A/N: Honestly, I didn't intend to leave this fic for so long. Time just passed in a flash and before I knew it, several weeks had passed since the lat REAL update. I apologise profusely for that everyone. Funnily enough, my fucked up headspace provided the perfect environment to produce this latest chapter - so my raging frustrations at life may have leaked into this chapter.

Nevertheless, enjoy my lovelies! Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long to finish.

Till next time,

Drama

Place Your Pledges

Amy's P.O.V

For once I wake up to an empty room. Samey - probably gone off somewhere to cry and whine - has been missing for the past eight hours. No-one's heard anything from her: no phone calls to anyone, no messages left and definitely not a second glance given to me, left behind in the dust and destruction of her own stupid, mistakes. After the gym incident she more or less disappeared into nothingness, the waste of space she usually is.

Most people would give a fuck if their twin goes missing. Most people, noticing how their womb-crashing, parasite of a sibling is missing, would probably try to locate said missing sibling. But I, Amy Smith, am not like most people. Why should I give a fuck about Samey? She doesn't give a fuck about me.

So, taking the rare silence as an opportunity to think, I take my time getting ready for school. Using the shower for as long as I want, letting the warm air of the hairdryer rush around the room, I enjoy the lack of Samey's moaning and groaning about how I always take too long and 'hog the bathroom'. Usually she'd be rolling her eyes, muttering and whispering about how I never share anything. Every time I would roll my eyes back, remarking about how she never looked much better even with the extra time.

Today, though, I have a reason for taking extra time. Heather Chang - one of the most influential girls in the school - is letting me hang around her. For lunch. When all eyes would be on me, yes me, because Heather Chang doesn't let just ANYONE sit at her exclusive, loser-free table. You have to have something special. You have to have some kind of important use for her to even bat an eye in your general direction.

Yesterday, Heather saw something in me that has potential. Something important, something great, came to her attention yesterday. And I'm not going to screw that opportunity up.

Examining my reflection, I pay extra-close attention to my face and hair. Wearing the red and white uniform of Wawanakwa's cheer squad is the safest possible option for today, since Lindsay always blabbers on and on about how Tuesday is 'uniform day'. Pairing it with my white boots is also an easy decision to make; everyone always loves my white boots. But hair is where an entire outfit can go wrong.

Maybe the white ribbon is a bit too much? I thought it would be fun just to embellish my plain, old ponytail, a pale blonde lock of hair that always refuses to stay in curls whenever I try to curl it. It's not too much is it? The ribbon, I mean. It's just a floppy, white, velvety thing that goes with the uniform. One tiny attempt to show my willingness to conform to whatever standards Heather is setting within her Squad.

Blinking at my reflection again, I decide that it is just enough. Ultimately, I want to blend in today, to look like I am part of the girls who flock around Heather like a gaggle of geese around a pond. Dressing like this wouldn't make me stick out like a sore thumb; dressing too differently would definitely alert everyone to how much I don't belong, how different I am from the people Heather usually hangs around. And that's the last thing I need.

Grabbing my backpack and a jacket, I head toward the kitchen. Breakfast already made, my mum and dad are at the table. Dad is reading through his emails, sipping at a mug of coffee as his tired, blue eyes blink sluggishly. Mum is halfway through her fruit salad, tuned into some kind of news program that is playing in the background. Both of them are dressed for the office, almost matching in their crisply, ironed suits.

"Amy, honey?" Perking up at my arrival, my mum instantly swivels her head toward me. Raising a brow, she finishes chewing on a slice of kiwi, "Have you heard from Sammy yet? I haven't seen her since yesterday morning."

Part of me groans at her concern. One huge eye roll is verging on my eyelids, tugging at my lips and telling me to just let out a giant, dragged out groan to my mum's pointless question. Out of everyone in this family, mum is the only one who still cares about the forgettable mistake that is Samey - not Samantha or Sammy. Every time she becomes quiet, stays in the room for a little too long, mum begins to fuss over her precious 'baby'.

Most of the time, I wonder why the woman even loves that spare Amy - Sparemy. If I had a choice, she would have been kicked out and carted off to adoption years ago. Constantly, she brings nothing but shame, nothing but disappointment, into our lives. Only Samey would be dumb enough to bring a stray dog home, costing me two weeks of pocket money and a whole weekend spent cleaning the carpets. Only Samey wouldn't know the difference between flowers and poison ivy, getting us both horrible rashes during what was supposed to be the best summer of our lives.

I hate my sister. I despise her very existence. But mum, bless the woman's heart, just couldn't see how much I can't stand Samey. Every time I try to make it clear, hint at how much better our lives would be if she was gone, it's as if my mum tunes out and ignores what I'm saying. Almost as if she doesn't care about how I feel.

"She's staying at a friend's," Smiling widely, I use the most probable excuse and take a seat at the dining table. Buttered and still hot, I had a plate of toast waiting for me, along with a small bowl of fruit salad, "She fell and hit her head during practice, apparently."

Yeah, that excuse should cover for the bruise. At least until I can find her and find out exactly what shit she's been pulling for the past ten hours.

"I see," Not contesting my words, my mum simply nods as she finishes off the last of her salad. Getting up from her seat, she heads to the sink and drops her bowl into it, "Tell her I want to see her after school. Both of you, actually."

Nodding at her words, I notice that my phone has lit up with a new message. Bold, bright and capturing my attention, the name tagged onto the top of the notification makes my eyes widen: Heather. Why would she message me now? Before school? Isn't that against her agreement with me, made specifically so that I could control the terms of my integration into her world?

Frowning at my phone, I pick it up and read the new message. Everything within me freezes. Breakfast suddenly doesn't feel so necessary anymore - not after what I've read - and I find myself standing up from the table, grabbing my bag and jacket once more. Checking my jacket pocket for my keys, I barely give my parents a second glance as I leave the room and head to the front door. Just a few feet away from my new life.

When I open the front door, step out onto the main sidewalk, I notice a shiny, red car. Glinting in the early morning sunlight, roof down and number plate immaculate, it looks out of place in the lower-middle-class setting of my neighbourhood. Only one person would have the balls to show up so early in such a flashy, showy way. Only one person would make me feel like I have no real choice, pushed into a new world that I don't entirely understand yet - and I haven't even agreed to join it properly.

"Get in," Her words aren't a question or a request as she looks at me, dark sunglasses blocking out the intense glare of her slate-grey eyes. "I won't repeat myself. So take it or leave it."

Leaving it, as easy as that option is, just isn't an option. Not with Heather, the Queen Bee of Wawanakwa and number one manipulator in the market. Now that I have my foot in the door, am on my way to proving how great and useful I can be, I'm not just going to throw it away. Heather said it herself: I can either take this or leave it. None of me is going to waste this golden opportunity, not when so many others would die to have it.

"I'm in," Is all I say as I get into her car, buckling up the seat belt. Tossing my backpack into the backseat, I grin, "I'll help you keep the status quo."

"Good," Her smile is sharp, almost like a knife, as she presses her foot down on the gas, "Because I really didn't want to maim you."

Geoff's P.O.V

"Why exactly are we here again, babe?"

Getting to school early isn't weird for Bridgette. Since she's part of the track and cheer teams she likes to get up bright and early, attend every practice session possible so that she can't get out of shape and stuff. Usually, I come in a lot later than she does. Sometimes it's because I lose track of time, rushing out at the last possible second because of my parents; most of the time it's because I oversleep and miss my alarm.

Today, though, Bridgette's made sure that I'm early. Strange. Really strange. Especially because she's led me to the principal's office - somewhere that we should definitely be avoiding. Chris never likes it much when he catches students hanging around his 'personal space'.

"I'm not too sure to be honest," Releasing her own tiny sigh, Bridgette purses as her lips as she buries her hands within her hoodie pockets. Rolling her eyes, she seems just as annoyed as I am about this all, continuing to explain what happened this morning, "All I know is that Blaineley came up to me after track. She said that Chris wanted to see us both about something important."

"Chris?" Blinking, now definitely feeling confused, I can't help but frown as I look at her, "As in Principal Mclean, Chris?"

"That's the one," Bridgette nods.

Clearly, there isn't anything else to know about it. Knowing Chris, having attended his school for the past three years, I should already know that he likes to keep us all wondering. Giving us all the answers is something he's never been generous enough to do. Keeping everyone on their toes, seeming to enjoy watching us squirm and beg for clarity, our principal is always throwing random surprises into everyone's days. Really, I shouldn't be surprised that he's got us here early in the morning, waiting on him to provide all the answers.

If there is one thing that Chris loves, then it's watching his students beg him for something. That man has a serious god complex.

"I'm the only Chris you should ever think of," Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Strolling up to us with a wide smile on his face, Chris looks smug and bright-eyed as he takes a sip from his mug. For years he's had the same old mug, embossed with his face and some slogan that says something like 'Chris is really, really hot'. "Sorry to keep you both waiting. Chef and I were just discussing some new options for the school's cafeteria."

"Good ones?" Perking up at the possibility of an enjoyable lunch menu, Bridgette can't help but smile hopefully. God, she's so adorable when she gets like that - second only to when she'd helped me out after a rodeo gone wrong. "Like vegetarian options?"

"Nah," Waving a hand dismissively, Chris rolls his eyes. Most of time, whenever we do bring up problems with the school's menu, he always has the same approach. Apparently acting like a giant kid and injecting every word with cheery evilness is Chris' perfect method for ignoring most of his whining students. "Everyone knows that school food is questionable at best. We were talking about lowering costs."

"Of course you were," Visibly deflating, Bridgette doesn't even bother to sigh as she stuffs her hands back into her hoodie's pocket.

Changing the lunch menu - even though most of the food looks radioactive - is a fight that we probably won't win. Ever. Shitty lunches are a tradition at Wawanakwa, the one constant to Chris' insane system, and I doubt it would ever change. That's why most people just sneak off the school grounds during lunch or bring their own food. Other people - who could afford it - order in and wait for their delivery outside the school's gates.

"Anyway, all this school managing talk must be boring the pair of you," Sensing the change in atmosphere, Chris struts toward his office door. Coffee mug still in hand, he lets out a strange laugh as he looks at us both, "I know for a fact that I'm sick and tired of it all! You buy one school for one production company and they expect you to make top grade students within five years," Now rolling his eyes, the principal groans, "God, those people don't know how much goes into actually managing a bunch of kids..."

While Chris steps into his office, leaving the door open for me and Bridgette to follow, I can't help but feel nervous. Almost like this is some kind of trap. Chris, after all, almost never lets anyone into the exclusive grounds of his shiny, perfect office. Only students who break the rules, annoy Chef or mess with Chris' 'perfect vibes' are sent to his office; getting sent to the principal's office almost never is a good thing.

"Um, Chris..." Swallowing thickly as Bridgette and I awkwardly follow Chris into his office, I find myself fiddling with the buttons on my shirt as I speak, "Sir."

"You may call me, Supreme Leader Chris," Sporting a confident look on his face, Chris now sits at his desk. Hands folded beneath his chin, a grin on his face and his prized coffee mug secure on a wooden coaster, he looks everything like the cliche villain from an old movie - well, minus the grouchy cat. But to make up for that, beside him is a picture of himself, kissing a golden Chris statue at some kind of award ceremony.

Somehow, that's not surprising for Chris. If anything, I'm kinda shocked to see less Chris merchandise littered about the place.

"Supreme Leader Chris," Taking in a deep breath, I try to keep it cool and casual. Chris feeds off fear - that's what Duncan said to me once. If I don't show fear then Chris won't be able to hold any power over me. Focusing on some of the objects on his desk, an oddly shaped pen and a plant with a golden label saying 'Larry', I ask, "Why exactly have you asked for me and Bridge to meet you today?"

"Oh yes!" Snapping his fingers, Chris startles both me and Bridgette as he pushes away from his desk. Wide, almost menacing, a huge grin splits across his face as he looks at the both of us, something sparkling within his beady, dark eyes, "The broadcast!"

"The broadcast?" Slowly, I blink and echo his words.

"Isn't there already a student media club?" Bridgette also pipes up, her voice a lot quieter and uncertain as she stares at Chris. Both of her hands are stuffed into her pockets, "With two presenters?"

Oh yeah. There is a student media club, that Student Manhunt broadcast that attempts to try and keep the student body updated on school events. Modeled after Celebrity Manhunt, an old TV show that was meant to appeal to teens, Blaineley had set it up when I was still a Freshman, saying that it would be motivation for students to be involved in community events. All it ended up being is something that most students tune out, used to the dull announcements of its hosts.

But why would Chris care about that broadcast now? Isn't he the same person who has always said that Student Manhunt would fade into a strange obscurity of Wawanakwa?

Confused, I couldn't help but frown as I process Chris' words. There's no reason why he would want to get me and Bridge involved with whatever plans he has. None of us have ever been a part of Student Manhunt - let alone anything else surrounding the school's student media.

"Yes, there is a club," Answering the question, Chris seems almost annoyed at just a reminder of its existence. Most likely because the broadcast did expose that he dyes his hair. "But due to..." Pausing now, Chris grows a strange smile, "Creative differences, Chef and I had to let them go. You and party boy over there are their elected replacements."

"Me and Geoff?"

"Me and Bridge?"

Both of us are beyond confused, completely lost, by Chris' announcement. Presenting the school's broadcast is something that I've never anticipated to be a possibility. No-one even bothers to acknowledge it other than the forgettable background noise it makes during fifth and sixth period. Judging from the wide eyes and almost pale look on her face, Bridgette is just as surprised about this as I am. Maybe even shell-shocked.

"Yes, you two," Releasing a groan, Chris' voice is similar to a bored teacher attempting to drill basic information into a hopelessly stupid student, "Jeez. Do I have to spell it out for you both? You have the job now."

"But why?" Beating me to the punch, Bridgette asks the next question. Nervous, definitely overthinking everything that could follow this unexpected news, she looks on edge as she tugs on her hoodie's string, "Why us two?"

"Because you're both approachable, friendly and trustworthy," Listing off each word with a finger, Chris speaks in an exasperated and highly patronizing tone. However, that glint remains within his eyes, burns like a fire as he continues to explain his decisions and motives, "Tons of people would lap up anything you say without even questioning its credibility. That's exactly what I need in the student body's media."

"But isn't that like..." Swallowing another lump in my throat, I feel something in me shake, "The opposite of free media?"

"Exactly!" Snapping his fingers once more, Chris beams a wicked grin in our direction as he flops back into his chair. Both hands behind his head, he closes his eyes and sighs as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, swiveling around on his leather desk chair, "Just like any proper media outlet, Wawanakwa has to have its own bias and agenda. Thankfully, Ms O'Halloran typed it up and printed it out for you on these handy handouts."

When he nods over to the two papers on his desk, it takes me to a moment to realise that Chris has had this set up. He's had this set within his mind from the moment that such a plan first crossed his thoughts. Just like with how every student is carefully selected to attend this place, just like how every class is tailor-made to his whims, Chris has chosen me and Bridgette to fill the latest voids in his school.

Reading over the handouts doesn't make me feel any better. Spotting the headlines, skimming over words and names that I definitely recognise, my heart thunders in my ears as I try to process it all. Chris really wants us to do this. Chris really wants me to do this. My voice, my face, spreading information around the school; Geoff Calvert, everyone's best buddy and the most open and accepting guy on campus, Chris' latest mouthpiece.

As sickening as it is, Chris is actually a genius. Who wouldn't use someone like me - a couple like me and Bridgette - to control the masses?

"So we're being assigned with stirring up more drama?" Something like disgust curling at her face, Bridgette grimaces as she stares at the paper in her hand. No doubt she's read through it better than me, focused on the stories and the information being spread, "You're going to use us in order to manipulate the masses."

"With some free perks," Chris immediately butts in, still grinning as he addresses us both, "Great perks."

"Which are?" I press, not entirely satisfied with the prospect of possible perks. If there's one thing we've all learned from being in this school, then it's that nothing is truly guaranteed with Chris unless he hands it to you directly.

"An extended lunch period," Chris begins to rattle off his list, "Access to the all-exclusive staff room and Chef's secret snack stash. AND..." Pausing as he drums his hands against the desk's surface, he builds the suspense, "A free pass of immunity from any drama!" Now regaining calmness, seeming professional and acting like his actual age, Chris straightens himself out, "As the school's media representatives, it wouldn't be right to have you both caught up in a scandal."

"Because of our 'trustworthy' qualities," Bridgette responds, somewhat sarcastic in her delivery as she rolls her eyes. At least we both know exactly what our worth is to Chris; any sudden changes from him honestly wouldn't be a surprise.

"And that's exactly why I selected you and Geoff for the job, Bridgette," Chris' answer is just as smooth and witty as his reputable principal act, paired with a charming smile that he's always said was a winner on the old TV show he used to host, "You both catch on quick and put the audience at ease."

That isn't a total lie. With our reputations around the school, both me and Bridgette are known as the sort of people to avoid the storms of drama brewing around the place. Whenever we do get involved, it's usually to avoid our friends getting dragged into bigger messes. Like the time Bridgette called Heather out on her bullshit, attempting to stop the rumours and fights breaking out over Gwen and Trent's break up.

At the time, no-one had believed Gwen when she'd said that she hadn't cheated on Trent and callously broken his heart. Although super abrupt, Gwen had been building up to her break up with Trent for a while; she'd only sprung it upon him because she couldn't stand pretending anymore. Not that anyone actually saw that though. It was only because of Bridgette, the huge scene she made with Heather, that some people started to actually believe the truth.

So, maybe, Bridge and I do have a lot more influence than we think. Plus, with the perks of working for the boss of this place, maybe we could use it to our advantage.

"Can we have a moment to discuss this?" Raising a brow, I can't help but consider Chris' offer. Not just anyone is handed such a golden opportunity from the 'Supreme Leader' himself. Not even Heather Chang - the Queen Bee of this entire school.

"Of course," Nodding, Chris pushes away from the desk with his chair. One of his hands taps at his wrist, signalling time as he adds solemnly, "But once I walk out of this office, the offer is null and void. So I suggest you decide before first period."

Nodding at the ultimatum, both me and Bridge turn to each other. Immediately, I notice the confusion on her face, the hesitation that mixes with disbelief, as she stares at me. No doubt, in her mind, this problem has a simple solution. In reality, it should be easy to know what to do next. Everything we've ever known tells us what we should do next - at least if we want what's best for us. But I've never liked to sticking to the same road; sometimes a bit of change could be interesting.

"What do you think, Bridge?" Breaking the silence between us, dropping my voice to a whisper, I ask the first question. "You think we should take it?"

"It's an insane offer," Shaking her head, Bridgette sounds like she doesn't agree with this at all. But, as she sighs and rolls her eyes, bites her lip, I know that she's considering it too, "And it would mean selling out to Chris."

"But?" I pipe up, wanting her to continue.

"But we can't just pass it up," Letting out another defeated sigh, Bridgette stuffs her hands into her pockets. Nodding toward Chris, now fidgeting on his chair and trying to look as if he's not intently eavesdropping on us, she grimaces, "I mean, it gives us a platform, a chance to change Wawanakwa and spread the right kind of message," Glancing back at me now, Bridgette gives a tiny, pleading smile, "That can't be all bad, right?"

"You're not wrong about that," Cringing at her words, stuffing my own hands into my short pockets, I find myself grimacing, "I was thinking more about the immunity perks though. Especially the staff room access."

"Do you ever not think about rewards?" Cracking a more genuine smile, Bridgette chuckles as she nudges me with her elbow.

"Nope," Shaking my head, now beaming from ear to ear myself, I end up laughing with her. "All jokes aside though, I think we should totally agree with Chris. Maybe we can find a way around his media censorship."

"Maybe," Agreeing, Bridgette hums as her face returns to a pensive grimace, "Plus you had a point about- "

"Tick tock!" Slamming his hands onto the hard surface of his desk, Chris pops between us as the pencils and pens within their holder rattle. "Time's running out, kids, so I'd decide quickly if I were you."

Blinking at the grown man waiting between us, an impatient and almost frustrated expression on his face, both Bridgette and I can't help but feel twitchy, nervous. This man, washed up and still trying to relive his glory days, is the be all and end all of this school. This man, Principal Mclean, is the same person that we wish to outsmart, to play at his own game. Two clueless teens, a pair of chill people who want nothing more than peace.

Is this really a good idea or are we both just a pair of optimistic idiots?

"We've made a decision," Deciding to push our agreement forward, I try to smile as I look Chris in the eye, "Bridge and I will host The Aftermath."

"Great!" Visibly brightening up at the news, Chris springs back into a sitting position. In a flash, he is tossing two boxes out way, one filled with papers and another with what looks like equipment, "Your first show starts this afternoon."

Dawn's P.O.V

Most mornings, I like to sit out in the open air, a cup of tea cooling in the breeze as I close my eyes and focus on my daily meditation. Quiet, calm, the surrounding greenery of the local nature reserve often provides the perfect environment for meditation. Up in the trees, set up on the wooden platform that my parents had built for me as a child, I could escape the foggy and chaotic smog of Wawanakwa and its petty problems.

Sometimes I would bring small candles, burn the light scents of rich vanilla, soft lavender or tart citrus among the woody pines. Other times, I would bring nothing but a small bag, content with the silence and the natural musk of the trees and their inhabitants. Most of the time, though, I would end up bringing just my phone - set with a reminder to snap me out of my daze so that I can make it to school in time.

Today, though, I find myself snapping out of my meditation long before my alarm is due to go off. Wide-eyed, my heart racing in my chest, I can't help but feel off-balance as I grab my phone and stare at the lock screen.

Six fifty - about twenty minutes before I would usually pack up. For some odd reason, I have snapped out of my meditation early and feel a growing knot in my gut. A bad, churning omen. And part of me already knows that it has something to do with my friends; I had seen a flash of their faces, intermingled with a strange one, while I had been meditating.

Unlocking my phone, I take in a deep breath as birds begin to chirp around me. Since sunrise is happening, submerging the land in a blazing orange light, they are beginning to wake up and start their day. Most mornings, I would appreciate the soothing sounds. Sometimes I would even feed the birds, watch as they pecked at the tiny seeds and grains I held out in my hand or scattered across my wooden platform.

Today, I don't do that.

"Zoey," As soon as she answers my phone call, I say her name in a calm and gentle tone. Trying to calm my racing heart, stop myself from panicking, I ask, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes?" Confused, most likely half-asleep, Zoey's voice is light, carefree and almost dreamy as she responds. Tiny, a yawn escapes her mouth as she continues to explain, "If you're freaking out because of a crazy vision, Dawn, I'm fine. Sammy just stayed for the night because... well, it's a long story that we can go over at another time," Another yawn fills the line, "Preferably after I have my morning coffee."

"Are you sure everything is fine?" Checking once more, the squirming not at all dying down in my gut, my voice is a tiny whisper, "Is Sammy alright? Have you checked that she is alright?"

"Actually," Dragging the word out, seeming to consider my words, Zoey hums. Pausing, letting the sounds of her slippered feet shuffling against her shaggy carpet fill the line, Zoey lets the suspense build between us, "I'm going to check now. I think she's in the bathroom."

Knocking replaces Zoey's voice. In my mind, I can picture her at her bathroom door, rubbing at her eyes as she adjusts the straps of her faded pajama shirt. Worried, she would keep fidgeting, unnerved by the silence as much as I am, hoping that Sammy is simply taking long because she's on the toilet or is panicking because of the awkward situation. But I know that Sammy isn't taking long; something else has happened.

"Sammy!" Banging on the door now, I can hear Zoey's panicked voice - feel the rush of adrenaline in her veins - from over the phone, "Sammy, say something please!"

Silence answers her plea. That's when I begin to hear loud thuds, Zoey most likely attempting to break the handle and lock on the bathroom door. Once. Twice. Three times. On the third thud, the door swings open and crashes into something that makes a rustling noise. Then I hear a gasp, loud and echoing and sealing, before it swiftly becomes a flurry of panicked words, a series of terrified yells. Something has happened.

"Dawn, call an ambulance!" Before she hangs up, Zoey yells those words at me, "Call for help now!"

When she ends the call, I'm left with an empty dial tone ringing in my ears. Matching the noise, static runs within my brain, freezes the scene of Zoey stumbling into her bathroom, red and red and more red staining the white tile of the walls. Part of me had been right to call Zoey, to follow my gut and believe the visions that I had seen during my meditation. But at what cost has it come to? What event did I predict?

Swallowing the hard lump that forms within my throat, I suck in a deep breath as my shaking hands dial out nine then one then one. Just what power have I suddenly been given?

Owen's P.O.V

After grabbing a pair of breakfast paninis to go from Old Joe's, Izzy and I decide to walk the rest of the way to school. Most mornings, we meet up and walk the same route - stopping along the way to grab any snacks or food that we think might be worth the detour. By the time we actually get close to Wawankwa, we usually have an entire picnic stashed between our bags, Izzy holding all the snacks and my bag filled with the savoury things.

This morning, though, we choose to stick to just breakfast. Gooey, cheesy and with extra hot sauce, I'm currently enjoying one of Old Joe's best paninis to date. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the staff have been doing magic to make more customers return. Not that they need the magic, I've been a loyal customer of the diner ever since I was a kid, but it sure did taste that way. Probably because DJ's mama works there.

"Looks like we have someone waiting for us, Big O," Pointing ahead, a piece of bacon falling from her ketchup-smothered sandwich, Izzy hums, "And if Izzy had to guess, it's about Heather."

"Heather?" Frowning around my mouthful of heavenly breakfast, I squint as I follow Izzy's pointing.

Standing a few feet away, professional and prim and proper, Courtney Fairbank - a well-known face in my grade - is watching us. Usually, she's always on the go, stomping about and rattling out orders that she needs the rest of us to carry out for her. But today she seems to be less busy, almost relaxed, as she approaches me and Izzy with an oddly kind smile on her face. A very odd smile for Courtney at seven in the morning.

Hissing at the unexpected approach, Izzy stands between me and Courtney. One of her hands forms a claw, her green eyes narrowed with suspicion as she glares at the other girl. Courtney herself only smiles a little more, smoothing out her blouse and ignoring Izzy's behaviour.

"Good morning Izzy and Owen," Starting off what must be a speech, Courtney talks to us both in a friendly and welcoming voice, "I was wondering if the two of you could help me with something. Well, Izzy more than Owen."

Immediately, Izzy hisses once more and swipes at Courtney. Courtney only steps back, her nose crinkling a little as she stares back at Izzy.

Clearly, there's some sort of tension between them. Part of me wants to stay out of it - Courtney tends to link back to Heather, and Heather is anything but good news. If anything, Heather Chang is one of the scariest people alive. But another part of me is curious about all this, wants to know what could happen if I help Courtney out and maybe, just maybe, earn enough say to actually avoid getting dragged into her and Heather's drama.

Plus I might be able to help Izzy stay off their radar. I'm sure she'll appreciate that.

"What do you need help with?" Taking another bite from my sandwich, I raise a brow at Courtney.

Almost instantly, she seems to soften and sport that strange grin once more, "I need help with taking down Heather. For good."

"Heather?" Gulping, I can't help but betray my nerves. I think I even swallow my whole hunk of sandwich, the large piece burning my throat as it forces its way down to my stomach. "You mean, our Heather, Heather?"

"Yes, our Heather, Heather," Rolling her eyes, Courtney turns back to Izzy, who has stopped growling now. Instead, standing a little straighter, her arms folded across her chest, Izzy seems to be listening. She seems like she's really considering what Courtney is saying as she continues, "I want to end this mad reign of terror that Heather's put us through. But I can't do it alone - not if we really want to change Wawanakwa."

Everyone's gaze flicks back to Izzy. Anticipating the next move, nervous about it, my heart jumps around in my stomach as I find myself unable to eat anymore until I know Izzy's response. Courtney seems to be in a similar boat as she clasps her hands together, something like a plea wavering within her brown eyes as she continues to look at Izzy. Between them a silent conversation seems to pass before Izzy speaks.

"I'll agree under one condition," Calm, controlled, Izzy remains stiff and rigid as she glares at Courtney, "You have to let me use a tranq gun."

"A tranq gun?" Frowning at the condition, Courtney's nose crinkles as she shakes her head, "Why would we even need- "

"That's for me to know and you to find out, lady!" Izzy interrupts, growing a smile as a slight chuckle shakes her slim shoulders. Nudging me with her sharp elbow, Izzy glances up at me and asks, "What do you say, Big O? You wanna join the team and tranq mad cows like Heather?"

"Well I..." Scratching at my head, biting at my lip, I can't help but feel nervous under the stares of both Izzy and Courtney. So much so, that a little toot escapes my system, making my cheeks turn pink as I chuckle a little, "Sorry! Nerves make me gassy," Averting my eyes from Courtney, the twitch that her eye does from my words, I quietly add, "But either way, I'm down for whatever Izzy's doing. We're a two for one kinda deal."

"Damn straight we are!"

"Alright then," Smiling tightly, clapping her hands together, Courtney nods at my words. Then, passing Izzy a small piece of paper, she adds, "Welcome to team, Izzy and Owen. I'll keep you posted with updates."

Then, just as quickly as she'd came, Courtney walks off again, her flats slapping against the concrete sidewalk. It's only once she's turned the corner, disappeared from view, that I remember what Izzy and I were originally doing. But, by then, we're already walking down the street once more, almost on autopilot as Izzy cracks a few jokes and I scarf down the rest of my breakfast sandwich. Almost as if nothing had happened.

But then, when we enter the school, when Courtney nods in our direction, I know that something has changed. Izzy and I have just become part of Team Courtney.