A/N: This chapter really wanted to be as dramatic as possible. This might be the most eventful chapter I've typed up to date (it certainly was a big deal in the original version of this fic). The word count? Insane. The actions? Even crazier. A lot gets shaken up from this point onward, so many alliances get fractured and hearts get broken. In short: Heather will always be one step ahead.

Guest - Your review totally caught me out of the blue! I'm so glad that you like what I've rewritten so far for this fic (especially because it's really different from the original). Hopefully I don't disappoint you with how things change and evolve between Courtney and Duncan (their relationship is definitely a complicated one).

Anyway I'll shut up and let you all read the overdue update to this fic. Till next time,

Drama :)

Raise your voice (even if they don't like it)

Zoey's P.O.V

A blur. After Dawn's sudden phone call, everything around me is a blur. Opening up the bathroom door, spotting Sammy's unconscious body, frantically checking for her pulse... somewhere, among all that panic, I had managed to shout something at Dawn about calling for help. In that moment, all I could focus on was what I was doing, listening to my own heartbeat echoing in my ears as I grip at Sammy's wrist and yell something to my parents downstairs.

Too much time passes until the ambulance arrives, flashing red and blue lights across the street. When they've loaded Sammy up, strapped her onto a stretcher with wheels and plastered an oxygen over her mouth, I don't know what to do. By then, Dawn's been long gone - my phone a black screen that shows no trace of the life-changing phone call. My parents are equally as stunned as me, my mum concerned as she tells the paramedics that she'll follow on to the hospital.

Somehow, I end up coming along for the ride. Dressed in my pajamas, a thin jacket thrown over my camisole, I find myself bumping along with the worn roads of the town as my mum drives toward the nearest hospital. The only hospital for miles around.

When we get there, the nurses rattle off a tangent of instructions that I don't fully absorb. Among them is something to do with medication, a kind of sedation that they've given Sammy since she appeared to panic as soon as she had regained consciousness. As they explain, my mum nods along, pressing her lips into a tight, thin line as she fishes for her phone and says something about possibly getting Sammy's parents' numbers.

Only, I don't focus on that. Instead, feeling something like guilt climb up my throat, I feel tears burn at my eyes as I sit by Sammy's bedside.

Peaceful, still, she's a strange kind of quiet that I've never seen her be - at least for the little while that I've known her for. Not on edge, not nervous, she's got a serene atmosphere about her that she always seems to lack when she's around her sister, Amy. Around Amy, Sammy's jittery, walking on a pile of eggshells that could crumble at any minutes. Right now isn't much better; it's like she's a corpse on display in a glass coffin.

Peaceful. Yeah, she's peaceful. But at what cost? Is peace really worth all this trouble?

Pursing my lips, I can't help the stab of guilt that pricks at my heart. Even if Sammy and I aren't super-close, aren't the best of buds, I should have been more alert. I should have been there for her. I should have-

"Zoey, hun," Snapping me out of my daze, my mother is kneeling before me. In her hand is some money, crumpled and crinkled but money nonetheless. Her other hand is on my shoulder, squeezing it gently, "Are you feeling ok? I know this must've been quite a shock."

Yeah. It has been. One big shock that I definitely hadn't been prepared for. Everything in my mind is all over the place, scrambled, and I'm not sure if I'll be completely fine with the result of Sammy's actions and my own negligence. I don't know if I can live with what might happen next. Not after promising Jasmine that I would do my best to look after her friend, to make sure that she is safe and well. Not after getting to know a bit about Sammy, to see that she isn't an awful person.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I close my eyes to push back the tears, "Yeah, I'm..." Opening my eyes, forcing a smile onto my face, I put on my best face for my mum, "I'm fine, mum. Promise."

"Alright," Reluctant, my mum nods and moves away from me. Sniffing herself, almost as if she's also about to cry, she straightens out her top and heads toward the door, "I'm gonna go grab us both some form of breakfast and make this call to Sammy's parents. You stay right here, ok?"

"Ok," I find myself responding, my voice a tiny sound.

All too soon it's only silence in the room. Once in a while, the machines whir or make a strange noise, cutting through the stillness, but most of the time it's silence. Lasting, endless silence. Usually, I hate the stillness. Growing up as an only child, with no friends and barely anyone to talk to, I know what silence is like. Now though, I find myself craving for the silence to not end; I hope that the machines do not start signalling something worse than a medically-induced coma.

"I'm sorry for not seeing more, Sammy," Quiet, my voice pierces the veil of silence. Taking her hand, rubbing a soothing circle into the back of it, I add, "I should have seen the truth sooner and I should have been a better friend. Maybe then you wouldn't have ended up here."

Yeah. She wouldn't have ended up here if I had been a better friend. But, even so, that doesn't mean I will give up. Not yet. When Sammy wakes up, opens her eyes, I know that I will make this up for her. I will right this wrong and make her see that there are people who do value her. Amy isn't an example of what people think of her; Jasmine and I are an example of what people should think of Sammy.

In the future, people will think of her in that way. Sammy will get the future she deserves. And, more than anything, I will make sure that she won't kill herself. I'll never let Sammy down for as long as this unfortunate chapter of her life lasts.

Courtney's P.O.V

Slowly, everything's falling into place for me. Piece by piece, bit by bit, I'm building my own little resistance against Heather and her well-established classes within the social hierarchy of our school. Anne-Maria, Harold, Izzy and Owen: I'm gradually gaining more and more scattered allies across the student body. With my own informant hanging in the balance, determined to do anything to cross Heather's right-hand man, I more or less have a solid victory within my hands.

At least, if I can gather enough people to form a contingency plan...

Contrary to popular belief, going against Heather Chang isn't a straightforward process. You can't just group everyone who hates her guts together, hoping that the sealing glue of wanting Heather taken down a peg will last for long enough. No, that's a stupid plan. Even Gwen - someone who definitely isn't a 'people person' - knows that such a plan would only last for as long as a snowman in the boiling summer heat.

No-one likes to risk getting on Heather's bad side. Covering your own ass is always at the top of every human being's mind. Doesn't matter who they are, doesn't matter who they like, all people will do all they can to serve themselves. Even if it means throwing everyone else under the bus.

So, even though I have decent numbers in allies, I still need a backup. But who else would be willing to help me? To most of the student body I'm Courtney Fairbank, the bitchy cunt of a control freak who would do anything to have the entire school under her preppy thumb. Resident crazy girl and the flakiest are already on my side, but who else would be crazy enough to trust me? Who would risk crossing Heather?

Frowning, I stab into my salad as I scan the courtyard. So far it's only a few people who've dared to leave the safer waters of the cafeteria. Grouped together, they sit at the wooden benches decorating the place, their lunches and other items spread across the tabletops like offerings to some god. At one table sits some quiet loners, mostly forgettable faces that are only friends through circumstance; at another table sits the literature nerds, discussing and splattering spit everywhere as they freak out over some raunchy romance novel; third and finally is the table of posh kids, tennis rackets and water bottles laid out as their offerings.

In the past, I would've hung out with the posh kids. Playing tennis, laughing at the kids on state welfare or snickering about those less fortunate than me, I used to have a simpler outlook on how life worked. I used to be a sheltered, spoiled girl just like them. Just like... Taylor.

There she is - right in the centre of their group. Bored, disinterested, she looks as if every bit of energy has been sapped out of her body as she flicks through her phone and adjusts a strand of oak brown hair that shifts into her eyes. If I'm remembering correctly, Taylor runs the little gaggle of posh kids who are unfortunate enough to get roped into attending this hell hole. She's also a huge enemy of Heather, the two clashing due to their stake to the claim as 'Queen Bee'.

If there is anyone in this school who would help me out right now, then it's Taylor. Just like Anne-Maria, she wants Heather's crown knocked right off her head. She's just never had the balls to do it herself.

"Hey, Taylor," Walking up to her table, bringing my half-finished salad with me, I muster up the brightest smile possible as I flick my gaze over the group. Shallow. Conceited. Vain. They're all exactly as I remember. Not one of them even looks up as they continue their conversations. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"Hey Courtney," Not looking up from her phone, Taylor simply motions for her friends to scoot over and make room. Wordlessly, they do, pulling faces that they must think I don't see. Fools. "I'm just fine. Although you must be coming down with something if you're hanging around us 'nepo-babies'."

Instantly, I cringe at the tone she uses. Even without the stare that she directs my way, I know that Taylor remembers how our last encounter went down. When Heather handed me the opportunity to move up in the ranks in return for kicking Taylor and her friends down a few. That moment was what kick-started my path to brilliant glory in this school; that moment also burned a lot of old bridges in my life.

Not too many people trust me anymore. No-one's willing to work with Heather's known lapdog. And, honestly, how could I blame them? In the past, I was a girl who would do anything to protect her own hide.

"The old hag must be treating you just fine if you're still here," Taylor continues, reading my mind as she puts down her phone and flashes me a sharp smile that could cut like a knife. Tilting her head with feigned interest, she adds, "You don't look like you've been suffering. If anything, you look like you've been benefiting from your friend in a high place."

Oh yes, I have been. More than anyone else, Heather trusts me with a lot of her own personal affairs. Organisation and reputation are two key things to me, two values that I won't ever leave behind no matter how much I change. Just like me, Heather knows that. That's why she gives me special privileges, let me date Duncan and left my friends alone if I asked; I do favours for her and she does favours for me. We work in an almost symbiotic relationship.

Only, no-one sees it like that. All they see is the secretary scurrying after her boss, clipboard in hand and threats ready to be fired.

"Alright, I get it," Releasing a sigh, I close my eyes and try not to lose my cool. Try not to scream that back then, when we were younger, I thought I knew what I was doing. "I was a bitch to you. To all of you. But I've changed now. I want to make it right- "

"By doing Heather's dirty work once more?" Taylor quips, a sharp bite to her voice as she glares at me. Now the gaggle of posh kids have put their phones down, all eyes on me and Taylor as we continue our discussion, "You wanna pull one of those fucked up pranks that Heather makes you do again? Try somewhere else, pretty princess."

"How ironic," Scoffing at Taylor's words, ignoring the sharp sting I feel at the nickname 'princess', I fiercely blink back my tears. How I feel doesn't matter - not right now. Yet my shaking hands almost give away the emotions swirling within me as I stab at my salad and force the forkful into my mouth, "You all see me as Heather's little lapdog," Shaking my head, I laugh, "And here I am trying to ask for your help to take her down."

"Yeah right," Muttered under her breath, almost like a bitter afterthought, Taylor rolls her eyes. Clicking, her tongue gives away the distaste in her voice as she looks at me, examines my figure under her critical gaze.

Nothing I'm not used to. Ever since I've joined Heather, become one of the members of her Squad, I've grown used to being looked at in such a way. People tend to do that when you're someone strong, someone formidable. They want to see if there is any weakness within you, any kind of hesitation or indecision that they can exploit for their own gain. Only, I'm not like that; I don't have a single uncertain bone within my body when it comes to dethroning Heather.

"What?" Raising a brow, daring Taylor to say what she said once more, I feign innocence, "I didn't quite hear that."

"Yeah right," Taylor repeats, much more loudly and much more fiercely this time. Now standing up from her seat, summoning her friends to follow, she barks out in a rough voice, "You know, you really haven't changed Courtney. At the end of the day, you're still serving yourself and only yourself."

She isn't entertaining it. At all. Even words can't sway someone like Taylor once she's made her mind up about you. That's why Heather and her have never truly gotten along. That's why Taylor had been the original idea for Queen Bee, the original successor to the past line. But Heather beat her to it. Sucking up to the seniors, manipulating them around her thin, bony fingers, Heather Chang made sure that she'd become queen.

And Taylor had been the one to pay the price for that.

"I'm doing this for everyone!" Yelling after Taylor, desperate not to lose my contingency plan, I stand from my seat and watch her leave, "I'm trying to make things right!"

Midway through her step, Taylor pauses. Around her, like a ripple in a pool of water, the entire flock of posh kids also freeze. One by one they all turn, Taylor at their centre and guarded expressions sat upon their judgmental faces. One moment. Through my own desperation I have won myself one moment to win this crowd over and get Taylor on my side. All I have to do is sell the best lie possible in under five minutes.

"I know that I've fucked up, ok?" Letting my shoulders deflate, allowing the tears in my eyes to bead, I glance at Taylor and her group. Motionless, still, they give no indication on their opinions as I continue to explain, "But I do need your help, Taylor. I'm trying, I'm really trying, to right the wrongs that I've done," Looking away now, pursing my lips, I add more quietly, "Heather's out of control. She's - she doesn't care about anyone but herself," I have seen that now. Have realised that when she made me choose between myself and Duncan. "And I want to end it. We all deserve to be happy in this shithole."

Slowly, the group returns to the table. Sitting back down, their rackets leaned against the bench's legs or propped up on the tabletop, they're settling down for a real conversation. For now, I have their attention. For now, they'll listen. I just have to make this opportunity sound like one they can't pass up on.

"What do I get in return?" Cutting to the chase, Taylor folds both of her hands together and rests her chin on it. Expectant, waiting, she raises a perfectly styled brow and wears an expression that says anything but playful and lighthearted. No, she's serious. Just like Heather, she knows when to put on the perfect poker face for business and shady social schematics. "What exactly do we get in return for helping you?"

"Heather's title," Straight away, I say the thing that I know she desires most. Robbed from her, stolen by a plotting, greedy snake, Taylor's claim to the Queen Bee crown had been snatched from her when Heather rose to power. Everyone knows that she secretly wants it back, longs for the day when Heather fails and she can sweep in and take over. But Taylor already knows that. She knows that perfectly well and fully intends to use it.

"Yeah right," Scoffing, turning away from me, Taylor shakes her head, "That's the grand prize and you know it."

"I don't want it, though," Frowning now, I can't help but feel that I'm telling most of the truth. Deep down, I don't want to be the new Heather. Deep down I want to say goodbye to that crown and its dirty, evil ways. But I can't. Too deep, too entangled, I need to destroy it if I ever want to have some kind of normal life. "I've never wanted it. Even when I joined Heather's Squad it was because I thought that I could change her- "

"Cut the bullshit, Court," Sharp, spitting, Taylor nearly barks at me as she snarls, "You know you can't do that with me. But I'll still work with you."

Sucking in a breath, I can't help but smile a little. Well, that's a relief. A wonderful relief. Part of me thinks that she was going to turn my offer down.

"On one condition, though," Grinning now, something wicked gleaming in her eyes, Taylor almost chuckles with glee. Almost. Instead she simply claps her hands together, sitting up straighter and folding them over the tabletop. Catching the light, the shiny clear coat her nails glimmers in the sunlight. "Once you have your power, you leave me and my friends the fuck alone. We get our goodies at homecoming and then we're solid."

"Got it," Nodding, I agree. Because I won't need her help by then. After this, everything will change; Heather will be gone and everything will change.

"Good," Taylor nods herself, a satisfactory smile on her face as she signals for all of her friends to tune into the conversation. All of them obey, putting down their phones and turning to look at me. At the centre of them all, Taylor is calm - controlled - as she asks me, "So when do we get started? We have a really busy schedule as you can see. Wawanakwa doesn't win its tennis tournaments from nothing, you know."

"We'll get started tomorrow," That's all I can answer with, stunned with the way in which she could control this group of people. Almost like a queen ant controlling her colony. "And thanks for this. It means a lot."

"It doesn't mean shit to you," Taylor corrects, returning to a venomous tone as she gets up from the table. Then, in a more gentle tone, she assures me, "But even if it's a lie, we won't screw this up. It's all on you now."

Yes. All that happens next is on me - and that is a scary thought to have. Nevertheless, I can't feel anything but nervous anticipation as I watch Taylor walk away, everything finally settling into perfect place.

Dakota's P.O.V

Unsurprisingly, there's been a development in the Squad over the weekend. With posts of Anne-Maria's party circulating about the web, Heather's been bound to make a new move, to shuffle her pawns around the board, in order to reclaim whatever influence she feels she may have lost. This move isn't a new one; Heather's grown predictable over the years. Maybe that's why I'm not even surprised by her decision - the person that she's chosen to replace Anne-Maria.

Amy Smith. Eager, recently accepted back onto the cheer squad, she's the perfect candidate for Heather to manipulate. Not to mention the open secret that she more or less bullies her twin sister, pulling her along like a kicked up puppy choked on a chain-link leash. Why wouldn't Heather jump at the opportunity to have someone like that on her side?

Curdling, something sour is settling in my stomach. Even as I pick at my lunch - a fresh fruit salad that I'd specifically asked for the night before - I can't help but feel the horrible dread building up in my system. Twisting, turning, churning, my body is trying to warn me about something. Most likely it's trying fruitlessly to steer me clear from Heather's war zone, aware that her meddling with Courtney would get everyone in the Squad destroyed along with her.

Really, I'd like to escape that danger as much as possible. Knowing what Heather is like - what Courtney can be like - I know that it's better to distance myself from their ongoing cold war as much as possible. But, unfortunately, life isn't that simple. If it is I wouldn't be here right now, sat alone at the empty 'Popular' table and feeling more lonely than ever before.

"Hey," Capturing my attention, a gruff voice pricks my ears. Glancing upward, my eyes meet the familiar pale face of Gwen, the goth girl that Heather always picks on. Usually, she looks downright miserable, all doom and gloom and darkness, but today she looks somewhat friendly - dare I even say welcoming - as she grows a sheepish, shy smile, "Mind if I sit here? The rest of the place is kinda full."

True to her words, the rest of the cafeteria is filled to the brim with students. Every table, every corner, every bench is decked out with arrays of social groups or mix-matches of groups that have been forced to mesh together for the lunch hour. Food is stuck to the surfaces of some tables; snobs and nerds alike wrinkle their noses at each other's disgusting habits. Chef Hatchet doesn't look pleased at all as he sends the latest student out into the chaotic seating space.

"Yeah, it's fine," Moving my things, creating more space even though there's more than enough for two people, I scoot over. Taking my invitation, Gwen sits down across from me, her tray clattering as she places it heavily on the table.

"You know," Smiling a bit more genuinely now, she pokes at the weird sludge that Chef Hatchet always calls mystery meat. Honestly, it's more like a lawsuit waiting to happen. "I've been watching the Squad for a few days now, and you seem different from the others," Keeping it cool, casual, Gwen scoops her sludge onto her spoon, "So what has Heather got against you? What's forcing you to follow her command?"

Paling at her questions, their connotations, I blink, "There's nothing..."

"I remember you from middle school, Dakota," Cutting me off, calling out the bullshit, Gwen points her spoon at me, "I'm smarter than I look."

"That you are," Chuckling awkwardly, fanning at my now sweaty face, I try to keep the perfect smile on. All too soon, it fades into a slight shiver, a quiver in my shoulders as I feel my body slump with defeat, "It's something that happened a long time ago. I don't know why I even care about it anymore."

"Cause it means a lot to you," Gwen responds, sounding all wise and mysterious as she shovels down her lunch. Amazed, partly terrified, I can't believe that she can actually stomach that slop; when I had to try Chef Hatchet's cooking, I ended up throwing up for an hour straight. My daddy definitely wasn't happy when he had to pick me up from school, pale and trembling and groaning as I clutched at my hurting stomach.

Not faltering in her words, Gwen adds, "That's how Heather gets a hold of you. She knows what you care about."

"So she knew that I'd care about my first kiss gone wrong?" Chuckling somewhat bitterly at the memory, the pure humiliation and shame that had flooded me that day, I look down at my fruit salad. Stronger, more potent, I could feel the bitterness returning to my stomach, knotting and curdling like milk left out of the fridge. "She's never let me live it down. Called me a 'train track freak' for a year straight."

"She called you that? Mine was 'scaly lizard lips'," Chuckling herself now, there's a twinkle to Gwen's eyes as she looks at me, speaks to me, "And that was before 'gothy, witch girl'. All because her crush happened to like the quiet girl at the back of the class more than the loudmouth bully."

"What point are you trying to prove here, Gwen?" Sighing, putting down my fork, I raise a brow at her. Talking to me like this, trying to seem like we are friends, must serve some sort of purpose for her. Whenever anyone has spoken to me like this, tried to be my friend, it had always been to gain something. Heather does it for my loyalty; Courtney does it for my silence; everyone else does it for the so-called 'perks'. So why is Gwen doing this? What does she stand to gain?

"I'm just trying to let you know that, no matter what, you've got a friend in me," Smiling once more, another genuine beam of kindness and sincerity, Gwen goes back to poking at her sludge, "Like I said, I've been watching and... I know what it's like to feel alone in a crowd of people. To feel like no-one truly gets you."

Yeah, she does. For the past two years, rejected by more or less everyone in the school, Gwen had been the walking epitome of a social outcast. Heather is the one who had done that to her; Heather had wanted to make sure that Gwen would never stand up to her again. Trent had simply been a means to an end in that situation. Using him to get to Gwen, using their relationship to her advantage, is what made me truly fear Heather back then.

She knows how to change your entire world without even speaking to you.

"Well... thanks for the offer. I'll think about it," Pursing my lips, picking up my fork once more, I dare to glance at Gwen. Staring right back, just as bashful with her school-issued tray of slop and sugar, she flashes a tiny grin, a nervous smile. "But right now... I don't know what I want."

"Yeah, it gets like that," Nodding, Gwen agrees and leaves it at that.

At some point, more people join her at the table. Board shoulders and loud voices fill the background, their group a mixture of people from all over our grade. A football player, a star athlete, the local delinquent: they're all part of Gwen's group of friends. Sharing stories, trading gossip, poking fun at each other, they're a group of real friends that feel so different from the segregated cliques of the rest of the cafeteria.

Sitting among them, silent as I play with my fruit salad, I can't help but feel like an outsider looking in. Part of me longs for a friendship like that - a group of people who are joined by the sole desire to be good friends. Something I've never had despite the vast wealth my father has accumulated. Something I've always wanted, always hoped to have, as I've grown older.

When lunch ends and the bell rings, everyone pours out of the cafeteria. Straggling behind, dumping my half-eaten fruit salad, I can't help but reflect on Gwen's words - the fleeting pieces of advice that she's given me. Somehow, in some weird way, they've given me hope; they've inspired me to do something about my miserable existence. Otherwise I'll always be lonely, always be watching and waiting from the outside.

Today, I'm gonna finally give Heather the talking to of her life. In front of the whole grade. I'm going to make it clear that no-one is going to control me anymore, pull my strings like a broken, little puppet. Instead, I will be the one to call the shots in my own life.

But before I do that, I have something else I need to do: I'm gonna use Heather against herself.

Sammy's P.O.V

"Sammy?"

Zoey's voice is the first thing I hear, surprised and relieved as something tight wraps around my sore shoulders and neck, squeezing me forcefully. Something heavy hangs on my body as I sit up, drags at my skin and clings to my eyelids. There's a strange beeping noise that hangs in the air, joined with a weird drip, drip, drip that makes me think of my mum's coffee machine back home. Plus the smell, this powerful burning smell that reminds me of medicine, chemicals, hospitals. Yes, a hospital!

Is that where I am?

Bright light invades my eyes when I open them, blinding me as I let out a slight hiss. Between the blinding light and dark shadows, I can make out Zoey's red hair, shoved right into my face along with her heavy body. Strange tubes are poking out from my body - the things that were dragging on me - and the drip, drip, drip has to be an IV. Orange medication bottles sit to the side, their labels unreadable to me but the tiny white pills are instantly recognisable.

Right now, without a doubt, I am at a hospital. Hooked up to some machines, most likely half-alive, I am in a hospital room. But why am I here? Why am I waking up in a hospital room instead of never waking up again at all?

"Where am I?" Asking the obvious question, my voice a terrible mixture of scratchy and hoarse, I pull away from Zoey's hug and glare at her, "Why am I here?"

"You're at a hospital," Tears in her eyes, Zoey is still emotional despite her confusion. Despite only having known me properly for a few short hours. Sniffing, she explains, "I found you unconscious this morning, bleeding out onto the bathroom floor. The paramedics said that if I'd called a minute later... well, you wouldn't be here right now, Sammy."

"Well, maybe I didn't want to be here," Pouting, sinking into pettiness, I cross my arms and find myself wincing from the friction, the burn of my skin brushing against the cotton of my hospital gown. But I don't care. I don't care. That pain is a reminder of my failure - my constant failures. Even suicide can't be done right when it comes to me; everything and anything is fail-able for Sammy, the unwanted, extra twin.

Last night, I don't know what possessed me to swallow all that medication, fill up the bathtub and drift off to sleep. When I had grabbed Zoey's sewing scissors, ran my hand over the blunt metal blade, I hadn't thought about marking myself with it. But once I'd entered that bathroom, stared at my reflection within the single circular mirror, all I could feel was hatred, sadness, complete and utter despair. As clear as the bruise that damaged my face, undoubtedly, I hated myself. In that moment, staring into my tired blue eyes, taking in the sullen look and the fatigue on my features, I could say that I hated myself.

Maybe I had said it out loud. Yelling at my reflection, tears and snot streaming down my face, watching as the bathtub filled up with water, I think I did say that I hated myself. One pill was easy to swallow - to calm my nerves, I had told myself. When one pill hadn't worked, I tried to take more, swallowed about half the bottle in one go. Soon I had an empty bottle, sat on the bathroom counter as the bath continued to fill with soapy bubbles.

At that stage, perhaps, I had began to panic. Making a mess, I was making a mess and fucking things up for Zoey by doing this. After welcoming me into her home, being so kind and hospitable, was this how I was going to repay her? By trashing her bathroom, crying like an ugly hog on her bathroom floor?

Yes. Yes I had done that. Trying to hide it all, to have no-one else left to blame, I had spotted those sewing scissors and made my decision. Picking them up, cutting deep into the skin, I had closed my eyes and let myself drift. At least, I had thought it was drifting; in reality, my head had hit the toilet bowl, knocking me out cold.

"Do you..." Looking at me, bringing me back to the present, Zoey is now sitting in her chair. One of her hands are squeezing mine, grounding me from drifting off once more. "Do you want me to tell anyone about this? To... get you someone you can talk to about Amy?"

"No," Quiet, more broken than I have ever sounded, I shake my head and close my eyes tight. Squeeze the tears right back into their tear ducts. "Please. Not yet. Not now."

Nodding, Zoey accepts my answer. No other words leave her lips and she lets the silence slip between us, coat the horrible feelings that have settled into my system over my latest grand fuck up. At least, it is that way for a while. Long enough for me to lay back down, close my eyes and try to go back to sleep; maybe if I sleep for longer this will all be a dream, I will wake up somewhere else, somewhere better than here.

"I promise that I'll look after you, Sammy," Breaking the silence, squeezing my hand once more, Zoey's voice is gentle as she speaks, "I didn't know that you felt... how you felt about this all. But now, I hope, you know that you're not alone. No matter what, no matter what happens or what you do, I'll always be there for you. Rain or shine. Happy or sad. You don't have to change how you feel, how this all affects you, but I hope that you won't shoulder it alone."

A shaky breath makes her pause, "We're friends now and nothing can change that."

Eyes still closed, I don't bother to say anything back. But when I squeeze Zoey's hand in mine, let her know that I've been listening, I know that she understands what I mean; she knows that I am glad to have a friend like her.

Heather's P.O.V

Lunch hour calls for a special meeting between myself and my minions. As soon as the bell rings, signalling the end of class, I rush to find Lindsay and Amy before they head towards the cafeteria - a breeding pool of gossips, eavesdroppers and annoying, attention-seeking wannabes. Easy to find, Amy had been lingering around the classroom, almost as if she knows about my desire to have a meeting. Lindsay is much harder to locate, giggling with a group of other girls by her locker.

Usually, I would drag Dakota along to whichever meetings I'm holding. But with the recent development of Anne-Maria's party - her blatant act of treachery against me - I'm a little more wary of involving her in my plans. Right now, Dakota's loyalty is an unclear thing. Just like Courtney's - who I know is actively trying to calculate her best way to overthrow my reign. It's simply safer to keep them at bay, at least until I know what they're really planning.

"Why are we here of all places?" Amy's face scrunches with disgust as I throw open the library doors, walking with a head held high and a straightness to my spine. At our sides are an army of geeks and nerds and weird recluses, hunched over books or scrawling away at papers. Some are even playing weird card and board games, their voices hushed in the quiet calm of the room.

"Last time I checked, this place isn't exactly a cool kid hangout, Heather," Glaring at me, something accusatory in her eyes, Amy frowns as she follows me into the room, "If anything, it's were unpopular kids hide from people like you."

"Which is exactly why we're here, ladies," Smiling as we file past the librarian, the old woman raising a brow at our unexpected arrival, I can't help but feel genius - formidable - as I take us down one of the aisles, "No-one will actually think that I would hang out in here. Plus the weirdos who always come here would never even dare to share anything they hear about me. They're downright terrified of just a single glance!"

"So you chose here to talk about Courtlyn and Dahlia?" Lindsay frowns, her brows bending with confusion as we head deeper into the library, "What if one of them are in here?"

"They won't be in here," Growling at her stupidity, the fact that Lindsay has forgotten about our rule of always going to the cafeteria first, I can't help but shake my head. One of my hands nearly face-palm my forehead from the frustration brewing in my mind. "Right now it's just us."

"Just us?" Amy repeats, questioning my words.

"Just us," I confirm, nodding, "What I need you to do, to know, is too important to have leaked."

For a moment, both girls are silent. Blinking - almost in sync - they seem to be considering my words with a concentration that I've never seen in a blonde. But maybe, because there's two of them, it's easier for them to think. Sharing brain cells, pooling them together, Lindsay and Amy must be able to understand the gravity of this situation; they must be able to see that I am going to ensure that they're treated well for carrying out my dirty work. Well, as well as I can treat brainless scum.

"Alright, share the plan," Amy breaks the silence, lifting her chin in a sign of agreement. Lighting up her eyes, something like a fire is burning in her. Now I could get used to her being in my squad; she's knows what it's like to risk everything for ambition. "If it's worth my while, I'll help."

"I'll help as well!" Lindsay pipes up, hopeful and innocent and... well, just perfectly Lindsay. Only she could water down the brilliance of a group of women coming together to assert their dominance. Only she could see nothing wrong with what I'm about to do. "You're my friend, Helia, and I wanna help you. I want you to finally be happy."

"Alright, that's great!" Cracking a smile, I look at both of them as I try to regather my thoughts, the actions I want to share with them both, "Now, Amy, I need you to get Courtney's diary back from Dakota. That thing is key to what I have planned for tomorrow."

"Her diary?" Amy echoes, seeming confused by my suggestion. Folding her arms over her chest, leaning against the bookshelf, she asks, "What's so great about something like that? Knowing Courtney, it's probably just a list of things to do."

"If only it was just that," Laughing now, almost delirious from the stupidity she is openly showing, I end up clutching at my sides. Bent over, face almost red, I have to suck in a deep breath to return to normal as I stand up straight and point at Amy, "Courtney keeps every little secret of hers written down in that diary. I need you to read it and give me every piece of information that you manage to learn from it. Study it like a Bible."

"I don't read," Snorting, laughing, Amy looks incredulous as she glances between me and Lindsay, "I'm not a nerd! Bible study is definitely not a class that I paid attention in."

"I know right," Agreeing, Lindsay hums as she nods, "One time, I read in a magazine that reading gives you premature wrinkles. Plus the priest guy in my church always used to make me sit on his lap, said it's the perfect place for a little princess like me."

Horrified, I can barely mask my reaction to Lindsay's subtle trauma bomb. Mirroring my expression, Amy also appears stunned. For a moment, we both share eye contact, communicate with no words. Then, closing our gaping mouths, we agree not to say anything. Sometimes, some people are better left to live in their ignorant bliss; Lindsay is definitely one of those types of people. Her life is a bubble of innocence.

"Amy, you have one of two choices," Brushing past the brief discomfort of Lindsay's statement, I fold my arms over my chest, "You either read through all of the crap in Courtney's diary or say goodbye to your new elevated status. If you work with me, then you have to obey."

"Yeah, no shit," Scoffing under her breath, Amy rolls her eyes, "Nothing ever comes free with you, Heather. There's always a price."

"And yet you all still come crawling to me."

"Because you give us no other choice," Amy rebuts, smiling as she spots the annoyance hardening my eyes. Chuckling a little, holding out a hand toward me, she grins, "So, naturally, I'm gonna accept your deal."

"Great!" Shaking her hand, I visibly brighten up. Then I switch my attentions to the other girl across from me, "Now, Lindsay!"

"Yes, Heather?" Fearful, uncertain, she looks at me with innocent, watery eyes.

"Not a word of this gets out to anyone," Warning her, my sharp red nails in her stunned face, I make sure I look as menacing as possible. Brows bent, lips in a scowl, my body leaning over hers, "If it does, you know what happens."

Gulping, Lindsay simply nods at my words, knowing exactly what can follow one of my personal threats. So, with nothing left to discuss, I turn on my heel and lead us back out of the maze of bookshelves, smiling as we emerge into the brightness of the main library.

Today is definitely a good day to be queen.

Geoff's P.O.V

This afternoon comes a lot faster than either of us expected. Weirdly, the first four periods of the day breeze by like Duncan racing past on his bike, or when I find the time to ride my skateboard around town. All the while, I have these strange nerves settling into my gut. Not an inch of me could focus as each hour passes by, the clock clicking closer to Chris' inevitable deadline for the first airing of the Aftermath Show.

When fourth period ends, the lunch bell echoing around the whole building, I already know what to expect. After gathering my stuff, I mindlessly make my way to Bridgette's classroom - a short walk down the hall.

Outside of the classroom, she's leaning against the closed door when I arrive. Biting her lip, looking spaced out, she's anything but present. Nervously, she tugs at the string of her hoodie, twisting and turning it within her shaking fingers; just like me, Bridgette is absolutely dreading the first airing of the show. Our complete opposite, everyone else around us is normal, passing through the hall or gathering in groups to loiter by the lockers.

We don't say much as we make our way to the cafeteria, dodging past students and skipping the lengthy line thanks to a handy note from Chris. Most of the other kids scoff as we cut, rolling their eyes or muttering things about favoritism under their breath. Really, I wouldn't call it that. Not when we still have the eat the same slop that they do, Chef roughly shoving our trays back into our arms once he'd finished dishing it out.

But hey, at least we don't have to wait in line. That's a sorta bonus, I guess.

Luckily, the media room isn't too far from the cafeteria. It's about a three minute walk, with no stairs to climb since it's on the first floor. Plus with the semi-empty corridors, we barely struggle to find the room, unlock the door and get inside.

True to Chris' words, everything is already set up for a school-wide broadcast. Equipment is laid out on a table in the middle of the room, microphones, headphones and a camera all tangled together by their wires. Leftover from the old show are a few posters and decorations, mostly advertising the gossip segment and popularity votes that they used to host while under Blaineley's management. There's even one of those board things - you know, the ones directors use to yell out 'CUT'.

"Chris wasn't kidding about taking this seriously," Setting her tray down on the table, Bridgette sighs as she looks around the room. Turning to me, she raises a brow, "What time do you think DJ's gonna come?"

"He should be here pretty soon," Taking a seat next to her, poking at my questionable food, I frown a little. Years have passed since I've last had the school's food and now I remember why. Chef definitely needs to brush up on his cooking skills. Maybe DJ could give him some pointers in that department. "You know how he gets when he talks to Katie. They spend hours gushing over cute koalas and panda bears."

"Yeah, they do," Agreeing, Bridgette nods as we fall into silence.

Since he's pretty good with camera work, DJ's offered to help kick off the show this afternoon. His only condition is that he can eat his lunch in the cafeteria since he's also promised Katie that they could talk. Those talks tend to drag on, but DJ isn't the kind of person to bail. Reliable, trustworthy, he's always been the kind of friend you could rely on to do something important.

So I'm not surprised when he turns up about ten minutes later, when Bridgette and I put our trays aside and begin to clear off the table.

"You guys weren't waiting too long, were you?" Blinking, taking in the sight of us both cleaning up the room, DJ's voice is sheepish as he rubs at his bicep. Stepping into the room, a gentle, nervous giant, he almost knocks over a stack of old papers.

"Nah, you're right on time," Laughing at his stumble, the panic that fills his face at the close call, I put down the box I was carrying, "Plus you were spending time with your girlfriend," Teasing him a little, I can't help but grin as I glance at Bridgette, "Bridge and I know how it gets."

"Girlfriend?" A squeak, the word leaves as a squeak as DJ stiffens, "Katie's not my girlfriend."

"That's what they all say," Chuckling, shaking my head, I pick up the box once more and walk toward the small cupboard at the back of the room, "Isn't that right, Bridge?"

"Just help clean up, Geoff," Releasing a sigh, Bridgette shakes her head as she holds the cupboard door open for me. Even though she tries to sound exasperated, there's a fond smile on her face as she pinches at my cheek, "And try not to give poor DJ a heart attack in the process. Right now, he's our only decent cameraman."

Deciding to not annoy the guy who mans the camera, I get back to work. By the end of lunch, we have the room tidied and decorated in a better way than it was before - basically without any of Blaineley's posters or pamphlets hanging around in the background. Sat the table, Bridgette and I are already in position, trying to not look too awkward as DJ fiddles with the camera. By the time the bell rings to signal the start of fifth period, DJ is smiling behind the camera, silently counting down the seconds we have until we're live.

Three. Two. One.

"Afternoon, dudes and dudettes," Trying to sound relaxed, and not at all like I need to throw up, I smile at the camera, "And welcome to the Aftermath Show!"

"And boy do we have news for you today," Slipping into the role, Bridgette matches my energy as she looks into the camera, at the audience behind the camera.

As we get into introductions, talking becomes easier. With each laugh and each reassuring smile, it's effortless to act like this is an everyday task, a normal conversation I would have with my friends. Even Bridgette - who has the most amount of nerves between us - begins to relax. Behind the camera, DJ is smiling, putting a thumbs up whenever he thinks we've made a really good point. Those little actions add to the small comfort replacing my nerves.

By the time we get to the closing segment, focused on the current drama in the school, Bridgette and I are smoothly keeping the conversation going. So much so that I can see why Chris has chosen us to do this, has spotted the potential we have to do this well; it's like having a conversation with old friends.

"With rising tensions between the student body, it sure is hard to know what side is right to choose these days," Easing into the new topic, I try to sound a little more serious. Bridgette has kick-started the dive into Heather territory, mentioning her name, and now I'm driving the discussion further. Trying to come across as someone who isn't quite sure what to say about it all. "Heather or Courtney? Courtney or Heather?"

"Both are pretty intimidating," Humming, Bridgette nods as she turns back to face the camera. Shivering, she adds with a slight cringe, "And who doesn't fear both of their bad sides?"

"I'll say," Shivering myself, I try not to think about how both of them are probably tuned into the show right now, watching with the rest of the student body. Turning to Bridgette, I ask, "But, babe, what has this gotta do with our show?"

"Well, it's got to do with the daily updates on the Heather-Courtney Cold War!" Bridgette announces, all dramatics and flair and a little bit of genuine fear, "Sponsored by our very own principal, Chris Mclean! We'll be reporting on every live event that goes on from here on out. So stay tuned, folks, cause it's gonna get bumpy from here," Turning to me, she squeezes my hand over the table, "And, from what our sources say, it seems like no-one's gonna be safe."