Prologue

(Malory)

Senior year was supposed to be great; it was supposed to be all about admiring my classic senior year puberty glow up in my yearbook, finally seeing mom again for a prolonged period of time after she’s been away for so long, writing finals, going to prom, graduating, and saying our last goodbyes to our friends as they head off to college or to God-knows-where. I was prepared to have a great final year. There’s just one problem.

Kyle Davidson.

The nerve! My blood crawls and a slick chill runs up the back of my neck the second she spits the words out. They’re like regurgitated nourishment for a baby bird. I literally almost gag just hearing them. My uncivilized hand slams down onto the principal’s desk. “What? Mrs Bev! You cannot be serious!”

She leans into her clearly-comfortable black office chair and clasps her hands. They do not utter a sound as they land on the desk. In far too much of a polite tone to even be polite, she replies, “You two have been the cause of far too many terrors that have happened both in and outside of the school. I will not have this school’s reputation tarnished any further by your consistent displays of immaturity and irresponsibility. It’s time you two fought it out in a more productive manner.”

I groan as I roll my eyes at her and stamp my feet anxiously on the smooth tiles. “But that’s not fair! I... We-” I... could kill myself. I could honestly just die. Why is it that of all times possible, now is when I have to be at a loss for words?

Then I hear it: the voice of a complete idiot. It is so loud and clear I’m sure the rest of the world has to plug their ears so they won’t be infected by his stupidity.

“Technically it is fair, Lloyd. I mean, seeing as you can’t throw a punch in the right direction,” he scoffs and wheezes his half-hidden face into a smirk, “a more productive fight is probably best.”

I can’t stand him. I can’t stand him! I cannot stand him. I raise my hand and clench it into a fist, ready to throw it right at him. My jaw tightens. I grind my teeth. I glare at him gravely. My voice almost breaks from frustration and anger, “Why you little-”

“–Both of you stop it,” Mrs Beverly interjects. “What’s not fair is the rest of the school body suffering on behalf of your misbehaviours. I will not have another student ‘accidentally’ caught up in your petty little war. You will both be participating in the April Fest production next year as the leading co-stars. You will attend practice. You will be early for practice. You will cooperate at the rehearsals. I will have countless people eyeing the two of you. You are doing this and that is final.”

Kyle Davidson leans into the hard, wooden backing of his chair beside me and folds his arms. He kicks his long left leg over his right. He leans forward to gain on Mrs Beverly’s sombre and somewhat bored expression. He smirks, the black snakebites on his bottom lip drifting to the sides. “And what if we don’t want to?”

This time she is the one smiling brightly. Too brightly. “Well, then, Davidson, it’s your loss. You see, I did a little reading into your records over the course of your time here at Audrey Burkes High and it seems to me like you both care very deeply about getting out of here with some excellent academic engravings under your name.

“The only problem is this; no matter how good your grades get, your non-academic records will hold just as high a level of importance where it concerns the opportunities that will be available to you in the future. You could have straight A’s and still not be recognized because of the long list of questionable activities you’ve been written down for. How will others be able to recommend you when they’re just as disturbed by your attitude towards others as they are impressed by your intelligence?

“As for all your school-related extracurricular activities and volunteer work, if you both decide to ignore the production, you will be removed from your groups. Rehearsals will start next week, and will go straight down until April Fest. I’m sure we can find someone else to substitute for both of you who would love to take your places in all those groups. Don’t you think?

“If you do agree to take these roles, however, I can offer you one thing. A blank slate. Do the production and your records will simply be sparkling.”

Silence falls over the room. I can feel myself getting goosebumps – and in no way is that a good thing. Both Kyle and I, as much as we cannot stand the thought of working together, know the value of these groups in the long run. We might not get along, but we’re not those kids who got to the top of our classes in a school for the gifted without any effort. Without all the groups and volunteer work, getting opportunities after high school becomes much more difficult when you’re swimming in a sea of brilliant kids.

“Seriously, Mrs Bev?!” I utter a sound almost like a cry from the frustration, dragging my hand off the desk and listening to the awful creaking sound my skin makes against it.

“Fine,” the idiot next to me says, his tone oblivious. He sighs.

My head shoots towards him, “What?”

Another devious smirk crawls over Mrs Beverly’s face. She drags an index finger up to her caramel hair and rests a few strands at the back of her ear. “Excellent, Davidson. That’s what I like to hear.”

Then, the douche-bag has the nerve to turn to me with a bored expression and say, “I don’t want to fail. Do you want to fail?”

“I’d rather take my chances.”

“It is settled,” Mrs Bev says. “You will both be the leading co-stars of the April Fest production, and will attend rehearsals from beginning to the end on every day that practice is arranged. Your attendance, participation, and especially how you two get along for the entire process will count at the end of it all... aside from other things. I will be waiting with everyone else in the auditorium when auditions begin next week. I’ll be in charge of that along with the drama teachers but I will be looking for the two of you.”

I can’t believe it. I’m being paired with Kyle Davidson. The Kyle Davidson. This unique species of parasite.

The bell rings to signal the end of the school day before I could further protest.

“That will be all,” our principal announces, “Have a safe evening, both of you.”

I run a hand all the way through my long straight hair from the roots to the middle of my back. I groan. I hang my school bag over my shoulder and exhale sharply, storming out. “Unbelievable!”

That dumbass got us both into this stinking new mess. He just had to provoke me and step out of the way so my punch would land on the wrong person –again.

I have to admit, though, that if there is anything Kyle is a pro at, it’s dodging my punches. This isn’t the first time we got into trouble for fighting –or for getting other innocent students hurt because of our fights- but I never would’ve imagined living in this nightmare.

Kyle? And Me? As the leads? Hah!

I’d rather ram the sharp point of a pick axe into my head.

How on earth am I going to dodge this? What would happen if I do? If this is how final year is about to go down, then I may not know anything else for certain, but I do know this.

Senior year is about to get messy.