunch is the same crappy bland mush; and Heather and her lackeys don't even bat an eye in my direction. Instead, all of that rage and tension is focused internally - on their past member Anne-Maria. The Squad are self-imploding, readjusting, and allow the rest of the school to have a break from Heather and her tyrannical rule.

But even with everything passing at a nice, ambient pace, I just couldn't relax. Not at all. Whenever I spot Heather - or Trent - my body instantly seizes up, ready to enact fight or flight. No matter how calm the day is, how normal everything seems, I can't shake away the feeling of some sort of big disaster coming. I can't shake the feeling of impending doom. Maybe it's because Heather always works with impending doom, with making her prey wriggle and squirm. Maybe it's because I'm still paranoid.

Sadly, I still can't tell which. I still can't explain anything.

That brings me to Trent. Good, old Trent...

God, I feel guilty about my explosion two days ago. I didn't mean to let everything loose, to let my verbal diarrhea spew violently from my lips, but he asked for the truth and the truth was what I delivered. The cold, plain truth. Even so, that doesn't remove the damned stab of remorse I feel every time I see him. He looks so lost, dejected, and would always make sure to scurry away. Like he wants to hide from me. Like he's afraid of me.

So, over the rest of the day, I revert back into my introverted self. My tough, old shell comes out to protect my soft and mushy insides, shielding me from the stupid paranoia that eats away at my brain. Like always, no-one notices. Like always, it's assumed to be my normal behaviour.

But of course someone has to notice. And of course that someone has to be Duncan. Jerky, bad boy Duncan.

Why can't it ever be anyone else?

"Ok, Pasty, I call your bluff," He blocks my path, like usual, keeping me trapped in the hallway. All lessons finished, it's the end of the day, the final period passing in another boring blur. A swarm of students pass by, some eyeing us suspiciously but none being brave enough to actually intervene. They're all scared of Duncan's stupid delinquent arms. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's buggin' ya."

Here we go again. The stupid concern shit. I thought we were all over that - well, at least everyone else is over it. I've been fine for the past few weeks, slowly getting my former self back piece by piece. I am by no way healed, but I'm somewhat near whole. Somewhat near normal. But of course, when everyone else seems to not care, Duncan cares. He cares because he's known me too long; he cares because he's studied the pages of my life story too hard; he cares too much because he plays the role of my best friend.

Damn you life. For doing this. For making Duncan my best friend.

"What if I don't?" I raise a brow, showing my complete annoyance at his attempt to trap me again. Usually, when I do that, he gets the signal that I'm starting to get pissed. To him, it's my way of saying 'let's talk about it later'. But today, it appears he's having none of it. He's also tired of the bullshit.

"I won't move," He answers simply, calling my bluff exactly as he said he would. His form remains directly in the way, blocking all hopes of escape. "So unless you want to stand here all night, you better start talking, Sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" I almost snort at the nickname, rolling my eyes. He only ever uses that when I'm being stubborn. "Nice try, Dunk, but that won't work on me. Try someone like Courtney."

The words leave a little more bitterly than I want them to, feeling like a stale taste on my tongue. Instinctively, I scowl, making Duncan's brows crease with further concern. That makes me frown more. I don't like it. I don't like his concern. Anyone's concern. I don't really deserve it.

"Please just tell me, Gwen," He finally pleads, dropping the big-old-tough-guy approach. He looks at me pleadingly, his blue eyes filled with some sort of emotion I haven't seen within them in a long time: desperation. "Please."

I spend too long searching his eyes for anything other than the stupid pleading. I spend too long watching his face flicker with each passing second. I spend too long wishing to pop the air like a bubble of chewing gum, inhaling the faint scent of Axe around him.

I end up huffing, tearing my gaze away from Duncan and pulling a firm scowl.

"Fine..." I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. "I'll tell you."

He sniffs, leaning back a little and stuffing his hands into his pockets. I already miss his closeness. "Alright."

Seconds tick by. Too many. Silence fills the air, the corridors long vacant from the surge of students rushing to catch the bus home. All that's left is me, Duncan and the lockers. The lockers, Duncan and me. What a thrilling combination! What a comforting atmosphere! Every second is like an audible tick for me and the more that pass, the more Duncan's tolerance dwindles.

"Anytime now, Pasty," Duncan warns, his impatience evident as he raises his brow once more. I know that if I don't say something soon, he'll just hoist me over his shoulder and hold me hostage for the rest of the evening. It won't be the first time it's happened; it definitely won't be the last.

"Ok, just let me think it through!" I growl in response, biting my lip. I hate pressure, I hate time, and so I hurry to solve the problem. True to my word, my mind scrambles for the reasons for my anxiety, my weird behaviour, and suddenly it all comes out, like a flood, and spills from my mouth, "Heather's plotting who knows what as revenge and her behaviour is sketchier than ever. Trent keeps looking at me with puppy dog eyes and I feel guilty. This whole school is driving me crazy and the only comfort I get is- "

I'm cut off mid-way, Duncan hoisting me over his shoulder and trudging toward the nearest exit - conveniently the reception. He pulls his hood over his head, shielding his face from the outside world. Classic criminal move.

"What the hell, Duncan!" My fist collides with his shoulder, intending to bruise him. I end up sending a dull throb up my arm. "I thought you wanted to help me!"

"I never said that," Duncan sniffs, sliding me to the side. My heart pounds against my ribs as I nearly drop, saved by only his secure grasp. My fist collides with his head. "Hey! I only wanted to know what upset you."

"And now you know," I retort, trying to kick him squarely in the chest. Unfortunately for me, Duncan has anticipated my killer move and skillfully moves me away. My knee ends up banging itself against his hard ass elbow. "Ow! Put me down, jackass!"

"Nah, I think I like this," Duncan smirks a little, his grasp on me becoming a little tighter. He tilts my head closer to the ground, causing my heart to drop into my gut. "I think you might have to live there now."

"Jerk..." I mumble, pouting and resigning myself to my fate.

We continue for a few minutes, my mind filled with the regular swaying sensation of his footsteps, before Duncan stops, readjusts me and turns his head to face me. Immediately, I feel like my skin is way too warm for my body and I wish for a lot of space to come between us. A whole lot of it. We're so close that I can make out the faded scar across the bridge of his nose - he got that from rock climbing.

He raises a brow, "So, did you hear about Anne-Maria's party this Saturday?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I also raise a brow, not at all trusting his angle. Nor his proximity. "It's not like I'm going..." I trail off as I spot his expression, my eyes widening in realisation. No! Fuck no! There is no fucking way I'm going to that party! "No way, Dunk, dream on. You're not dragging me to that hell."

"I'm dragging you there whether you wanna go or not," Duncan smiles a little, the corner of his lips tugging the most. I catch the slight crinkle of his nose and the twinkle in his ocean eyes as his big hand tweaks my pale nose. "But thanks for sharing your opinion anyway."

"Asshole," I grumble, slapping his hand away.

"You know you secrelty love me," Duncan teases, smug.

"Yeah, yeah, I 'love you' Duncan," I roll my eyes, pulling a face. My leg lightly digs him in the side. He laughs in response, playfully ruffling my hair. As he does, I feel a little bit of normal returning - a little piece of the old me. A piece I miss but haven't noticed was actually missing.

A tiny smile flickers onto my face; perhaps, today hasn't actually turned out too bad.

Dakota's P.O.V

"Sorry guys..."

Frowning, I review the recorded audio on my phone. Like I knew it would, it replays the out of context conversation between Gwen and Duncan, specifically the end. Due to Heather's demands, her merciless orders, Gwen and Duncan have fallen prey to her schemes. She wants to have an 'insurance policy' for her whole Courtney plan. That means securing Courtney through the means of Duncan, or rather, making sure that Courtney thinks Heather is the only person who can help her.

Everyone knows that Courtney's number one weakness is Duncan. As much as she likes to act as if she doesn't, she cares for him a lot. Duncan is her rock, her world, and I remember how crazy she was about him a year ago. Heather definitely remembers how crazy Courtney was about him. The entire school does.

So if Courtney ever thought of leaving, of splitting from Heather and her demands, Heather could use this clip. She could take this out of context information, this innocent friend conversation, and manipulate it into a secret affair. With just a few simple words, and a good couple lies, Heather could make Courtney believe Duncan was cheating on her with Gwen. Then, Gwen and Duncan would be in for a shitstorm.

That is what scares people: Heather's ability to control. Not her physical ability, not her looks and confidence - her control. Heather's control makes everyone bow down to her will. Everyone including me...

'You've reached a new low, Kota,' My subconscious is quick to blame, tutting away in my brain. She looks down at me, disappointed, and I can't help but feel like shrinking up and disappearing into nothing but thin air.

I feel terrible for what I've done - for the things I will do - but there is nothing I can do about it. There is nothing anyone can do to save me. I am stuck in an impossible puzzle, an ever-changing maze, and the only solution will cost me the only thing I cherish: being surrounded by people.

After a final review, I send the clip to Heather and stare at the screen. For a moment, I think of sending something else, of making my opinion clear. I think of Anne-Maria, her many shows of defiance. I can do that. I can be strong. I can look at Heather and essentially spit in her face. If I do that maybe she'll actually leave me alone for once. After a moment, impulsively, I act and press down on the record button beside send.

"I've done as you've asked, Heather," I speak harshly, coldly, my hand tightening around the phone. My voice doesn't shake as I glare at the gritty sidewalk. "Now leave me alone."

Pressing send, I lock my phone and breathe out a big sigh. My heart races in my chest faster than a car, and I feel as if I am going to collapse. A hand runs through my hair, pulling at it. I've done a bad thing. No - two very bad things. Now, I don't know if I'm going to survive them.

Walking away from the scene, I sink back into my thoughts and ignore the vigorous pinging from my phone.

Forgive me, Gwen. Forgive me everyone. Heather is the one pulling my strings.