For the first time in weeks, I'm pulled from my sleep by something other than the drum-shattering shrill of my alarm.

The sun cuts through the crevice in my parted blinds, warming the skin of my eyelids. I savour the feeling for a few minutes longer than I know I have to spare on a Tuesday morning, before I force my eyes open and huff out a refreshed breath. A quiet nagging at the corner of my mind finds my well-restedness suspicious, but I can't bring myself to care. I reach for my phone in its usual position on my bedside table, only to be met by empty space. I frown, briefly reminded of Kenzo dashing it at the floor like a smoke bomb. Grinding my jaw at the memory, I reach for my Apple watch, only to find it dead. I glance towards its discarded charger on the floor, and sigh. Not a good start to my day. Instead, I run my hand over my duvet until my grasp finds my TV's remote. I click it on and wait for it to show any sign of life. Seconds later, it does so. My gaze shifts to the corner of the screen, 9:15 glares back at me.

I almost get whiplash shooting out of bed and into my bathroom.

My entire hygiene process plays out at a heightened velocity as I fly about the bathroom. Rather than my focus being on the time slipping through my fingers, my mind is labouring overtime to understand what the hell is going on this morning. For one, no one woke me up for school. Two, I'm now incredibly late for school. Three, what's going to be waiting for me when I get there? Not even 24 hours ago, Kenzo had vowed it would be nothing pleasant, now I'm suddenly rushing to show up, as if I really want to find out. I feel my body hesitate, one finger on my shower's nob, as I debate if there's even a point. I can think of a few reasons why I should go to school, but twice as many not to. And where the hell is Tiegan?

I don't think my brain had processed all that happened yesterday until I was strapped into the back of an Uber, zipping away from Queenscroft Park, sans my iPhone and my dignity. My eyes had burned with tears, onset by nothing other than anger. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I was that angry, at anyone. I'd felt so hot, I had to wind down my window and sit with my face jutting out into the glum cold, because I'd felt seconds away from detonation. Yesterday was a disaster, a disaster that I didn't deserve to get forced into the middle of, yet there I was. I've developed a new tier of hatred for Kenzo, and anyone that associates themself with him. I don't know anyone as grimy and weak as him and I hope if I do see him today, he's adorned in a fresh visor of bruises.

As heartbroken as I am to be phoneless, I have to say, the timing had been immaculate. The thought of keeping myself up all night—stalking social media for any footage of what was going on in Queenscroft Park or any verbal anyone involved might've been dishing to one another—gives me a headache. Even now, as I emerge from my sauna of a bathroom, my gaze flickers towards the Macbook on my desk. My fingers are itching to check my Twitter, but I bite back the urge. For once, I'm in the dark, and I definitely prefer it. Despite the feeling, I need a fucking phone, and I know better than to expect a brand new one from Kenzo.

Within 40 minutes, I'm clean and dressed for school, still shoving miscellaneous items into my bag and doubling back to my mirror several times to ensure the rat-tail braid tumbling down my back is still in somewhat of the same condition it had been when Chanel had done it for me last night. I pull my tote onto my shoulder, and my trainers onto my feet, before pacing out of my room. I glance inside Chanel's room and then Armani's, only to find them bare. Half of me had expected to find them oversleeping too. What the hell? Downstairs, the TV's off but the remnants of their breakfast are still scattered across the kitchen counter—a buttered knife, a plate littered with crumbs and a saucer with a brown, tea-stained ring on its centre.

I have no access to the time right now, but I know for a fact I have none to waste. I keep this in mind as I rush out of the house, bounding a few doors over where Tiegan and co reside. I rap my knuckles against the door impatiently. Three or so minutes later, I'm still met with no response. I release a frustrated groan, resting my head against the door. Fuck this shit, I mutter to myself, ready to get back into bed and call it a day. As I pivot towards my house, my eyes lock with the blue Tesla crawling to a halt before Tiegan's driveway. The window rolls down, and Tai's beady stare meets my hovering figure.

He wears a black, short sleeved tee despite the breezy weather, and the sparkles on his chain seem to dance in the sunlight, contrasting nicely with his dark attire. His elbow hangs out of the window as he eyes me curiously, his bushy eyebrows drawn tight in confusion, "Wagwan, D? You alright?"

"Yeah," I huff, striding towards his car. "Where is everyone? No one woke me up for school." Tai only offers a nonchalant shrug in return.

"Did you try calling?" He suggests.

I roll my eyes, "My phone is broken."

Tai takes one look at my dejected expression and laughs, reaching in his centre console for his own device. "How've you done that, Dior?"

"Well, I didn't break it, but—hey, where even were you yesterday? I'm surprised you didn't show up to keep the peace," I inquire, shifting my body weight onto one leg. Tai glances at me, as he fiddles with his phone. I take note of the hundreds of notifications he barely skims through, as he scrolls up and down the screen aimlessly.

"What you talking about?"

"At Queenscroft."

"Where all you youngers always bake off? What business do I have round there?" He chuckles.

"I just thought, you know, with everything going on..." Tai shifts his attention towards me, eyebrow raised.

"Why? What happened?"

"Well for starters, Kenzo smashed my phone. Then obviously the whole snitching fiasco that he started," I scoff, rolling my eyes. A part of me is still in disbelief that all of this is actually happening, but last night at Queenscroft was the tug to reality I needed. The amount of people gathered there for the same reason put the weight of Kenzo's fuck up into perspective.

"He what?"

"I know. My screen was literally hanging onto the back by a thread—"

"Dior, what fucking snitching shit are you on about? What the fuck's gone on?" Tai snaps. I lean away from the car, staring back at him, dumbfounded.

"Wait, you didn't know? I thought... I thought they would've got a hold of you."

"I wasn't on ends yesterday, I had... work. The fuck is going on?" Tai pushes. I open my mouth and then seal it shut again. I'm unsure where to begin, and the inevitable anger lingering on Tai's face makes me reconsider whether I even want to. Truth be told, it is none of my business, or at least I intend for it not to be, so the less I talk about it, the better. Tai sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Get in the car, let me take you to school." When I'm finally buckled into his passenger seat and he's pulled away from the curb, I relay an elaborate precis of everything that he needs to know, from the altercation at Queenscroft last night all the way back to Kenzo's initial issue with Nehemiah. Tai nods and rolls his eyes and kisses his teeth wherever necessary, but he manages to keep any anger or anxiety the news causes him at bay.

By the time we arrive at Ocean View's daunting gates, the pavements are rid of any uniformed bodies, and the screech of the bell for the end of second period echoes throughout the school. I unlatch my seatbelt, it rattles against the door as it slips back into its place. I glare up at the building, struggling to ignore my swelling reluctance.

"You want me to drop you back home?" Tai suggests, I look towards him, finding comfort in his reassuring smile.

"Yeah, but I don't wanna leave Tiegs in there on her own," I huff. I pull my bag onto my shoulder and rest my hand on the door handle. "I'll be fine." Tai nods, curtly, and then tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. I raise my eyebrows, "What?" He continues to stare at me, before a cheeky smile creeps onto his face.

"You and Reckless," He asks, states than asks. I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, lost for words. At no point in my rundown had I given anything to do with Nehemiah and I away, and yet somehow he'd managed to figure it out. Nevertheless, I don't plan to admit to anything any time soon, not until I've spoken to Valentino.

"What about us?"

"You like him, or what?" Tai probes. He leans back, arms folded tightly against his chest in an effort to intimidate me, and successfully so.

"What? No, I don't," I lie.

"Rah, you're gonna chat shit to me, Dior?" Tai laughs. I groan, burying my face in my hands. If anyone was going to figure us out, I would've guessed it would be Tai. Although he's Tiegan's older brother, of my family and his, he's the eldest and clearly the wisest.

"Okay, maybe I like him a little bit. But please please please don't tell Valentino, I swear I'm gonna tell him! And don't go saying nothing to Nehemiah either, no scaring him off," I plead, entwining my fingers together. Tai scoffs, animatedly.

"You must not know him very well if you think me—or anyone for that matter—can scare him off," he says. "I got a lot of love for him, that's bro." I feel a wave of relief rush over me, although the feeling is fleeting when I'm reminded Valentino's approval is the one I actually need.

"I just hope Tino feels the same way," I mumble, fiddling with the hem of my skirt.

Tai makes a face, like he's torn between two contrasting opinions, "I can't say, love. Recks is alright, but Scarz is your brother, and you're his baby sister. No matter how much love he's got for Reckless, can't be shocked if he's not fucking with it." I roll my eyes as discretely as possible, huffing in frustration. The more I get to know Nehemiah, the more I can feel myself growing to care for him.

Nehemiah was my final thought before I'd fallen asleep, and all I could think about since I'd woken up this morning. Whether he's okay, whether he's wondering if I'm okay, whether he got home safely last night, whether anyone had hurt him—although judging by his reputation, I'm assuming that's less than unlikely. Still, my heart can't help but to worry for him, skipping a beat at the possibility of him coming to any harm. How am I supposed to turn that off, if Valentino shuts us down?

Tai presses something and the car clicks unlocked. "You're already mad late. Shout me if you need to, yeah?"

"With what phone?" I chuckle. He purses his lips.

"Right. My bad." I get out of the car, bumping my door shut behind me. He waits till someone buzzes me into reception to drive away. There's a slothful drag in my steps as I inch closer and closer to the front desk. Mrs Haywire, the ever-moody receptionist, glares at me. She waits till I'm standing right before her to speak.

"You're late." No shit.

"I'm sorry. I overslept," I say, repressing my urge for sarcasm.

"That's your second tardy this week," she adds, raising an eyebrow. She reaches under her desk, and pulls my year's late book from its cubby. She drops it on the desk with a thud, I pull a pen from my blazer pocket and jot in my name, the time and my sorry excuse for being late. "Detention on Thursday with Mr Stevenson." I roll my eyes so hard that they almost lag, but keep any objection at bay.

"Okay."

Her eyes flicker to the clock mounted on the wall behind me. "Alright, make your way to assembly."

"It's a Tuesday," I frown. We only ever have them on a Friday. Mrs Haywire shoots me a look, like I should know better than to be confused.

"Your head of year wants to speak with you all. Every year is having an assembly at some point today," she indifferently explains. My stomach droops a little, but I conceal any reaction to this information. Instead, I nod, curtly, and begin making my way to the hall. I keep an eye out for Tiegan, I try to remember what she has second period on a Tuesday so I can figure out what direction she'd be coming from, but I can't decide between Maths and Chemistry—which are at two opposite ends of the building. When I arrive at the hall, there's a flood of students spilling into the large room, and a handful of teachers standing around in an attempt to assert dominance. They're failing, miserably.

There's something eerily menacing in the student body's dynamic this morning. Aside from the occasional soft murmurs, it's unusually quiet. Even when I'm inside the hall and seated, the rows upon rows of people in front of me keep their conversations to a minimum. I don't doubt that by now, the entire school has been made aware of all that had happened yesterday, during school and after it, but any excited buzz about it all seems to have been discarded at the doors to the hall. The severity of the situation lingers like a bad smell. Not only for the people that got caught up, but for anyone sporting our God-forsaken uniform. Ocean View's already poor reputation has been permanently tainted—and it's all Kenzo's fault.

The chairs beside me rattle, I glance in the direction of the disturbance. Alex, Ben and Tyrese shuffle towards me. I don't even think he notices me at first, but when he does, Alex's eyebrows tug downwards in confusion. He settles into the seat beside me, shifting uncomfortably, as Ben and Tyrese pile up next to him.

"You showed up," Alex states. My gaze flickers to his hand, his fingers restlessly tap against his thigh as his eyes bounce around the room, and then back to me. "Why did you show up?" The last time I'd seen Alex, Tiegan and I had abandoned him mid-brawl in a room full of rowdy teenage boys, but aside from a swollen scar at the peak of his cheekbone, you wouldn't even be able to tell. Despite Ocean View's strict no coat policy, he, Ben and Tyrese have apparently chosen to throw caution to the wind, adorned in their outdoor jackets and respective beanies as if they'd either just arrived or had somewhere to be right after the assembly.

I look the three of them over once more, before finally responding, "What do you mean?"

"Loose said you man weren't rolling. In fact, I don't think you're meant to be here," he says. He digs around in his pocket, retrieving his phone. I let out a quiet huff in frustration. I wish Loose had thought to let me know that, too.

"Wait, Tiegan's not here?" I frown.

"No. You should've stayed home," Alex adds. I have to admit, a small part of me had foolishly hoped that all this would die down after all the commotion at Queenscroft last night, but the searing tension embracing the student body as the hall inches towards its maximum capacity, seems to indicate otherwise.

"He's right, you know," Ben says, leaning forward in his seat. I look towards him, and can't help but to subtly double-take, as I catch sight of the bandages swaddled around his hand. "Kenzo's been talking crazy all day."

"Not surprised," I mutter.

"I tried to call you," Alex says, bumping his shoulder against mine. I glance down at his phone, skimming over the three texts he's already fired off to Armani, as well as the one he's midway through typing.

"You didn't see Kenzo dash my phone at the floor? It's very broken," I respond, with an agitated roll of my eyes. Even talking about it pisses me off. Alex raises an eyebrow.

"Makes sense. Them man done him in, it was peak," Alex says. My body jolts to attention at this, comforted by the fact he hadn't mentioned any bad news. I don't think I would've had it in me to witness anything myself, but hearing that Nehemiah and the rest of them came out on top of whatever the hell happened last night does enough for me.

"Were you at Queenscroft last night?" I ask, as my curiousity piques.

"I was," he nods, shortly.

"What happened?" I press. Alex's expression remains neutral and unimpressed as he recalls all that had occcured last night.

"Everyone was scrapping. FEDs came. Nothing unexpected," he shrugs, distractedly. Instead his focus is on his failed attempts to get in contact with Armani. He suddenly sits up a little straighter in his seat, his eyes scan the room with a little more attentiveness. "Where's Annalise, also? She is def getting expelled."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Someone stole those witness statements from Stevenson's office and posted them on some random Twitter account," Alex explains. I can almost feel my heart stop beating and turn to rock in my chest, and then sink to the pit of my ass. I'm immediately reminded of what I'd done yesterday, sharing photos of Dominic and Patrick's witness statements. I swiftly recall the consequences that followed mere hours later—I'm pretty sure there are shards of my phone still scattered throughout Queenscroft Park. If anyone finds out what I'd done, I'll be suspended within the hour.

"Do they know who done it?"

"They haven't said anything, but SPC's like one of the only areas in school where the CCTV actually works, so it's only a matter of time. Plus, everyone's saying Annalise's school email is linked to the account," Alex explains.

"How did she even manage to pull that off?" I mutter. Annalise Moor and her incessant need to insert herself in whoever's business is trending is surely about to get her into trouble, yet I can't help but to feel slightly sorry for her, just imagining the consequences she may be facing.

"I can't believe this Dominic guy snitched on us," Ben grumbles from his seat. The tapping of his foot against the leg of the chair in front of him hints at the temperamental mood he and the boys are in. The next series of bad news is sure to set them off.

"Not gonna lie, I got tagged in multiple witness statements on that page. Bare man praying on my downfall," Alex says, shaking his head disappointedly.

"I don't even do F so this stray I'm catching is crazy," Tyrese huffs, defensively.

"I hope Kenzo's satisfied," I scoff.

"He was on Twitter talking out the side of his neck last night," Alex says. I'm suddenly grateful I'd thought to stay off social media; I was far too angry to have seen Kenzo still talking and not drag him for filfth. "Did you see that snap he posted?"

"He deleted it quick, someone sent it to the GC though," Ben says.

"There was so much blood on his face, I couldn't even tell you where it was coming from." I can't help but to wince at the thought of it. I knew the boys had set out with intent to harm, but them actually drawing blood from each other like it's nothing for some reason makes me squirm.

"And he's still telling people it was Dior that snaked on him," Ben adds. I roll my eyes. I'm sick of reiterating my lack of involvement in this stupid situation.

"He's so moist, like," Tyrese says, followed by a humourless chuckle. "Since when'd he have it out for you so bad?"

"I think all this shit is because of Reckless, and you're collateral," Ben suggests. I nod curtly, finally beginnning to accept that that must be the case. Kenzo and I have managed to exist cordially in each other's presence for years now, despite his unwarranted distaste for me. I guess seeing two of his least favourite people form a bond didn't sit right with him. That's the only thing that could explain why after years of peace, he's decided to resort to tormenting me any chance he gets.

"Power couple, alie?" Alex mumbles. I cut my eye at him, but before I can call him up on his slick remark, Tyrese leans forward in his seat and kisses his teeth so pointedly, everyone in our row turns to look at him.

"Look at this prick, now," he nods his head towards the entrance to the hall, where Kenzo now stands, Adryen and Jaun at either of his sides. Mrs Belle pulls the doors shut behind them, before ushering them towards three seats against the wall, as opposed to the rows of chairs the rest of us sit in. Kenzo's posture is straightened with pride, as he inches towards his assigned seat. There's a faint smirk welded to his face, and a condescending essence in his glare. He drags his eyes over every row in the hall, and when he's finally pointed in our direction, he nods his head, smugly.

Ben's arm shoots out as Alex attempts to charge out of his seat.

"Long day," Tyrese mutters, followed by a low whistle. The already muted audience of students somehow gets even quieter as Mr Stevenson takes his place at the podium, centre stage. The series of creases between his eyebrows and the scowl carved into his face perfectly emanate the stress of Ocean View's latest crisis. As soon as his mouth opens, the words that tumble out of it are shrouded in intensity, and yet they flow in one ear and right out of the other. Instead, my glare is glued to Kenzo and his two yes-men. Yesterday evening, while I lay awake, I'd restlessly twisted and turned till the darkest hour of the night trying to make sense of all that he'd done since the school year commenced, how he can appear so comfortable in his own skin when he knows everyone hates him. Despite the countless times he's had his ass handed to him, no punishment seems to match his crimes, and no consequence seems dire enough to set him straight.

How can someone be that much of a menace, and still live with themself?

Nehemiah's face, strained with anger, flashes at the forefront of my mind. His tensed jaw, his clenched fists, his furrowed brows. His grip on my arm, the way he'd protectively pulled me behind him every time Patrick attempted to get too close. Among my anxiety and all my other sentiments of dismay, I feel myself swoon. I have more than enough men in my life to make me feel safe and protected, but with Nehemiah, the feeling means so much more.

I'm pulled back into Stevenson's congress by an outbreak of exclamations and objections throughout the hall, startling me back into my present senses. I turn to Alex with furrowed brows, "Wait, what'd he say?" There's a stoic smirk on Alex's face, he slumps backwards in his seat and shakes his head in disbelief.

"You can't go nowhere but home in uniform after school," he says, raising the volume of his voice to compete with the uproar from the people filling the hall, as teachers scramble to try and settle everyone.

I frown, "They can't do that, can they?"

"They just did, he said OV's banned from every shop on the strip and they're putting stewards in Queenscroft Park," Alex chuckles, seemingly amused by the hysteria surrounding us. The strip being the highstreet that Ocean View is located a short walk away from, where every student—extroverted or not—hangs out after school.

"Booo!" Tyrese calls out, and then ducks his head with a snicker as a teacher paces up the aisle and right past our row. He coughs to stifle his laughter, once he notices the three of us staring at him. "Sorry. Mob mentality."

Ignoring the ongoing backlash from his austere new order, Stevenson gestures to the two teachers sat by the entrance to the hall to start letting people out, before he disappears behind the blood-red curtains draped behind him. Kenzo, Adryen and Jaun are escorted out first, but not before Kenzo turns back towards us and shoots me one last sinister grin. A panic-stricken twitch slithers down my spine, but I try my best to suppress the feeling as Mrs Belle starts dismissing people row by row. "Come on," Alex knocks his knee against mine and then gestures to the door. I frown, confused as to why we aren't waiting for our turn, but comply. I get up, with the three boys following suit. Alex bypasses me, leading us towards the front of the hall, surprisingly going undetected by the number of teachers dotted around the room.

Once we've slipped out of the hall, we pace down empty corridors, past classrooms filled with students still yet to be dismissed for break. The boys take long, determined strides, while I trail behind, throwing cautious glances over my shoulder. Alex's atention is plastered to his phone, and when I peer past his arm, I realise he's rotating calls between Armani, Daniel and Torin, although all three of their phones seem to be going to voicemail. "Am I missing something? What's the rush? Where we going?" I ask, practically tripping over my feet in my attempts to keep up.

"It's break," Ty says.

"Yeah? Canteen?" I ask, reminded that I'm still yet to put anything into my mouth today.

"What? No. Dior, you need to go home," Ty huffs. I pause, just as we reach the end of the hallway. Alex swings the doors to the stairway open, the three boys halt when they realise I've stopped following suit.

"I can't get two dismissal forms in one week, they won't let me," I frown. I know I put a lot of thought into whether or not I should come into school today, but I've been regretting my decision ever since I stepped foot out of my house.

Ty reaches for my arm, attempting to pull me towards the stairs. "Then you're just gonna have to skip." I snatch my arm away, raising an eyebrow. I'm not opposed to going home, but I am opposed to getting into any more trouble than I'm already in, and between my tardys, me sneaking pictures of witness statements and my brief attendance at Queenscroft Park last night, I'm already knee deep in it.

"How? You want me to dig my way out or what?" I huff. Ty makes a face, as if my sarcastic idea is even remotely credible, and my eyes roll so hard I'm shocked they don't get stuck. "I'm being serious, they're not gonna let me just walk outta here."

"You ain't got much of a choice, not gonna lie," Ben says, scratching at the back of his neck. "I don't think you're getting how badly them man have it out for you, and if anything happens to you, we're pissed."

"Yeah, Loose made that very clear," Ty mumbles. I glance at Alex, who stares emptily back at me with his phone pressed against his ear. He huffs, glancing at it as I assume it goes to voicemail once again, before he turns back to me.

"Don't look at me, you know I don't want you in harm's way," he says. My eyebrows twitch slightly lower at this, I don't miss the way Ben cuts his eye at him, either. Why did he say it like that? Alex purses his lips and his gaze somewhat softens. Something about the look on his face rubs me the wrong way, and the conversation I'd had yesterday morning with Tiegan comes to mind. For the first time, Alex having feelings for me seems realistic, but there's too many thoughts already circling my head for me to even take the possibility on board right now. Alex continues, "Your best bet is to stay home, Dior. Trust me."

"Is there something you man aren't telling me? It's just Kenzo, and him and his friends are in Iso. Surely I can last till the end of the day," I suggest, shrugging. Tyrese raises an eyebrow at me. Alex catches onto this, and grits his teeth. I can see what little patience he has left slip from his face and vanish into thin air.

"Just Kenzo? You don't know?"

"Ty, shut up," Alex snaps, and then turns to me. The sharpness of his tone catches me off guard. "Dior, pick up your feet. Let's go."

"I don't know what?" I question, ignoring Alex's persistence.

"Are you forgetting about Dominic?" Ty asks. He's right. I am forgetting about Dominic. In fact, aside from the role he'd played in the whole snitching debacle, Dominic hasn't really crossed my mind since his confrontation with Nehemiah.

"What does he have to do with anything? Was he there last night?" I ask.

"He showed up literally right after you baited him out for snitching on us, Nehemiah done him in, then him and Kenzo were posted up together all night. Pretty sure he knows what you did," Ty informs me. I think my heart actually stops beating altogether, and I can almost feel my stomach coiling into a knot. My worst nightmare has finally manifested itself: my enemies teaming up to ruin my life. My hand rests on my belly, nausea bubbling up my throat as I ponder all the possibilities of what the two of them have in store for me. The bell screeches and Alex throws his hands up in the air, in defeat.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Dior, move. Now," Alex snaps, and this time I don't fight back as his hand latches around my forearm and he drags me towards the stairway. There's probably two minutes left until we're swarmed by the rush of students I'm assuming Alex was trying to avoid, which explains why he takes two steps at a time. I attempt to pause and catch my breath as we get to the landing midway to the top, but both Ben and Ty urge me forward. Despite my efforts not to slow them down, my mind is clouded with so many terrible thoughts that if I don't stop and breathe, I may just pass out.

I've dealt with Kenzo for years. I know most of the tricks in his book are centred on social degradation. He lives for embarrassing people, tearing them down and tainting their image, probably because being a social outcast is his biggest insecurity. Although he's taken to much more extreme measures recently, I know my way around his mind games. But Dominic, he's something different. Of all the boys in my life that have ever picked problems with me, he's the only one I've ever met willing to get physical. Going toe to toe with a girl is universally accepted as weird—I'm sure everyone can agree—but not for Dominic. Kenzo's devotion to being Ocean View's most hated bully paired with Dominic's commitment to beating me to a pulp, is enough to send me packing. I'm officially done for.

When we finally get to the top of the staircase, Ben moves ahead, reaching out to open the door, but someone beats him to it.

"Say mums."

Speak of the devil.

The four of us take a uniformed step backwards, as we stand face to face with none other than Dominic and Kenzo. My brain fizzes like a shaken bottle of coke, as I try to figure out how he could've possibly escaped the reins of his isolation in the last five minutes, when we'd literally just watched him leave the assembly with two teachers glued to either of his sides. My eyes bounce back and forth between the two of them, lips peeling apart in shock at the sight of their grievous injuries.

Dominic's lip is inflated with a bloodied bruise, a small skin tone plaster is stretched across his nose, his neck is tinged purple and practically throbbing, like he'd tried to hang himself with a crowbar, his eye is a swollen array of purple and blue, and I can see some redness in the sclera of his eyeball. I can't seem to tear my glare away from him. How could he even leave the house looking like this? Beside him, Kenzo's battlescars are just as bad, if not worse. His light skin does nothing to conceal the damage that I'm assuming Armani had caused him yesterday.

"Why you looking like that?" Dominic snickers, edging towards me. I immediately shuffle backwards, but there's little to no space left on the landing, unless I'm willing to send myself tumbling back down the stairs—which honestly, at this point, doesn't sound too bad. He's so close that the scent of his cologne wafts up my nose, making my tummy turn. Alex bunches the lapels of Dominic's blazer in his balled fists, and shoves him backwards.

"Move or be moved, I really can't be assed for your verbal right now," Alex eerily demands, glaring between the two of them. Kenzo lets out a humourless cackle, leaning against the door. My heart sinks, as he makes it clear he's not letting us past him without a fight. Dominic's glare is still fastened to my face, even as he regains his balance and inches back towards me.

"Are you deaf, Dior?" he continues, completely disregarding Alex's loaded threat. I glance at the tremble in his hands, praying to God that he's just cold and not actually that angry.

"Leave me alone," I mumble. The tremor in my voice amuses him, the corner of his lip tugs upwards like he wants to smile, but he winces so subtly that I almost miss it.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" Dominic scoffs. "Look at my face, Dior." I can't help but coil in discomfort as I unintentionally do as I'm told. It's like a car wreck—I try with all my might to look away but I can't. He looks dreadful. The closer he gets, the higher the definition of his bruises, and the fact that I now know that he'd earned them at the hands of Nehemiah does nothing to reassure me I'm walking away from this scot-free.

"I—"

"Look at my fucking face, you bitch!" Dominic screams, saliva spraying from his mouth. My mouth opens and closes as words escape me. Ben, Alex and Tyrese all attempt to move closer to me, but Dominic leaves no room for interference. His breath fans out across my face, but as disgusted as I am, my fear roots me in place.

"This ain't got shit to do with her, bake off," Ben intervenes, attempting to slip his hand between Dominic and I, but he's only swatted away.

"Swear? So who was it that told Recks that Dominic spoke on him?" Kenzo asks, sarcastically, still smug as he perches against the door.

"You mean snitched on him?" Ty retorts. "What, you man can dish it out but you can't take it?"

"When I'm done with you, yeah..." Dominic begins, reaching out his arm like he's about to pulverise my throat in his quivering fist, but he trails off as Alex bats his hand away. Dominic turns to him, and Alex steals the opportunity to push him away from me. I let out the breath I didn't even realise I was holding, as Dominic and Alex stare each other down. I look towards Kenzo, who seems more than content now that's he finally found himself a partner in crime, someone equally as delusional and pyschopathic as himself.

"All of this shit that's going on, is 'cause of Kenzo. You look like someone folded your clothes while you was in them, because of Kenzo. You're gonna get your head knocked off your fucking shoulders, because of Kenzo. You're probably the most hated nigga in all of Southeast London right now, because of Kenzo. If you wanna take up your issues with anyone, it should be with this prick that you're suddenly calling your bro, not the fucking rest of us," Alex declares, shifting the atmosphere between the six of us with the finality of his tone. "Now, I'ma say this once more, move or be moved." Dominic and Kenzo say nothing, but they make no effort to get out of the way. The boys all continue to stare each other down, my gaze bounces anxiously between the five of them. I hear the door at the bottom of the stairway open, and glance away—only for a moment. When I look back, Dominic is already charging towards me, two arms outstretched.

"Dior!"

Alex's cry of warning comes half a second too late. He moves to step in front of me, but not before Dominic shoves me with all the bodily force he can muster. The surface beneath me disappears as I fly down the stairs. My ankle twists at an angle I didn't even think was possible, my body folds in on itself, the sharp edges of each step I somersault down digging into my back. I hit the landing halfway down the staircase with a thud, shattering my arm. My head bounces on the metal rim at the foot of the railing. Everything goes black.

Today, London's the greyest I've seen it in a while. The sky is ashen, the fog is thick, and the ongoing dribble of rainfall does nothing to lighten the mood. The cold seeps through my coat, barely softened by the multiple layers beneath it, and yet I remain stationed in Eastridge's outdoor seating area, abandoned by both staff and students, owing to the uninviting weather. The clouds could peel apart and shit icebergs right now—I'm still not moving. I'd rather be cold than stomach any more of the looks and the whispers and the boldly intrusive questions from my peers, about what had happened last night in Queenscroft Park. My fingers tremble at the thought of it. Every time my head recalls those rabid scenes, a rush of adrenaline zips through my entire being, like the first toke of a zoot.

All the rage that'd been simmering the whole day, boiling in the pit of my chest and clawing at the walls of my self restraint, to finally be face to face with both Kenzo and DK, getting to lay into them without anyone self-righteously holding me back, it was exactly what I needed. I hadn't felt satisfaction like that since my first fight with either of them, and I've owed them much more than a few licks since then. For once, everybody can mutually agree that I was justified. They got what they'd been asking for. Their blood-stained clothes and parade of injuries should mute them from now till the end of time. They'll fall back, people will stop talking about it in a week, and all will be right in the world again. In the meantime, I'll patiently stay out of everyone's way.

"Recks?"

I glance over my shoulder. Chanel, Sy, Tigz and Loose stroll in my direction, clouded by an unmissable aura of misery. I let out a soft chuckle at the sight of Chanel bundled up in a catelogue of everybody's clothes—Sy's coat, Loose's hat and Tigz's scarf looped over the top of her head and around her neck. The four of them circle around where I sit, with my feet on the bench's seat and my ass on the table. "Wagwan?" I greet.

"Are you high?" Chanel mumbles, words swaddled by the fabric over her mouth. Sy chuckles, repositioning the scarf for her, to which she silently thanks him. "It's like two degrees and you're sitting in the rain."

"No one's out here," I shrug. Tigz playfully rolls his eyes, readjusting the hood of his jacket so it falls further down his face. The tips of his fingers are tainted pink from the cold, but he can never be too cold for his slick remarks.

"Sorry, you popular loner. You're just too cool," he says, sarcastically. My introvertedness isn't anything they're not used to; I'm thankful that they find it more humorous than they do jarring.

"Can we go inside? I'm hungry and my head is cold," Loose grumbles. His glare is levelled with his Moncler beanie, sat snugly on his sister's head, but Chanel pays him no mind. I shake my head, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a zoot and a matte black lighter. That's all I need to convince them to stay, but before either object can work its magic, Chanel snatches them out of my hand, shoving them into the depths of her coat. The four of us let out an equally frustrated groan.

"Are you guys forgetting what just happened? Do you know how many people would've snitched on you yesterday? There's no way you man aren't being watched. You're supposed to be on your best behaviour, you almost got suspended yesterday. Be serious," Chanel lectures. It's hard to take her seriously—drowning in a bunch of accessories clearly a few sizes too big for her—but there's not a hint of satire in her speech. I stare, flatly. Despite the vengeance I'd sought for myself, the whole 'snitching' debacle still makes me hot with anger. The fact that it's all anyone seems to want to talk about is the reason I'm freezing half to death right now, when I could be basking in the warmth of a canteen.

"I really can't be assed," Tigz grumbles, with a roll of his eyes.

"Word," Loose agrees.

"I know you guys can't, but I can. No smoking, no swearing, no skipping, no fighting, no backtalk-ing teachers. You lot just need to go lesson and home for the next six months," Chanel rambles. I bite back a scoff at the idea. Kenzo robs a shop and I get put on 'probation'?

"Six?" Sy scorns in disbelief, he purses his lips as Chanel cuts her eye at him. "Six!" He repeats, with feigned enthusiasm.

"Yes, six. You guys were out wreaking havoc last night like the law can't touch you. I know, I know, they started it, blah blah blah, but if the school finds out it was you guys, you're done for," she reasons. Chanel's strict monologue isn't anything we haven't heard before, but there's no part of me that can be bothered to take it in. I'm sure she and Syco and their innate ability to be a voice of reason are the only thing that kept all of us out of juvie growing up. "We're just lucky Dominic and Patrick go OV and not here."

"We're lucky? They're lucky," I mutter.

"You know who ain't lucky? Tiegs and Dior," Loose huffs, folding his arms. At the mention of Dior, I sit up a little straighter in my seat. I hadn't gotten the chance to speak to her since last night, but ever since Loose had sent her and Chanel off to get a cab, all I could think about was whether she was okay. My head hasn't been at ease since we last spoke, that defeated look on her face while she went back and forth with Kenzo blinked at the forefront of my mind any time my thoughts dared to still. Despite her hardened exterior, I could see right through it—it was obvious how much him picking on her was starting to get to her.

My boys have always had my back, and I know that they always will, but watching someone as vulnerable as Dior stand her ground in defense of my name, putting herself in harm's way for my sake, it felt weird. Not a bad weird, but a warm one. She'd gone out of her way to get her hands on those witness statements, even though she knew somebody would probably try and give her shit about it, and when the time had come to stand on business, she did. I wouldn't have judged her if she'd looked to her brother and I for defense—my battles aren't hers and they shouldn't be—but the fact she had my back just as much as I had hers, solidified everything I already feel for her. I'll be damned if Dominic or Patrick or any other patty from Ocean View goes near her.

"Am I the only one deeping how badly Kenzo's onto Dior? What's his deal?" I say, as nonchalantly as I can muster, but the sudden bounce in my knee and the clench in my fist give away more than I intend to. It's public knowledge at this point that I have feelings for Dior, but it's shocking how quickly I'd grown to care for her—I can tell by the look on all their faces.

"He's never liked her, Dior's told me about him before, although they've stayed out of each other's way until recently," Chanel says, frustrated at the thought alone. "Why do you think he's so desparate to drag her into you man's shit?"

"'Cause Recks has been smacking him about for the past four weeks, my man ain't even got one lick in," Tigz snorts, earning a few chuckles from Syco and Loose. A part of me is shocked Loose hasn't made that connection out loud, considering this is why he'd warned me away from his sister in the first place, but he appears to be paying me no mind.

"I'm just gonna assume at this point, that he knows better. I doubt he even showed his face today, let alone going to look for Dior or Tiegan's trouble again," Loose says with a shrug. He seems more than content with the situation now—probably owing to the assortment of bruises he'd sent Kenzo away with last night.

"Has anyone checked on them? I know OV's hot right now," I ask, sighing at the thought of the war ongoing in that hellhole.

"Nah, I got my phone taken first period," Tigz huffs, earning a whack upside the head from Chanel. He glares in her direction, but knows better than to attempt to defend himself. "They didn't go school, so it's not that deep anyway. Tiegs is with Tally."

"Yeah, and we left a note on the fridge for Dior," Loose adds. "I told her to call me, though."

"How's she gonna call you with no phone?" Sy asks.

Loose bunches his mouth to the side, pondering for a moment, and then shrugs, "I dunno. Landline?" Chanel laughs softly, so I assume they don't even have one.

"You man didn't pattern her a phone?" I ask.

"We got home too late last night, I didn't get a chance, I didn't even see anyone when I got in," Loose huffs. Even though I knew she didn't have her phone, every few minutes I can't help but check my own in hopes of receiving a message from her. She was so upset the last time I'd seen her, the fact I have no means of checking she's good makes me feel uneasy. "Speaking of, I ain't seen my phone since this morning," Loose adds.

"Oh yeah," I mumble, reaching into my pocket to retrieve his phone. "Some girl said you left it in form."

"What girl?" Chanel asks, inquisitively, looking between me and her brother. I raise my hands, innnocently, already having forgotten who it was that'd given it to me.

"Don't start," Loose chuckles, taking the phone from me.

"Don't make me get Tiegan on you," Chanel jokes. The look on his face prompts a laugh from all of us. Watching him get antsy at the mention of someone as small as Tiegan will never not be funny. I didn't think anyone could be more on smash than Sy, but Tiegan has Loose wrapped so tightly around her pinky she can't even bend it. Loose's hand trembles as he holds down the power button on his phone, switching it on. I roll my eyes as his teeth begin to chatter.

"You man are too dramatic, it is not that cold," Sy laughs. His hands are shoved into the deepest crevice of his tracksuit bottoms, but he seems to be doing fine without his coat, even thought it really is that cold.

"We are literally standing in the rain. I can't feel my feet," Chanel argues. For some reason, we all collectively glance down at her shoes. Sy flags his hand in her direction.

"But if I said let's rise Kaspa's right now—"

"I'd still get a sundae and a side of ice cream, what about it?" Chanel sasses, tilting her head in her boyfriend's direction.

"Ice cream with a side of ice cream?" I mumble, laughing as she swivels her glare towards me.

"You know what, Kaspa's sounds too nice right now," Tigz grins, rubbing his belly suggestively. I glance at the time on my watch, noticing our lunch break had barely begun. My belly twists at the mention of food, yet the thought of actually going to get it keeps me rooted in place.

"Should we just cut? Do you man have anything after lunch?" Sy questions.

"Just one—"

"Aht, aht! No skipping," Chanel tuts, cutting Tigz short.

"I'll pay for your food," Sy attempts to bargain.

"You was gonna pay for it anyway," she smirks, subtly leaning towards him. The two of them stare each other down, like they'd forgotten they had company, Tigz gags animatedly. As digusted as their public displays of affection usually make me, today it only seems to conjure up thoughts of Dior. I've been craving a moment of peace with her, just me and her—no third wheels, no pasa, no interruptions. Lately, there's always something in the way, now more than ever. I glance at Loose, surprised by his lack of cockblocking, but he's distracted by his phone. Only then do I notice how much it's buzzing out of control.

"What the hell?" he mutters, gaining the attention of the rest of our friends.

"Woah," Tigz mutters, nosily glancing over Loose's shoulder.

"For fuck's sake, it's frozen," Loose grumbles, shaking his phone as if that would help. "What's this girl done to my phone, blud?" Sy snickers, but I watch as the amusement gradually fades from his face. I frown at the sight of it. His eyes bounce between the four of us.

"Tigz, you got your phone?" Syco asks.

"Nah, remember, it got taken," Tigz says, moving to take the seat beside me. Sy turns his attention towards me, his brows sink lower than I thought they could go.

"Where's your phone?"

"It's off," I reply. The flatness in his voice makes me uncomfortable. "Why?"

"Mine's off, too," he says. All of us stare at him silently for a brief moment, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn't.

"So?" Tigz questions, frowning. Loose's phone continues to buzz in his palm, although now with an incoming call, contrary to the flurry of texts. He swipes at the screen, but to no avail, before Sy snatches it, using the volume button on the side to answer instead. He presses the phone to his ear.

"Who is it?" Loose asks.

"AK," Sy says, he pulls the phone from his ear and passes it to Loose, who takes it, wiping the specks of rain from his screen. I absentmindedly roll my eyes at the mention of AK's name, I don't think anyone I don't know has ever jarred me as much as that guy, and I couldn't even tell you why.

Tigz rubs his hands together, with a mischievious grin, "So... Kaspa's? I could inhale like, three waffles right n—"

"I beg your pardon?"

My head whips in Armani's direction, taken aback by the bark in his tone. His face is scrunched so tightly together and his lips are peeled apart in disbelief. He glares into space, but I don't miss the tightening grip he has on his phone, pressed so forcefully against his ear I'm surprised it doesn't crumble into mush in his palm. I jolt out of my slouch, as do Tigz and Sy, alerted by the way his mood switched.

"What's happening? What's he saying?" Tigz presses, stepping towards Loose, who drags his hand down his face, pausing as he shields his eyes. The four of us watch him intently, waiting for him to respond, but his body stills. Then, he pulls the phone from his ear and draws back his hand like he's about to launch it at the ground, but Sy is two steps ahead of him. He grips Loose's wrist in his hand, retrieving his phone, while Tigz latches onto his shoulders and shakes him roughly, attempting to look him in the eye. Loose only kisses his teeth and swats him away.

"Yo, what the fuck's wrong with you? Wagwan?" Tigz nags, his face contorted in confusion. Chanel wordlessly moves beside him, staring her brother down with concern. I jump from my seat, shuffling towards Sy, who's already re-dialling AK's number. He clicks the speakerphone, the line barely dials before he answers.

"Yo."

"Yo, it's Syco. Wagwan, what's happened?" Sy interrogates. AK sighs heavily. There's a pause as he lets a couple beats pass, but in those brief moments my mind sidesteps rationality and immediately drags me through a montage of all the worst case scenarios. I inwardly promise myself if these punks got caught with 6ix's shit on them, I'm gonna bottle him.

"Where you man?" Syco's face scrunches up in distaste that I'm sure mirrors my own. I'm too distracted to even debate why a younger is interrogating me, instead the rapid beating in my chest keeps me focused on what the hell it is that's going on right now.

"Are you good, g?" Sy asks, attempting to mask how irritated he is by AK's question. "I asked you wagwan, why's Loose all vex?"

"Not gonna lie, you need to chat to him. I tol—" I rip the phone from Syco's hand, positioning the mic as close to my mouth as I can, in hopes that he'll hear how little patience I have for him and stop beating around the bush. The evasiveness tells me all I need to know—he fucked something up, I just need to know what.

"Bro, what the fuck's going on?" I snap, agitatedly. Again, a stress-filled sigh hisses through the phone. My teeth grind together, and I can't help but to tap my foot to keep from anxiously pacing.

"It's Dior, she's in the hospital." Sy's head whips towards me, as all my limbs go rigid. I frown, jaw ticking in disbelief. Surely not. I turn, looking towards Loose, who's sat down, arms folded tightly against his chest, ignoring the rain seeping through his trousers. His leg trembles uncontrollably, and he shakes his head back and forth, like he's refusing to process what he's hearing.

"What?" I snarl, sure that the heat of my anger can be felt on the other end of the line. I press my fingers against my temples, trying to massage away the migraine sprouting from the corners of my head. "How can she be in the hospital? Why would she be in the hospital?"

"Kenzo and Dom—"

I let out a laugh, full of venom and rid of any humour. Sy, Tigz and Chan all sport the same look of bewilderment. It'd amuse me more, if I wasn't already teeming with rage. A million different possibilities of everything that could've transpired to end up with Dior in hospital play in my mind on a loop, each more unsettling than the one before. They had one job. "Are you tryna tell me you man let them niggas put her in the hospital? Are you skunked?"

AK kisses his teeth, the sound does nothing to settle the corn I already have for him. "I didn't 'let' no one do nothing to her, I was tryna protec—" An insatiable anger similar to the one I'd just quenched last night runs through every muscle in my body, burning me from the inside out.

"What is actually the point of you, off joke?" Chanel takes the seat beside her brother, brows drawn in confusion, she fiddles with her fingers in distress. I watch Sy immediately flock towards her, letting her rest her head against his abdomen. With one hand rubbing circles into her back, he looks towards me with a shake of his head.

"You know what, fuck you, Reckless," AK grumbles. His nonchalance is too loud for my liking, but I don't mind it—the thought of my fist crushing the bridge of his nose is keeping the pinnacle of my anger at bay.

"I knew there was something useless about you from the jump," I snap. Sy slaps his palm against his forehead, Tigz reaches for the phone but I push him away. I can actually feel myself overheating, and there's no one here to for me to take my anger out on. I try to concentrate my focus onto being angry at AK, and not whatever state Dior is in, because I might actually lose my head.

"I'm useless? I'm with your girl in the hospital and you're on the phone beefing the nigga that stood up for her."

"And where exactly was you stood while these man were putting her in the hospital?" I fire back.

"No way are you tryna put this shit on me, like say you ain't the one that done him in. It's not that fucking serious, she—"

"Calm. I'm gonna do you in, then you can let me know how serious it feels when you're kotch up in a hospital too—"

"Alright, alright, alright! You man bake off," Sy says, snatching the phone back from me. He pauses, to send me the sternest look he can fathom, lifting the phone to his ear. Even as he does so, he doesn't take his eyes off of me, silently daring me to even attempt to take the phone from him. I glance between he and Loose and Tigz, struggling to understand how they're managing to keep their composure. My fist is taut, my breaths ragged, my skin searing, my jaw clenched. Between the situation itself and the ache suddenly pinging around the four walls of my head, I feel like I'm spiralling out of control. "AK, what hospital is she at?"

"Queen Elizabeth's."

"Calm," Sy cuts the phone and both he and Tigz turn to me. "Seriously?" I kiss my teeth, ignoring their joint disappointment. Kenzo and Dominic aside—'cause I've surely got something for them—no way are they expecting me to let AK slide. From the first time they'd suggested having Ocean View 'allies', I knew that shit would turn around and bite us in the ass. Maybe if AK wasn't too busy fawning over Dior, she wouldn't be in this situation.

"Fuck off, man. What the fuck are we putting them man on for if Dior's gonna wind up in the hospital anyway? Like, what the fuck are them man actually for?" I rant. If I remember correctly, I was apprehensive about putting these youngers on from the jump, because I know we can't rely on anyone but each other, but no. Recks is anti, Recks is impatient—look at us now. I try to channel my anger on that, on AK, on Dominic and Kenzo, and not on the fact that something has happened to Dior and more likely than not, it's because of me.

"Okay, but—"

"Why the fuck's she there anyway? I thought she was meant to be at home. And then this bright prick's gonna try spin it on me? He's such a fucking neek, on my life," I continue.

"There's three of them man, and just Dominic and Kenzo—and we all know he fights like a girl—so explain to me now, how the fuck they managed to get to her?" Loose speaks, lowly. The calmness in his voice is unsettling, but the bobbing of his knee pokes holes in his poised facade. Chanel rests her head against her brother's shoulder, keeping her usual warnings not to retaliate irrationally at bay. I can tell by the distant look on her face that her only concern is her sister. "If we went OV, she wouldn't be having these fucking problems."

"She could go to school in the depths of Kent and she'd still be having these problems, because it's not about her, it's about us man. Let's just go see about her," Syco explains, he pockets Loose's phone and then turns to me. He fastens his grip on my shoulders, shaking me lightly. "And you, you need to calm the fuck down. You can't get up there and start ramping with no one. The last thing we need is more opps in OV."

"But—"

"He's right, Recks. If you piss off AK and 'nem and they stop fucking with Tiegs and Dior, life's only gonna get harder for them," Tigz reasons, with a softened stare. I roll my eyes, teeth gritted. The fact that Tigz is actually making sense motivates me to take a few deep breaths. "We just need to chat to them man." Everyone turns to Loose as he slaps his palms against his thighs, and pushes himself out of his seat.

"Not gonna lie, I'm not tryna hear all that. We warned these fucking idiots what would happen if they fucked up," Loose says, completely disregarding all their strategic counsel. I can tell by his lack of interest in what the rest of us have to say that there's only one call of action that would suffice him—he wants to fight. Whether it's Kenzo, Dominic or the three niggas we entrusted to make sure stuff like this didn't happen. I'm more than open to getting on board with that, the only contribution I have left to this discussion is a well-deserved I told you so.

"Armani, they're right. You can't kick up a fuss, Dior isn't their responsibility," Chanel chimes in. Unfortunately for her, she's loud and wrong, but I asusme there's a reason Loose never mentioned to the girls the deal we'd made with those Ocean View boys. Loose barely glances in her direction, instead he turns to Sy, reaching for his phone. Chanel swipes it before Loose can, standing to her feet. "Don't start with the atti—"

"Mind yours," Loose snaps.

"Bake," Sy swiftly intervenes, cutting his eye towards him. There's suddenly a palpable tension between the five of us. Tigz shoots me a look, I awkwardly scratch at the back of my neck. Loose is doing shockingly well to conceal how enraged he really is, I think it's best for everyone that we make some moves before he has a spare thought to deep that some boys have hurt his little sister. Plus, I don't know how many more times he can snap at Chanel before Sy reacts, and I'm not tryna wait around to find out.

"Everyone just calm down," Tigz says. "We can talk about all the technicalities later, for now, your sister's in the hospital. We don't even know what happened, it could be very minor. How about we don't lose our heads till we see her?" Everybody seems to nod in agreement. I try to take his advice and tell myself he's right and she's fine and it is probably minor, it's probably just a bruise—but even I know, judging by the collective lack of luck fated to our group of friends, that that's most definitely not true.

"Scarz is gonna fucking wring my neck," Loose grumbles, planting himself back onto his seat and burying his face in his hands. "I ain't told him a thing about Dominic since way back when, even yesterday I only gave him and Tally some watered down story."

"We didn't shout TK either, so let's just assume for now that someone's relayed the message to them man," Sy suggests.

"AK said Taze was on his way to pick Dior up and take her home. I don't think AK called Scarz, but Taze defo would have," Loose says, again his leg bounces anxiously. We're already in enough hot water for letting this snitching situation get as deep as it did, but now I know how far out of the loop we'd actually kept Scarz, TK and Tally, it doesn't take a genius to guess that shit is about to get exponentially worse.

"Alright, brush all this. Somebody rise a cab, let's go see about Dior," Tigz says, clasping his hands together. As the four of us drift towards the exit, I can feel my nerves begin to spike, as I wonder whether she'll even want to see me. She's not slow, she can put two and two together and figure out any animosity Kenzo and Dominic hold towards her at this point is as a result of her brother and I's actions. I doubt she's growing any fonder of her association to me, especially since it keeps getting her into all sorts of trouble. What could've possibly happened for her to skip a sick room and wind up in the hospital? The memories of Dominic, battered and bruised, stumbling away from our altercation just last night, only make me think the worst. Regardless, I try to keep what Tigz had said in mind. We don't know what happened. It could be very minor.

It's probably just a bruise.

Tigz, Syco, Loose and I linger outside on the doorstep to the Sinclair household, somewhat sheltered from the drizzle of rain but in no way protected from the cold. Aside from the sound of traffic from the overpass behind the house and the flicking of Loose's lighter, there's an uncomfortable silence between us, flammable and begging to be broken. The murky stench of marijuana sits stagnant around us, owing to the third zoot Tigz and Loose had billed since we'd left Eastridge a few hours ago. For once, it makes my stomach stir rather than bringing me any comfort. We'd gone from college straight to Queen Elizabeth's Hospital, only narrowly missing Taze and Dior. Instead, we found Bigga and Ty still straggling behind.

Like I'd presumed, things quickly went left, but no one swung so I'll count it as a success.

A few feet away, TK rests against his car, legs crossed at the ankles and arms weaved together against his chest. The hood of his coat shadows the upper half of his face, he too takes deep long drags from a zoot, occasionally letting clean rings of smoke roll out of his mouth. We'd met him here, he'd stopped us before we could even set foot in the house, then Tigz had reluctantly filled him in on all that he'd missed. He'd taken it surprisingly well, I can only hope that Scarz and Tally are the same.

The peace on Harrow Manorway is finally adjourned at the sound of loud drill music, seconds later a Range Rover zips down the street, the bass from the speakers rattling the vehicle's tinted windows. TK's gaze shifts from the four of us, and towards the car, as it spins off the road and up the driveway in one swift motion. I can see the strained expression on Scarz's face from where I stand, Tally sports one much like his from the passenger's seat. The car barely halts before doors swing open and the two of them hop out. I can hear the anxious breath Loose releases at the sight of his brother, as he pushes himself off the front door and inches towards him.

"What the fuck is going on?" Scarz's tone is harsh and purged of patience, as he slams his door shut with so much force I half expect it to pop off the hinges. His chain glistens against the dark fabric of his tech fleece, and the thuds of his black Jordan 4s seem to echo up and down the street as he storms towards us. It's been a while since I've seen him so pissed off, but every time I do it's never much fun. Loose pauses a metre or so before him. "Explain to me, quick."

"Calm down," TK sighs, freeing one of his arms so he can rest his face against his palm. I'm sure even he's aware how futile his words are, but if he isn't, the look Scarz sends his way surely lets him know.

"Are you taking the piss?" he shoots towards TK. When he spins back towards Loose, I catch sight of the pulsing vein sneaking out from the collar of his shirt and up his neck. He takes a step forward, and his arms flail about as he talks down to his brother. "You lot called me yesterday saying some yute is chatting out his ass, you told me you could fucking handle it, I said calm, so why now am I hearing our baby sister's in the fucking hospital? Huh?"

"I—"

"And was it not you who put them fuck niggas on so shit like this wouldn't fucking happen?" Scarz barks.

"Are you gonna let me speak or what?" Loose barks right back. Sy whistles lowly from beside me, but nobody intervenes. I've never really understood the way Scarz and Loose argue, but I know it works for them. They both have the nastiest tempers and little to no control over what flies out of their mouth whenever someone pisses them off, so you'd think when they knock heads it'd be explosive, but I've come to learn they have some mutual understanding of how to communicate with one another. Only with one another, though. Scarz huffs out a breath of frustration, but bites back all the slick remarks I know he wants to let out.

Tally leans back against the bonnet of Scarz's car. I can tell by his attire that he'd dropped whatever he was doing to be here—the wifebeater and Yeezy slides, depsite the frosty weather, give it away. "Wagwan, what happened to Dior?" He asks. Loose looks back towards Sy, Tigz and I, offering any of us the opportunity to chip in. I purse my lips. Yeah, as if.

"Well... Dominic pushed her down the stairs," Loose sighs.

"Cool, we're going OV," Scarz calls out without missing a beat, gesturing for his brother to follow him. Before he can make it back inside his car, Tally grabs his arm.

"Hold on," TK says. He looks towards the rest of us, expectantly. "Tell them what Bigga said." Loose shoots us yet another look of reluctance. Tigz shuffles off the doorstep, his hand anxiously finds its way to the back of his neck.

"You can't go up there about Dominic," he mumbles. Both Tally and Scarz look at him as if he's grown another head.

"Sorry?" Tally frowns.

"They don't know he pushed her down the stairs, and you can't tell them or Dior's gonna get kicked out," Tigz explains. Scars rolls his wrist, urging him to break down what it is that he's talking about. "Dominic and Kenzo made statements about us man yesterday and Dior took pictures and showed them to us—that's how we found out what they did. Somebody's gone and leaked everyone's statements last night, if you go up there ramping about Dominic, he'll tell them it was her and they'll believe him 'cause everyone knows she already has those pictures on her phone."

It was this information that had sparked a whirlwind of hostility earlier, when Bigga and Ty had relayed the same to us. Dominic and Kenzo have gotta be the most slippery niggas I've ever been doomed to come across in my life. Every time you think you have them where you want them, they find a way to get a leg up. I know Dominic's probably feeling more than content with himself, having found a way to cover his ass after what he'd done, but I'll be damned if he gets away with this shit.

Scarz presses his palms against his eyes, cursing beneath his breath. I can tell it's taking everything in him to keep calm, and even then—he's still failing. His cheeks fill up with air, he exhales a deep, perplexed breath, "Is Dior good?"

"Uh, we ain't gone inside yet. Bigga said she sprained her ankle, fractured her wrist, bruised her back and she's got a concussion, but she's fine," Sy says. I can't help but to wince as he recites the list of injuries she'd sustained at the hands of Dominic. I'd felt a streak of relief rush through me when we'd first gotten here and TK had stopped us before we entered the house, because the thought of having to face Dior skyrocketed my nerves. I'm sure she's aware of the state I left Dominic in last night, and now that she's suffered because of it—because of me—how am I supposed to know if she even wants me around?

Dior's suffering seems to shift the mood between the seven of us. Tally's jaw ticks, like he's debating whether there's a point in still being rational. Scarz on the other hand, seems more than ready to cast his cares aside and wreak havoc. "Explain to me what the fuck is happening, 'cause last I heard these youngers were just talking. What's all this about statements and snitching?" Tally asks.

"What I'm hearing is Kenzo and his boys got caught robbing a shop, he snitched on a couple man to take the heat off himself, them man got brought in and snitched too, so everyone starts snitching and other schools get involved. Nothing they said is gonna stick anyway, it's all just speculation, but still," TK explains, he looks towards Loose, who nods along to his hastened rundown of the situation.

"And you didn't think to let us know this why?" Scarz asks, his brows pulled together in confusion as he turns back to his brother.

"'Cause we sorted it," Loose mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. He buries his hands in his pockets, avoiding eye contact.

"Someone just chucked Dior down the stairs, so what exactly did you sort?" Scarz snaps. Syco and I share a look, but remain silent. "You're supposed to come to me when shit pops off, not keep it to yourself, especially if it's concerning the girls. What the fuck's your problem?"

"Valentino, you can't drop no one," Loose says, shaking his head.

"Says who?" Scarz laughs, but remains po-faced. "This prick is a dead man walking."

"Scarz, he's not some no life corner boy. He goes to her school and he just snitched on us yesterday, if he gets clarted now, you don't think the FEDs are gonna come looking for our trouble?" Loose argues.

"He's right," TK adds. And as much I'd hate to admit it, it's true. We could wrap this whole thing up before sunset if we just let 6ix do what it is that they do, but there's no way it wouldn't blow up in our faces. Considering all the attention Kenzo's garnered in the last few weeks, if anything happened to him everyone would point the authorities in our direction. And even if they don't come up with any evidence that sticks, the last thing they need are FEDs sniffing around their operations. They wouldn't have to apply too much pressure before someone cracks and starts talking.

"So, what then? What are you saying we should do? 'Cause I'm not letting this dickhead slide. No beef of yours should ever touch our family, what the fuck's he doing looking for trouble with Dior?" Valentino roars, his volume slightly picking up again. I can see Loose's shoulders rise and then fall, as he releases a defeated sigh. I know he's already beating himself up about it, and Scarz reiterating the blame he's already festering probably isn't helping how low he's already feeling.

"I know, I know. I fucked up," Loose says, dragging his hand down his face. Scarz stares him down, his frown set firm on his face. He lets the silence between them sit for a moment, before his features soften and he sighs, despondently.

"Look, I'll sort it, but when shit goes down, don't keep it to yourself, all of you man. Any nigga steps to you, or steps to Chanel or Tiegan or Dior, handle that but don't keep it to yourselves," Scarz says, looking between the four of us. We all nod in response. No one I've ever had problems with has thought to take it up with any sister of mine, probably because most people don't know I have sisters. I'm not used to having to watch anyone's back but my own, the only person who's ever had to deal with the consequences of my actions is me—but I guess that's changed, now. "I don't want these man going near the girls again, that's on you lot to ensure that."

"She wasn't meant to be in school today, she just didn't know that. They broke her phone yesterday," Loose explains.

"Yeah, which I could've patterned if I knew what the fuck was going on," Scarz says, cutting his eye at him. Loose chuckles, anxiously, raising his hand to fiddle with the lobe of his ear. Scarz, TK and Tally all glance between one another, wordlessly deciding on their next course of action. Scarz clasps his hands together, clearing his throat, "Fuck it. I don't give a shit if Dior gets suspended, we're going Ocean View. If you see this Dominic brudda, jump him. Calm?" Sy, Tigz, Loose and I nod in response.

"Dior and Tiegs don't need to be in school with them weirdos, anyway," Tally adds.

"I don't think it's that simple. They got exams at the end of the year," TK says.

"We'll worry about that later, let's go. Armani, grab me that bag in the back," Scarz calls out. Everyone begins moving—Tally, Sy and Tigz towards TK's car,  Loose and I towards Scarz's, until he steps in front of me, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"You mind staying back with Dior and them?" He asks. My gaze shifts from the stress weaved between the creases of his frown lines, to the enduring clench of frustration in his jaw—he clearly needs all the favours he can get right now.

"Yeah, of course, I got you," I shrug, despite how badly I'm itching to get my hands on Dominic. Scarz lets out a short breath of relief, knocking his fist against my own. Loose reappears, passing a crisp Apple bag to Scarz, who reaches inside and pulls out an iPhone box, shoving it towards his little brother.

"You, stop breaking all your phones, or your next one's gonna be a brick," Scarz says. Loose rolls his eyes, retrieving his current phone from his pocket, still frozen and spazzing out of control.

"I'm telling you that girl bugged it, this one ain't on me," Loose huffs, referring to the girl who'd handed me his phone earlier today.

"Just go wait in the car," Scarz says, before turning back to me. "Reckless, lemme chat to you quick." Loose looks between the two of us and smirks slightly, before turning away and heading to the passenger side of Scarz's car. My brows flinch downwards, and then I'm suddenly reminded of the last time I'd seen Scarz—when I'd knocked Kenzo on his ass for letting it be known that Dior and I have something going on. I'd almost forgotten all about it, but the look on Loose's face as he scurries towards the Range Rover brings the memory rushing back. Scarz brushes past me, beckoning for me to follow him. I glance over my shoulder once more, before following him inside.

I shuffle back and forth on the doormat, dusting my shoes, and then kick them off. The door swings shut behind me, a wave of heat hits me like a thousand pillows as soon as the lock clicks into place. There's a new fragrance in the house every time I come by, but it's always overwhelmingly sweet—it makes my stomach stir in hunger. The living room is dim, light spilling through the window and from the TV. There's three candles differing in height alit on the coffee table in the middle of the room, the gust of air we'd just let in makes their flames twirl and the orange halo around them flicker. Scarz strolls past the couch and into the kitchen. I quietly watch him peer into the oven and the pots on the stove, although I can tell by the look on his face that they're all empty.

When he makes his way back towards the living room, he drags his finger along the back of the couch before perching on the arm of the chair. He raises his eyebrows at me, I offer him a blank stare in response. I know what it is he wants to talk about, but I'm torn. Dior said she wanted to speak to him herself, so do I deny it or do I tell the truth? Scarz drops the bag between his feet, slouching comfortably, "Reckless."

"Hm?"

"Wagwan for you and Dior?" He asks. He laces his fingers and rests them on his stomach. I purse my lips, but opt to remain silent. I don't even know wagwan for me and Dior, really. I know I like her and I know she likes me—I'm not too sure what that's called. Scarz's gaze darts all about the guarded look on my face, it makes him chuckle, softly. "That guy you fucked up at the Hartslock block party mentioned it. I thought he was chatting shit but if you're fucking niggas up for her, maybe not."

I shrug, "I would've said something but she asked me not to. She wanted to chat to you herself." Scarz nods, slowly. I know there's a million doubts running rampant in his head, and I have little to no words that could settle them.

"You can see why I wouldn't want you going near her, right?" Scarz finally says. My heart sinks a little at this, not because of the heaviness of his disapproval, but how little I care for it. I've never gone against his word, but I'm more than willing to for Dior. I've never clicked with anyone as easily as I have with her, I'll need more than his apprehension to make me give that up.

"Well... Yeah... But—"

"But you wanna chat to her anyway," Scarz states rather than asks, and then he laughs. At least he knows. He stares me down once again, rubbing his chin as he thinks to himself. I quietly let him be. I glance around the room, my eyes hovering at the stairs. I can hear the muffled sound of movement from upstairs, the possibility of it being Dior makes me anxious. I can feel myself growing desparate to see her. Scarz clears his throat, I return my undivided attention towards him. "This Dominic guy..."

"Okay, that's on me. I fucked him up yesterday, but I only have beef with him 'cause I smacked him a couple weeks ago after he went looking for Dior's trouble and I was there," I explain. He raises his eyebrows, as if this is news to him.

"What's it with you lot and keeping shit from me? I could've split this nigga's wig weeks ago and all 'a this shit would've been avoided," Scarz frowns.

"I'm not against that idea, trust and believe," I say, with a nonchalant shrug. "But all them man are right. It's too rash." Scarz rolls his eyes, irritated by the truth in my statement. He stares at me a few seconds longer, then he kisses his teeth and rises to his feet. He bends slightly to retrieve his bag, I wait expectantly for him to say something.

"Look, I'll tell you what I told Syco. My sisters mean the world to me, and Dior's my baby. If you wanna be with her, fine, but protect her with your life. I don't care if you've got the KKK on your back, I want every hair on her head untouched. I don't wanna keep hearing my sister's getting bullied because she's associated with people like us. You need to ride for that girl. This..." Scarz trails off, gesturing around us, "Is never happening again. Dior ain't a pawn in no beef, she's my sister. Don't say I didn't warn you. Calm?" I'm not one to be easily intimidated, but Scarz's harsh carpeting sends a tremor down my spine. Despite the antipathy in his words of warning, he shoots me a soft smile and extends his fist in my direction. Crazy ass nigga.

"Calm," I nod, before I can spud him, he draws back his fist slightly, with narrowed eyes.

"Also, if you hurt her, I'll kill you," he deadpans.

I chuckle, knocking my fist against his. "I got you." He lets his smile stretch across his face, and then pulls me into a brief hug. He pats my back twice, and then sweeps past me and towards the foot of the stairs.

"Dior!" He calls out. We hear shuffling about upstairs, and a sequence of thuds above us. My eyes trail across the ceiling, following the path of the sound.

"Uh, you might save yourself a bit of time if you just come to me!" Dior yells, from wherever she is. The sound of her voice dispels all the angst that'd been brewing since I'd spoken on the phone with AK, earlier.

"I got her," I say, dropping my bag and then my coat. Valentino nods, drifting back towards the couch and letting his body melt into its cushions. I make my way to the foot of the stairs, and look up at Dior balancing at the top of them. I try not to grimace at the sight of her. The first thing that catches my eye is the pink cast bound to her left wrist, which she clutches to her chest. Despite the day she's had, her complexion glistens like she'd just soaked her skin in a ray of sunshine. At the sight of me, a smile spills onto her face and her cheeks swell. I return her grin, climbing up the stairs. The closer I get to her, the faster my heart rattles against my rib cage.

She's clad in a cropped wifebeater, its jagged edge cuts off high enough to expose her toned stomach. Her oversized basketball shorts sit low on her waist, the bones of her hips jutting out just above their waistband. She fiddles with the silky fabric, eyeing my approaching figure.

"Nehemiah," she breathes out, shuffling backwards. I pause right in front of her, I can't help but to inhale deeply. She must've just taken a shower 'cause she smells like heaven. Her skin is aglow, her lips are glossy and her eyelids low, as she blinks slowly. She tilts her head back, staring up at me through her lashes. "What are you doing here?"

"Babysitting. Come on," I tease. Somehow, her smile grows even wider. I glance down at the sleeve brace on her left ankle and the sock covering her other one, before I part my arms for her.

"You don't have to," Dior says, flustered.

"I got you," I reassure her. She wraps her healthy arm around my neck and I pull her towards me. I hear her breaths hitch and laugh inwardly. I scoop one hand behind the crook of her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her into the air with ease. Unsurprisingly, she weighs next to nothing, and so I carry her down the stairs and into her living room without breaking stride. She avoids eye contact with me, but every few seconds my gaze finds its way back to the swollen bruise on her forehead. Scarz looks between the two of us with raised eyebrows. I gently place her in the chair, watching her squirm until she's comfortable. She stares at me with a look I can't describe, and then double takes at her brother, like she'd forgotten he was beside her.

Scarz's stare bounces from his sister, to me, and back to her again. His lips twitch like he's biting back a smile, and then he lifts the Apple bag, dropping it softly into her lap, "Here. That's a phone, a sim and an iPad." The excitement on her face makes me chuckle, as I busy myself shifting the coffee table closer to her, so she can prop her leg up on it.

"An iPad? Damn, I need to get beat up more often," she jokes. Scarz and I both recoil.

"That's not funny," Scarz grumbles. Dior flags her hand at him, too busy dumping the contents of her goody bag onto her lap. "Us man are cutting out, but Recks is staying with you lot. Where's Chan and Tiegs?"

"Chanel's taking a nap, and Tiegs went with Tilly to get groceries," Dior replies distractedly, referring to Tiegan and co's mum. Scarz and I watch her fiddle with her phone box. I realise she clearly isn't used to her cast, as her bottom lip slips between her teeth and she gnaws at it, frustratedly. She huffs, looks towards me and holds out the box for me to help her out.

"Have you eaten?" Scarz asks, Dior shakes her head.

"Me and Chanel were gonna cook but she dozed off," Dior shrugs. Scarz shakes his head, and then shifts his stare towards me.

"I got her," I say, passing Dior back her opened box. Scarz stands to his feet, spudding me again. He leans towards Dior, lowering his head to dot a peck on her temple.

"We'll be back, yeah? You gonna be alright?" Scarz asks her. The mellowness of his tone is a stark contrast to the thunderous temper I'd witnessed only moments ago. The way he interacts with Dior spins me, because I've never seen him be even remotely as gentle with anyone. I thought the boys and I got his soft side, but this is a whole other level I didn't even know he had.

"I'll be okay, I've got Nehemiah," Dior reassures him, shooting me a coy smile. Scarz nods, tenderly dragging his hand over her head.

"In a bit, you lot," he calls over his shoulder, as he makes his way towards the front door. Dior and I call out a farewell, I watch after him until he's out of the door and locking it behind him. The distant rumble of his engine fills the room a few seconds later, the sound quells as he and the others grow further and further away from the house. My attention abruptly shifts towards Dior, she glares down at her lap, brows drawn in frustration.

"You okay, love?" I ask. Dior looks at me with a dazed smile, using her uninjured hand to support her cast as she raises it into the air.

"This thing is jarring my life," she grumbles. I can tell that the weight of it is bothering her, it looks a lot heavier than it actually is around her frail arm. She rolls her eyes and lets her head fall backwards. "And the doctors said the concussion was gonna make me feel a bit slow, but wow... I actually feel really slow."

I laugh, "Are you sure it's the concussion?"

"Ha, ha," she deadpans, gently swatting at my thigh. I move around, dropping into the seat beside her. She instantly shifts her position so she can prop her head on my shoulder. I exhale, contentedly. She seems to be in higher spirits than I'd expected, and smiling through whatever pain she may be in, but there's still something more solemn about her. I glance towards her cast, resting in her lap. I've been trying to surpress the guilt nagging at my conscience but I can't. It may not be all my fault, but I know majority of the blame is on me.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you, Dior," I mumble. She picks up her head, I can feel the burn of her stare on the side of my face, but my focus remains glued to her cast.

"Thank you," she says. "It's not your fault, if that's what you're thinking."

"It is, though," I say, softly shaking my head.

"It isn't. No one told me to show you guys those pictures, I did that on my own," she responds, with a shrug.

"You wouldn't have had no pictures to show if I didn't have no problems with him in the first place."

"Dominic only has problems with you because you defended me," Dior says, her smile grows an inch as she recalls the memory. "You have my back, I have yours." Her words make my shoulders sink in comfort, and I realise I'd been worried all day about nothing.

"You're cute," I chuckle. Dior's hand shields her face, as she grins and looks away from me. The sight settles something in me. All the stress of today seems to melt away the longer I spend in her presence. I watch as she twirls the tail of her braid around her finger. She seems to have completely given up with the fiddliness of her phone and the sim, so I take it upon myself to set it all up for her.

"So, where's everyone going? I heard all of you talking outside," Dior questions. She leans forward in her seat, snatching the remote off the coffee table, as I begin inserting her sim into her new phone.

"They're going Ocean View," I reply.

"Why?" Dior's foreboding is more than evident in her switch of tone.

"To talk to your teachers, I'm assuming," I shrug, purposely leaving out Scarz's true intentions. I don't think he cares for anything any member of staff at that school has to say. He's too old to go into a secondary school and start fighting—that's what Syco, Loose and Tigz are for.

"This is all so embarrassing," Dior groans. She tilts her head towards me, with narrowed eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't go with them. Did you offer to stay or did he make you?"

"He asked, but I wouldn't have minded staying either way. I ain't spoken to you since yesterday, I been wondering about you all day," I say.

"I was worried about you, too," Dior mutters. I glance at her, and she's already staring up at me.

"You was worried about me?" I ask, slightly taken aback. I know why I was worried about her, but I didn't expect her or anyone for that matter to be worried about me. Most people assume that I can handle myself, which has never bothered me because I know good and well that I can.

"Of course I was. I know how pissed off you were yesterday," Dior says. Knowing I was on her mind, whether it was for a second or nonstop, makes me feel warm. Her gaze drifts towards the bruising on my knuckles, she gently traces her fingers over the rough skin. "That looks like it hurts."

"You should see the other guy," I joke. Dior cuts her eye at me.

"I did. You should've seen him today, it looked like it hurt to talk," she says, with a shudder.

"Obviously not enough," I mutter, rolling my eyes. I don't know how many more times I can spin this guy's jaw before he learns to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm assuming there's no use in asking Armani not to go up there and make things worse," Dior suggests, with raised brows. Her hope is ridiculously misplaced. Loose's temper may be unruly, but for once it's more than justified. Even if I could talk him out of doing something reckless, I wouldn't.

"You really think things could get any worse?"

"Do I look like I'm in the business of finding out? How many more bones do you think I'm willing to break?" Dior scoffs, glancing towards her cast-clad arm. I sigh, passing her her phone. She smiles in appreciation.

"I don't know what to tell you, I'm on the same page as him. If someone hurt my little sister nobody could hold me back," I shrug. Dior sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, letting the silent sit for a moment.

"What if he never leaves me alone?" She finally asks. The dread lacing her words upsets me. Someone as gentle as Dior shouldn't have to worry about niggas looking for her trouble. The thought of Dominic standing over her, going out of his way to put fear in her, makes me hot all over. She's just so soft and kind and pure, I can't help but want to protect her. She shouldn't be here worried niggas twice her size are gonna get their hands on her.

"Trust me, he's not getting near you again. Scarz is handling it," I reassure her. A grin spreads across her face.

"Scarz," she drawls out. She chuckles slightly, shaking her head. "What are the odds of me catching feelings for my brothers' friend?" Catching feelings—especially for my best friend's little sister—wasn't necessarily on my bingo card for this year, I always assumed I'm not outside enough to stumble across anyone worth getting to know. The right girl was potentially right under my nose for years and I never noticed.

"Catching feelings, yeah?" I tease.

"Don't start. I still need to talk to him about you. Well, us," Dior huffs. The nerves are blatant on her face at the thought of even bringing it up to her brother.

"Actually, you might not have to," I shrug. Dior's head slowly swivels towards me.

"Oh no. What happened?" She groans, palming her head. She winces, forgetting her injury, before opting to massage at her temple instead.

"Nothing happened, he spoke to me about it. I got the big brother talk. On steroids," I say, partially joking. Scarz's words play on a loop at the rear of my mind. He hadn't even attempted to stifle the severity of his warning, and I can't say I blame him, considering our current circumstances. The timing was poor, but he hadn't forbid me so I can't complain.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry, Nehemiah," she says. I can feel the goosebumps bud up and down my arms at the softness of her tone. She attemps to brush my thigh in comfort, but her cast somewhat obstructs her. She snorts, "Although that's your friend so you knew what to expect."

"Honestly, I expected worse. But it's nice to know I'm in the clear."

"Would it have changed anything if you weren't?" Dior asks, glancing towards me.

"Nope," I shrug. She laughs, letting her head droop backwards. I don't think his disapproval would've stopped me, but thankfully we'll never have to find out.

"Aw, I'm worth the risk?" She asks, the sarcastic flirtatiousness in her tone doesn't go unnoticed. Her lids are low and her skittish smile leaves me at a momentary loss for words. I'm sure she's unaware of the effect she has on me when she looks at me like this, but fuck, if she knew. She could bat her lashes at me and ask for the world, and I'm convinced I'd find a way to give it to her.

"You don't think so?" I lowly respond. She stares at me a second longer, before looking back towards her phone.

"Of course I do, but I know how cool I am," she shrugs. I glance down at her phone screen, finally through the set-up stage. The first thing she does is click onto her camera, she poises the phone upwards, pouting her lips. I stare at her reflection as she snaps a picture of the two of us. She smiles down at it, and then turns back to me.

"I think you're cool too, I ain't ever said that?"

She scoffs, "You know you never say that."

"'Cause if your head gets any bigger it's gonna roll off your shoulders," I taunt. She narrows her eyes at me, bumping her shoulder against mine.

"Have I ever told you you're funny? 'Cause you're not," she deadpans.

"That's why you're always creasing when you're with me, right?"

"Always is a drag. Maybe a chuckle here and there."

"I'm the funniest nigga in your life," I say, and then release a hearty laugh as she twists up her face in disagreement.

"No you're not," she says, shaking her head.

"Who is?"

"So you can go flush his face down the toilet?" she questions, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Ah, you know my game," I joke. I'm not that jealous of a guy, but I'm happy she's caught on to my territorial tendencies from now. The thought of another nigga making her laugh as much as I do—even hypothetically—makes my jaw tick. "Who makes you laugh more than me?"

"Torin's pretty funny," she suggests.

"You laughing at him or with him?"

"Touché," she chuckles. I laugh softly, scooching forward in my seat before standing to my feet. I turn to her as I stretch, her eyes drift towards the lows of my exposed midriff. I smirk, but choose not to tease her for it. I hear the whines of her aching stomach from where I stand, reminded that I'd reassured Scarz that I'd feed her.

"You tryna eat or what?" I ask.

"We can order something. Can you pass me some cucumber in the meantime?" She requests. I roll my shoulders, shuffling towards the kitchen. Aside from the empty pots on the stove, the granite worktops are wiped clean. I pull open the fridge, scanning the shelves crammed with food for a cucumber.

"Sliced or diced?" I call over my shoulder.

"Oh, I'm really getting the princess treatment tonight. Diced please," she responds. I pull half a cucumber from where it's slotted, letting the door swing shut as I walk away from the fridge.

"I got you," I say. I glance towards Dior, where she's now repositioned herself. Her head rests against the arm of couch and her legs sprawl out along its cushions, but she leans as far back as she can so she can watch me from where she is. Her eyes trail me as I wander about in search of a knife and a chopping board, the lingering smile on her face makes my stomach stir. She's so pretty, even when she isn't trying. "So how long's the cast with us?"

"The doctor said four to six weeks, so fingers crossed it's off in a month. You like it?" She asks, raising her cast for me to see. I glance at her arm, thick and bulky.

"It's mad bright. Why pink? I thought you were a green babe," I say, I flick on the tap and rinse the cucumber, trying to split my attention between the task at hand and Dior.

"Taze said it was 'giving vomit', so I went with the pink."

"He's got a point," I chuckle.

"Oh, whatever. My ankle should be fine in a couple of days, I'm not going back to school till it's healed so a win is a win," she grins, pumping her fit arm in the air.

"Fuck that school," I grumble.

"Word to. I'll take all the days off that I can get. What was Eastridge like today?" She asks. I roll my eyes, recalling all the questions I'd been badgered with and the intrusive stares no one had bothered to hide, as I place the cucumber on the chopping board and begin dicing it.

"Shittier than usual, but I can manage," I say, with a nonchalant shrug. Knowing how swiftly everyone's sure to forget about all of this as soon as a new wave of drama hits the school is the only thing keeping me composed. For someone who hates being a topic of conversation, I sure do have a habit of doing dumb shit to land me there. I take a black bowl and its matching spoon off the drying rack, shovel the diced cucumber into it, and make my way back to the couch. Dior raises her upper body slightly, I slip back into my seat, she rests her head into my lap and squirms about until she's comfortable again. She opens her mouth, I chuckle quietly, scooping some cucumber onto the spoon and put it in her mouth.

"Don't choke," I warn. She chews slowly, and then gulps, smiling up at me.

"What shall we order?" She asks.

"Nando's?" I suggest.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Dior groans, squeezing her eyes shut at the thought of it. She's clearly hungrier than she let on and at the topic of food, I'm suddenly reminded how hungry I am too.

"Damn, are you sure cucumber's gonna do you for now?" I tease. She pats her stomach, shaking her head.

"No, but Taze left me a bunch of snacks in the pantry. Oh, I got something just for you in the fridge," she says. I frown, before remembering the stack of Dunkers I'd seen tucked between a tub of butter and a carton of eggs.

"You're cute. Them Dunker things? They're good but they're not that good," I say. It'd been weeks since she first made me try them, which just so happens to be the first time we'd ever gotten to hang out just the two of us. I remember that evening as clear as day, although the memory's permanently tainted by our encounter with Dominic.

"Fine, I'll eat them then—"

"No. Dibs," I interrupt her. She rolls her eyes, gesturing for me to feed her some more cucumber. "You wanna watch something?"

She clears the food in her mouth, and then answers. "Uh... Have you watched Riverdale? Season 3's coming out in a couple weeks, so I need to rewatch everything," Dior asks, picking up the remote from her lap and shifting her attention towards the TV.

"I haven't, but it looks shit," I say.

"What? It's so good. Watch it with me, it can be our show," she suggests. She fiddles with a few buttons on the remote, before the red Netflix logo rolls across the flatscreen TV.

"You know that means you can't watch it without me, right?"

"Duh," she sasses, rolling her eyes.

"Fine. How you gonna compensate me if it's shit?"

"I'm not. But if you can figure out who killed—"

"Aht!" I tut, clamping my hand over her mouth. "That sounds like a spoiler, miss." I feel the slimy moisture from her tongue glide across my palm, quickly pulling it away. She swats at me as I wipe her saliva on the thigh of her bottoms.

"Let me land. If you can figure out who killed Jason in the first... Ten episodes, I'll give you a tenner," she bargains, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

"A tenner? Oh brother, I'm gonna be rich!" I retort sarcastically. Her body trembles as she giggles, the sound makes my heart thud a little harder against my chest.

"Fine. Fifty big boys," she counters.

"How 'bout I get it in the first five and you let me take you out?" I fire back. The eye contact between us intensifies, as a bashful smirk trickles onto her face. I can almost see a million thoughts behind her glossy eyes, the blissful look on her face sidetracks all the nerves bubbling in my stomach.

"Like... On a date?" She gently drones.

"Yes, Dior, on a date," I smile down at her.

"Well, you're not gonna figure it out in the first five episodes, but I want my date anyway. Where you taking me?" She  demands. I let out the breath I hadn't realised I was holding. I don't think I've ever asked a girl on an acutal date in my life, there's something satisfying about knowing Dior will be the first.

"Hm... You think you can play golf while you're all crippled?"

"I could take you with no arms," she mocks.

"You gonna swing with the club in your mouth, or what?" I raise an eyebrow at her. She laughs, flatly, reaching up to mush my chin.

"Ha. As soon as I'm healed, you're on," she says.

"I got you. In the meantime... Cinema and some food?" I suggest.

"It's a date," she grins up at me. Her jaw lowers slightly, I shovel some more food into her mouth. Her thrilled smile remains plastered to her face as she chews.

"You're cute," I chuckle.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself."

"You wanna starve?" I joke, pulling the bowl away from her. She whines slightly, sitting up in her seat. I drop the bowl into her lap, and dig into my pocket for my phone.

"I'm joking. You know you're pretty," she says, so casually as if the compliment doesn't make my heart skip a beat.

"I do?" I ask, raised brows.

"Like girls aren't telling you all the time," she tuts, rolling her eyes. I smirk at the subtlety of her jealousy. I don't know why she insists on making these jokes, they seem to piss her off every time.

"What makes you think that?" I probe.

"Oh, please," she scoffs, shoving a spoonful of cucumber into her mouth.

"What's with this 'Recks is a slag' narrative? What happened to innocent till proven guilty?"

I wait for her to swallow, before she continues. "A friend of a slapper is a slapper."

"Really? 'Cause Tiegan's a genius and you're dumb as rocks," I tease.

"Hey, it's the concussion!" She argues, throwing her good hand up in the air.

"Cop out. Come on then, put this shit on," I say, nodding towards the TV. I unlock my phone, tapping through to my Deliveroo app. A text from Syco appears at the top of my screen, I hastily swipe it away before Dior can see it, once I notice Dominic's name in its contents. I'm sure she's beginnning to think any move we make on him falls back on her by default, if she knows they've gone up there with the intent to harm, she'll start her worrying all over again.

"Okay, you have to give it a proper chance. I promise it's good," Dior says, pointing the remote at the screen.

"It better be. You wanna put your order in?" I ask.

"Uh... A burger and two sides—no, wings and two sides. Garlic bread and peri-salted chips, please," she asks. I nod, doing as I'm told. "Can you put the same in for Chanel?"

"Yeah, you want it hot?"

"Nah, lemon and herb for me," she says, causing me to side-eye her.

"I'm not doing that," I ignore her request.

"Wow, what if I actually wanted that? Not everyone likes spicy food," Dior laughs.

"You're gonna learn to like it today," I mumble.

"Ha," she huffs. She leans forward, placing her empty bowl on the table. She budges up even closer to me, until our bodies are a bundle of limbs in one corner of the couch. She reaches for the throw bundled up at the other end of the chair, draping it over our legs. Her head rests against my shoulder and she drops her wrapped arm into my lap, pressing play on the show. I can't even focus as the scenes begin playing, instead my focus is on her balmy aroma, flooding my nostrils and clouding all my senses.

"Thanks for doing this, Nehemiah. You really made my day today. I... I like spending time with you. A lot," she gently mumbles, so quietly I almost miss it. I glance down at her. Her eyes are glued to the TV, but the smile on her face tells me her mind is a hundred miles away. Even the possibility of me being the one to brighten her mood makes me feel a type of way. The more time I spend with her, the more I can feel this soothing attachment between us grow, and the thought doesn't even scare me. I may not know what I'm doing, but I do know one thing—I wanna be the one to put that smile on her face, for as long as I can. Like she can feel my stare, she looks up at me, and her smile stretches even wider.

Before I can even grasp what's happening, she tilts her chin upwards and plants a soft kiss on my lips. It's brief and gentle and warm, but it makes every inch of my skin burn in delight. She leans away from me, I can't help but to lower myself towards her, my lips drawn to hers like a magnet. Her gaze flits between my eyes and my lips and before I know it, my mouth is on hers again. The kiss is deeper, hungrier, hot with a fiery passion. Every corner of my body tingles, like I'm getting electric shocks all over. When she lets out the faintest groan, I know I have to pull away before she starts something she can't finish. Lord, have mercy. She stares up at me, with this look of awe and almost disbelief.

I laugh, softly, dotting another peck on her lips, "I like spending time with you, too."