The lady who calls herself his mother watches him with narrowed eyes. "You can't take it to school," she tells him authoritatively.

Nick is reaching for a glass of orange juice but he lifts his head, barely keeping the smirk from taking his lips. Who is this stranger, to tell him what to do? It's not even been a few days yet. He's wondering how long it will take for her to ship him back to the city, to wash her prettily manicured hands clean of him.

"Is there a rule?" he asks, chugging the orange juice down. "You said this private school was openminded. What's wrong with motorbikes?"

When he puts the glass of orange juice down on the pristine, gleaming table, a few droplets splatter messily across the surface. The butler winces but she waves it away dismissively towards him. The meaning is clear: Just bear with him, for now.

"There's nothing wrong with motorbikes," she begins.

Nick doesn't let her finish. "Sounds good to me, then," he says cheerfully, lifting himself from his seat smoothly. "I mean, if you don't have a problem with them, then that's fine by me. Wouldn't want to go about offending you," he tells her.

He revels in the way she winces before him, brief pain flickering through the light of her eyes, and lets the beginnings of a smirk pull his lips upward. When her business associates or whatever they called themselves had come over the last week, she had been too ashamed of him to introduce him properly so Nick had taken great pleasure in telling them all blatant lies about city gangs and the various dangers he had barely escaped by the skin of his teeth, watching them squirm.

There really was nothing like watching rich folk grow uncomfortable when they realised poor people actually existed.

When his mother had realised he was pulling their legs, she had grown red with suppressed fury and her cheeks had flushed with humiliation. Now, seated across from him at the breakfast table, she looks at him and it is clear by the pink, embarrassed flush staining her cheeks that she remembers, too.

"Nick –,"

"Oh, and don't forget – you should tell me what time you want me back here," he continues, his face the picture of innocence, "so you can get rid of all your rich friends in time. Or I could save you so much time and just sneak in through the back?"

"Nick."

Her voice is snappish and taut but she sounds too motherly for his tastes, her gaze stern and unyielding. She stares at him angrily and Nick holds her gaze stubbornly. What right does she think she has over him, to call herself his mother?

All she ever did was give birth to him.

She breaks away, first, letting out an angry huff of breath. Nick swallows thickly, shaking his head to clear his angry head. There is no use getting angry. His temper has never resulted in anything good and he is quite proud that he's managed to keep a good lid on it, since arriving to this hellhole of a place.

"You can drive yourself in one of the cars I got you," she offers, forcing herself to sound light and easy-going.

She wants to be one of those cool moms, Nick realises. He has to stop himself from snorting incredulously in her face. Cool enough that he'd willingly spill all his secrets to her and build up a strong foundation of trust between themselves that would last the test of time.

He wants to laugh in her face.

She just doesn't want him to go to school by himself.

Nick isn't as stupid as his mother seems to think. She doesn't trust him to actually attend the place but he wishes she'd just actually say it out loud. It's better than pretending she cares anything for him. In truth, he doesn't blame her for being suspicious of him – he wouldn't trust himself to attend school, but now, this puts a wrench into his initial plans.

When he had first heard of the private school, he had never any intention of actually exhausting himself by attending. Nick had made plans to get himself back to the city and disappear within its concrete like he had done effortlessly so many times before. After all, he hadn't been entirely lying about the gangs. But now, he has to go.

Nick is sometimes so stubborn he hates it.

But what else is he supposed to do?

If his dear, loving mother thinks he's a thug and is going to be running back to the city, well, he's got to stay in this town, now. There's no question about it, he thinks rather pettily.

Instead of reiterating any of this to her, Nick simply shrugs.

"Can't drive," he tells her happily.

Very deliberately and loudly, he jangles the keys of his motorbike, shaking it briefly across the stern-faced, tight-lipped butler, smirking as he leaves the great fancy mansion his mother had managed to somehow haul him in to. Nick's gaze flickers temptingly across the array of sleek cars but he's never learnt how to drive a car, so there's no point.

He seats himself on his motorbike, making it roar and purr loudly under him. There is a quiet sense of freedom that comes along with his bike. Nick had painstakingly worked at the garage for months and months, saving whatever scraps he could to fix up the battered motorcycle. It had taken him ages but it was his pride and joy now and he drove it whenever he could.

But it hadn't been just the mansion and the cars she'd stopped at.

Nick's got a ton of new things, things that he'd never have dreamed of. It's like his mother went full-on Pinterest-crazy. And boy, has she got money to spill.

The room he stays in is three times as big as the place he was staying in before, filled with things he won't ever touch. There are gleaming video games and new footballs and baseball bats, with the autographs of famous players scrawled across their wood, and guitars and expensive laptops and computers and an array of musical instruments, the latter of which is because she thinks he might have an interest in music.

Nick doesn't, but the more stuff, the merrier, right?

He had only discovered why she had suspected such a thing, when he found out through his friends that she had searched for his old school. She'd gotten access to all of his records and grades, not that they were anything to brag about.

He scoffs to himself.

Rich people.

Class continues without any more interruptions, after Lula and Audrey flash smug smiles towards the poor teacher.

Madison pays attention intently, though she looks like she isn't.

It is a difficult feat to pull off, but her expression is the perfect combination of lazy and bored and she makes certain to let her gaze drift across the board idly, every so often. Her eyes flicker towards Elliot and Lula, both of whom are snoring, their heads lolling against each other, and Audrey, who continues to text her annoying brat of a boyfriend.

When the bell finally rings, Lula startles awake and it turns out Elliot is the only one who has a free period between them all. He tells them he will be meeting with Maria and waves them away, sleepily.

Madison and Audrey have a class together so they take their time, idly reaching for their things as Madison ignores the flashing texts that light up her iPhone. Audrey casts a curious look towards her, arching a questioning eyebrow.

"You're not going to answer?" Audrey asks. "Who pissed you off that badly?"

Madison settles for a disparaging roll of her eyes. "Some idiot, during the summer," she says, brushing it off quickly.

"Oh, yeah, you stayed here, didn't you?" Audrey says. "Again? Madison, baby, you need some Greek guys. We may live in the middle of nowhere but –,"

The scholarship girl bumps into Madison and if Madison hadn't learnt to run in high heels before she could walk, she would have fallen clumsily. A lesser girl would have, anyway. Madison's eyes flash towards her cuttingly and she barely has to say anything, her expression doing all the talking. The girl flushes horribly, two red blotchy stains against her cheeks, as she parts her lips quickly to, no doubt, grovel.

Audrey bites out, "Move."

Scholarship girl's face creases slightly, annoyance flickering through the light of her eyes, and she lets out a taut breath. "You could be politer about it," she says bitingly, looking irritated.

Madison eyes the girl's clumpy shoes with lingering distaste, her lip curling. She doesn't want to stay talking to this troll, who barely knows how to dress herself. It was a school uniform and yet, scholarship girl still managed to make it look like she dragged herself out of a pit.

"Seeing as you willingly made the decision to wear those shoes, I'll give you some much-needed advice," Madison says, and her voice is cool as ice. Really, she's doing scholarship girl a favour. Nobody will look at her twice if she doesn't clean herself up. Nobody will see she has brains if they don't see the beauty, first. "Nobody owes you anything here. So, move."

The girl's lips turn down, her eyes flashing angrily, but before she can say anything more, Audrey pushes past her roughly, rolling her eyes. They walk out of class, stalking elegantly as though they were on a model's ramp again, rather than the school hallway, leaving a hush of hissed, interested whispers in their wake.

"They'll be talking about that by lunch, I'll bet," Audrey tells her, as the students part for them once more.

Madison purses her lips. "Might as well give them something to talk about. First day of school is always annoyingly drama-free," she comments. "But that one's a fighter."

She has dealt with the ones who thought they could fight her. The ones who entered the school, thinking they could topple her off her throne, thinking they could take her crown for themselves, or even attempt to tear down the dynasty she'd built. Idiots, all of them.

It had taken her years to build up her gleaming throne and she'd never let a single person take it from her.

Mother had always warned her, queens do not need kings. Kings need queens. Queens always rise and kings always fall. That is the way of the world. Always keep your heart closed and your head held high and you will never fall.

Audrey's eyes are gleaming, the satisfied light within them flickering. "Dangerous?" she asks, looking delighted at the mere appearance of a fresh fight.

"Did you see those shoes?" Madison scoffs towards her.

She shakes her head disparagingly. It's an insult. Madison had sought a worthy enough opponent for her hungry heart. But she can't have finally found one, at the hands of a girl who wears cheap flats. The humiliation alone would take her to an early grave.

"She's no danger," Madison continues assuredly, "but she'll be an annoying fly."

A pleased, excited smile touches Audrey's lips. "What fun we'll have swatting her, then," she says, before her attention is diverted by yet another text.

Madison lets her lip curl. "Can't you go without each other for ten minutes?" she says coolly. "What are you, rabbits?"

But Audrey is laughing, too used to Madison's blunt coldness to let it anger her now. She lifts her iPhone and shows off the text, which is a heavy barrage of emojis, leading up together to create a lewd joke. Madison curls her lip at it, unimpressed.

"Come on, Madison," she says. "You have to admit – at least Kyle's funny."

"I think he's an asshole," Madison says bluntly, but Audrey barely bats an eye.

She's not wrong, she knows it.

Madison is never wrong.

When they first met Kyle, Madison had taken one look at Kyle's pudgy face and his goofy grin and realised it immediately. It had been a crushing blow, to think that one of her own could pick out something that could have been mistaken for the rubbish. Kyle didn't even have to speak before she had already decided to hate him but the idiot made the mistake of pretending to bow in front of her and called her Your Highness.

Even Elliot had winced.

"Don't you want a boyfriend, Madison?" Audrey is asking eagerly, her eyes wide. She smirks a little, her lips tilted up. "Or a girlfriend?"

Madison says flatly, "I already have a dog."

Why did everyone always assume that if you were single, you were miserable?

Madison is perfectly content in her life. But people are annoying, and they're even more annoying when they're basking in the glow of new relationships. It makes them, the nosy, overbearing cows, turn around and look for single people to pair off. Didn't they have better things to do?

She wonders briefly how much of her thoughts she should reiterate to Audrey. The girl's face is lit with hope that refuses to be crushed by Madison's bluntness. Really, it's a talent. Madison thinks of sighing before straightening immediately.

Never show what you are truly feeling to anyone, even if you are bleeding out. One of Mother's strict lessons.

Madison is too classy to sigh like some common cow.

As they seat themselves in the class demurely, Audrey lets out a defeated sigh but her eyes widen on something in the distance. "Ugh," she says. "It's Olivia." Audrey lets loose an impressive stream of bad words that Madison smirks at. "I thought we got rid of that bitch last year. What is she still doing, trying to hang on to us like last year's Gucci?"

"I didn't get rid of her," Madison tells her, eyeing the panicked-looking girl, who is hurriedly making her way towards them.

Olivia's eyes are too bright to be just excitement, she thinks absently. Either the girl has found fresh gossip she thinks will persuade me into letting her sit with us or something is wrong.

Audrey hasn't noticed but her face is the picture of betrayal. "Madison, I love you but why?" she groans. "She thinks she can talk to me about her crush on Elliot. Bitch drools, Madison. It's actually disgusting."

The corners of her lips lift into a smirk in spite of herself. Madison keeps her around so Audrey gets a taste of her own medicine but the penny hasn't dropped, yet. Instead, she gives another excuse. "Elliot hates her," she tells Audrey. "It's funny."

"Madison, Audrey!" Olivia says loudly.

Her voice is thrumming with a panic that makes Madison still. In her efforts to get to them, however, Olivia stubs her toe into the chair of a table and collides painfully into a few unsuspecting, startled students.

How embarrassing, Madison thinks, watching coolly as Olivia struggles to disentangle herself from the floor.

It's like a car crash.

Neither can look away.

Audrey winces and Madison considers dumping Olivia for real. But in the same moment, Olivia has already made her way towards them successfully and her breaths are hoarse. "Madison!" she says, not noticing Audrey making tortured faces. "Madison!"

"What is it?" Madison drawls.

Olivia's face is pale and ashen. "It's Elliot."

*

Madison reaches for Elliot's face, her lips pressed into a thin, taut line. His face is completely beaten to a pulp and bruises are beginning to bloom brilliantly all over, under the icepack he is currently holding up.

She lights grazes her slender fingers against the blossoming violet bruise and as Elliot winces, Madison presses deeply into the bruise.

Elliot lets out an angry, pained yelp. "Madison, what the –,"

"That's what you get," Madison tells him stiffly, "for being an idiot. Picking fights like that, on the first day of our last year, too. What do you think you are, some common thug?"

"The guy was an asshole," Elliot says, rubbing at his face and throwing Madison a dark scowl. "He wouldn't move when I told him to."

"And you got your ass beat?" Madison asks.

Her voice is dripping with dry disparagement as she arches an unsympathetic eyebrow towards him. Madison is glad he is okay but Elliot knows better than to pick fights that he knows he can't win. Her friends are supposed to be smart.

Elliot doesn't meet her gaze but jerks his head towards her in a nod.

There is something else he is not telling her about the fight but no matter, Madison thinks. It is not as though she won't find out, sooner or later. She lets out a cool, steadying breath through her teeth and says, "Who was it?"

Madison knows almost everyone in the school and she'll make whoever did this to Elliot pray they were in Hell. On the other chair, Lula shifts her worried gaze from Elliot to Madison.

"New guy, from what I could find out. People are saying he's built and looks like a gangster," Lula tells her. "Apparently, he drove up to school in some beat-up, old motorcycle. "

The insult is too grave and Madison turns her head to Elliot, letting out an affronted breath. "You got beaten up by a thug who rides a motorcycle?"

To think that her friend could have been struck down so easily by a wannabe bad boy, Madison is seething brilliantly. Elliot rolls his eyes towards her but the motion makes him wince and he lets out a hiss of pain.

"He doesn't have a social reputation to destroy yet," Lula is asking, "so what are you going to do, Madison?"

Madison doesn't even have to think about it, pressing her lips together into a taut, determined line, as she narrows her eyes. Her gaze falls on Elliot's face. Nobody touches her friends, she thinks viciously but makes certain to swallow down the fierce protectiveness she feels over her friends. There is no reason to make herself look an emotional fool, too.

She asks, her voice a lazy, languid thing, "Do you want him gone, Elliot?"

Elliot's gaze flickers up to her and he winces in pain again, as the motion makes his face crinkle a little. He looks – well, he doesn't look like Elliot, all worried eyes and bruised face. How his parents are going to respond, Madison has no idea. But she feels her own slender fingers curl together into a clenched, tight fist. She unclenches them quickly, in the very same moment.

A fool, Madison would be, to display such fierce open emotions like this. And in public, too.

Mother would be disgusted.

Elliot licks his lips and winces again. He nods quickly towards her.

Madison lifts her head, straightens her shoulders, and looks at Lula firmly. She says, and her voice is threatening and absolute and strong all at once, "Then he's gone."

*