Wildfire

"Did Punk Pauline enlighten the situation, then?" Dante asked dryly as I caught up with him down the music corridor where he was picking up his guitar. I shrugged.

"You know her: oh-so cryptic and wise. She knows but she's not chancing it, which means there are others who are bound to know, too. She did tell me to speak to Brogan Barnes, though." I trailed after Dante as he retrieved his guitar from the store cupboard, hoisting it over a broad shoulder and closing the door behind him.

"Punk Pauline likes to pretend she doesn't care what goes on between the teams, but she's a sucker for gossip, there's no denying it," Dante smiled grimly. "Interesting bit of information about Brogan though, don't you think?"

We made our way out into the courtyard where a group of kids were tending to the garden. Eco committee. Like Punk Pauline, Brogan wasn't aligned, but for her the lines between aligned and unaligned were pretty blurred. Brogan was best friends with Rose Harper, Marilyn's right-hand girl and a total satanic bitch. And so she knew pretty much everything about the inner workings of Marilyn's team, and was basically aligned with them (although she'd never admit to it).

"I don't know why we didn't think of her before," I said. "She's bound to know who the rat is." We crossed the yard into the science faculty.

"She'll straight up deny knowing anything if you ask her, though. I swear that girl's a compulsive liar." Aside from being extremely tall, dark and handsome, with long black dreads and ears stretched to an absurd size, Dante was also incredibly insightful. He much preferred to observe rather than participate, and so knew most things about most people. He was also one of the best secret-keepers I knew.

Just then, Andrea appeared in front of, wearing a grim expression and shaking her head.

"Anything?" I asked hopefully.

"Well, I spoke to Madison Grove and Jamie Kemp, and they both told me that Brogan Barnes has been running her mouth about - and I quote - 'the biggest and best prank ever', in reference to Marilyn's team. Apparently, she's also mentioned a rat. No names, though." Dante and I exchanged a meaningful glance. "What?"

"I heard the same sort of thing from Punk Pauline," I told her. "All the evidence so far seems to point towards Brogan."

"Not as the rat, though," Dante cut in. "As the messenger."

We made our way to the cafeteria, discussing our theories and potential plans of action. We found an empty table and sat down. "Let's think about this logically," Andrea said impatiently as she pulled out her lunch. Dante looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Brogan is best friends with Rose, and neither of them can keep their mouths shut if they learn about some interesting gossip. That’s why they’re good with rumours, but not so good with important information like this. Anything Rose knows, Brogan will know too. But my question is this: why aren’t Marilyn’s team trying to shut her up? Why hasn’t Brogan been pranked?”

I thought about it. “What if they want us to know that the rat is part of this grand prank?” I suggested. “Ever heard of Occam’s Razor?”

Dante nodded. “All things being equal-”

“The simplest solution is usually the best,” I finished. Andrea looked from one of us to the other, clearly nonplussed. I sighed.

“Basically, for whatever reason, it seems like Marilyn and her crew want us to know the rat is a prank. I don’t know why, but that’s the only explanation. They’re not taking any action against Brogan, which means that she’s not doing anything wrong.”

“Mierda,” Andrea muttered under her breath. “And no one says you can’t rat someone out if it’s part of a prank. No one’s ever done something like this before. Those clever bastards.”

“Maybe the only reason they’re not making an effort to hush Brogan up is because they want to reinforce the fact that they’re not breaking any rules,” Dante offered. “What they’re doing is perfectly legitimate as long as it’s a prank. The only way we’re going to know it’s a prank is if they – or rather Brogan – tells us. They’re covering their asses.”

This seemed plausible to me, even if it did seem a little shady. It was definitely one of the most awkward sort of prank anyone had ever thought of, and it didn’t really seem to be worth all the trouble of covering and uncovering their tracks. I wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m going to speak to Brogan,” I said decidedly. I wanted to find out straight from the horse’s mouth what was really going down.

“Yes!” Andrea exclaimed enthusiastically, always reading for a fight. She stood up immediately. Dante was a little slower to get to his feet. “Let’s go and make this bitch talk.”


We found Brogan next to the lockers, making out with her boyfriend. (Eating his face seemed like a more appropriate description.) Next to me, I could sense Andrea's impatience. She was picking up speed, getting ready to lunge.

"Hey!" she shouted, grabbing Brogan by the shoulder and wrenching her from her boyfriend's lips. She slammed her against the nearest locker with such force that it shook, and she was gripping Brogan's shirt so tight her knuckles had turned white. Brogan's boyfriend made to push Andrea away, but I stepped in front of him, shaking my head.

"No, I don't think so. You stay out of this." Dante appeared next to me, arms folded. He was a good 6"6 and the boy backed away immediately, disappearing down another corridor. I turned to Andrea and Brogan.

"We've been hearing some real interesting things about you, puta," Andrea hissed, mere centimetres from Brogan's face.

"Back it up, A," I ordered. I knew that Andrea had an incredibly short temper, and while she was perfectly lovely when you were on her good side, and she was a total demon when you weren't. I took her place in front of the shaking girl. I put my hands flat against the locker, one on either side of her head. "I want to know what the fuck is going on with this prank. Do you know who the rat is?”

Brogan’s bottom lip trembled. “I c-can’t tell you anything,” she stammered. “If I do they’ll p-prank me s-so hard.”

I slammed my fist against the locker to frighten her and she cried out in fear. She knew that I wasn’t going to hurt her; we might be aggressive sometimes, but we rarely – if ever – acted violently. “You’ve been doing a hell of a lot of talking up until now. Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know anything about the rat!” she exclaimed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I swear! All I’ve been telling people is that Marilyn and her team have been planning a massive prank, and that we weren’t harbouring a rat. They think that you’re trying to frame them!”

I paused. Could it be true? If so, it meant that the rat wasn’t a joke. Someone did actually have it in for me. And that someone did not belong to Marilyn’s side. It still didn’t explain why Marilyn had been letting Brogan say whatever she wanted. It didn’t add up. But before I could ask anything else, I was interrupted.

“Now, now, ladies. What’s with the interrogation?” The voice sent shivers down my spine. I turned my head and there she was, walking casually towards us as if it was the most relaxed situation in the world. Marilyn Castles: the celebrity of Francis High. She was surrounded by a couple of people from her team: Jackson Wright, Rose Harper and Thomas Murphy. Upon seeing her best friend in apparent danger, Rose hurried forward, pushing Andrea out the way. Andrea shouted a string of profanities at her, waving her arms, but Dante held her back. Rose wrapped an arm protectively around her friend, leading her back towards the safety of her group.

Marilyn was just feet from us now, her perfect lips tugged up in an amused half-smile.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up game you’re playing, Marilyn,” I said angrily, clenching my fists, “and I don’t care if someone from your team is turning me in, but as far as I’m concerned you’re playing a part in this. I’m going to find out what it is.”

“Dear, dear,” Marilyn mocked, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’d accuse us of such a thing. Ratting is strictly against rules, even we know that. For all we know, one of your friends is dropping you in it.” She smirked, turning away and starting down the corridor.

“That girl is a piece of work,” Dante commented, releasing a still-fighting Andrea from his grip. She flipped her curly hair out her face and glared at Marilyn’s back.

“None of this makes sense,” I muttered, wondering what on earth Marilyn was up to.