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c o u r a g e o u s

My cousin, Molly, knew something was up the day I said I didn't want to go to school.

It was senior year, you see, and I was making a huge effort not to skip any classes. I was already graduating a year earlier compared to the other kids my age, and I found myself struggling to keep up as I prepared for my SATs. So it was only natural that I maintained a fairly decent attendance rate - and by 'decent', I actually meant perfect: I didn't skip a day of school last term.

But it was different that day. The air seemed particularly stifling, the sky seemed dark even though the sun was shining brightly, a stream of sunlight seeping through the curtains and casting a warm, lovely glow in my room.

I, however, laid under the comforters on my bed, curled up into a ball with my cheek pressed against the pillow. I knew Molly was about to appear at any moment to pull me out of bed, but it was nice to savour those last few moments before reality dawned on me.

So I shut my eyes. As my breathing relaxed, I began to believe that I was safe from Molly and the impending torture that school would bring.

No such luck. It seemed only moments later when I heard a familiar thud-thud-thud on the floor outside on the landing, and then a soft knock.

"Scout?" It was Molly. "Are you up?"

I dragged the comforter over my head, but my ears remained sharp. I heard the creak of the doorknob as it twisted under Molly's hand, followed by the soft shuffling as she made her way into my room and sat on my bed.

"Come on, Scout," She shook me gently. "You're going to be late for school."

School. Had the word always carried so many euphemisms as it now did? Or was it just that day? Had I always felt this reluctant to go to school? Or was it just that day?

"Scout?" Worry seeped into her voice, and she drew the covers away from my face. "What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I kept my eyes shut. "I just don't feel well today," I murmured, at last. It was, to some extent, true. My heart was racing, my stomach clenching uncomfortably and a sinking feeling of nervous dread that wouldn't go away.

I could feel Molly's gaze on me, even though my eyes were shut. "Want to tell me what the problem really is about?" She asked, eventually, her question more like a command than anything else.

I sighed. "It's Hell Week."

Only three words. But they were enough for Molly to understand and let the matter rest. Responding with an equally troubled sigh of her own, she laid down on the pillow next to mine. I felt the warmth of her body against me, and was comforted.

She gave a short giggle, breaking the silence. "Want to feel the baby?"

Of course I wanted to. Without a second's hesitation, I placed my palm flat against the curve of her rotund belly. There was no kick, no sudden jolt, but we both knew that it was going to take a while. It did not matter. I was patient, willing to wait.

Molly let me stay at home that day. But those twenty-four hours that I spent in the safe haven of my home did little to ease the sheer anxiety I felt at having to face Hell Week sooner or later, the thought of having to face Callum Wright in school.

That was, if he could even survive Hell Week in the first place.

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Eventually, my luck ran out. Molly's patience wore thin by the third day of Hell Week - I had managed to convince her to let me skip Monday and Tuesday, but she had to put her foot down when I suggested one more day.

No, she had said, I was going to have to suck it up, and get to school. I couldn't escape forever.

She was right, of course. Molly was always right.

But I dawdled. I took my time in the shower that Wednesday morning, spent ages in front of my wardrobe deciding what to wear, ate my cereal at an excruciatingly slow pace...until Molly all but shoved me out of the house and slammed the door behind me.

There was no choice. I had to face my fears.

I did not have to be at Denver High to know what the scenario was going to be like during Hell Week. And as I drove to school, I could picture it, a clear, vivid image of the situation there.

Classes were going to have a reduced attendance, of course. Popular kids like Rebecca and Alexia and those whole bunch of people who were loud and overconfident and mean were all going to skip Hell Week. It was practically the norm.

And angry kids like Jason, Henry and Dave and all those in the computer club were going to be storming down the hallway, paintball guns in their hands, perhaps, or huge bunches of elastic bands, or whatever they used in their little scheme of revenge.

And Callum. My heart almost stopped at that. Callum.

His name sent a wave of unease rising up in me. Because Callum was not a coward, nor did he think twice about escaping from Hell Week. I was sure of it - even if I hardly knew him.

He was equally as courageous as he was notorious. In short, his doomsday was eminent.

I found myself in the school's parking lot before I knew it, and killed the engine after manoeuvring the car into a decent parking spot. Honestly, anyone would've believed it was just another school day.

But it was a different atmosphere that greeted me the second I entered the common hallway. My locker was somewhere near the end of the hall, and as I made my way there, I could almost feel the tension, the hushed silence among the students. I wasn't elbowed out of the way as I usually was. Instead, kids edged narrowly around each other, careful not to purposefully bump into anyone who may perhaps hold some sort of grudge against them.

Eventually, I made it past the first few rows of lockers, and was about a few feet away from mine when I noticed a familiar person standing by the bin. His dusty blonde hair fell into his eyes as he swept his gaze lazily around the locker hall, clearly looking for something. Or someone.

It was Jason Burke, one of my closest friend. He spotted me and waved me over. But there was something different about him today too. The set look of determination on his face, something like pent-up fury in his eyes.

I headed over reluctantly, hugging my bag to my chest. "Hey," my voice was small, almost timid.

Jason frowned. "Where were you these past two days?"

Shrugging, I nibbled at my thumbnail - a habit I had whenever I was about to lie. Which was right about now. "I had a fever."

His blue eyes narrowed. "Sure it wasn't just to skip Hell Week?"

Having known Jason for the past four years of my life, I could hardly lie to his face. Instead, I turned away, leaning against the locker beside him and stared straight into the distance. "I'm not one of the popular kids, Jason. I have nothing to fear."

At this, his lips curled up into a grin and he pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Right."

Wrong. If I had deluded Jason into thinking I had no fear for this week, I certainly could not lie to myself. I did not fear for me, I feared for that one person I knew Jason was waiting for.

Hell Week was something Jason had planned for ages now. Having been his closest friend and confidante, he had let me in on his revenge plans. I was originally supposed to be a part of it. Naturally, though, I hadn't agreed. In fact, I wanted nothing to do with it.

So, begrudgingly, Jason left me alone and gathered his own posse - kids who were just like him, filled with revenge and dying to get their payback on the jocks who had bullied them all through the past year.

"You missed out on a lot," Jason said, giving me a gentle nudge and interrupting my trend of thought.

I glanced at him. There was a smile playing on his lips, but it wasn't his usual warm smile - instead, it appeared almost malicious, self-satisfied.

"What'd I miss?"

He chuckled. "On Monday, we had it elementary school style. Pantsing, spitting gum in their hair. Tuesday was very middle-school, you know that note on the back where it says 'kick me'? We tacked those notes to about ten of them, and they didn't even realise until lunch, like the absolute idiots that they are. Shows what playing football can do to your head."

His smug tone made me frown. "Very mature, Jason. When you said you were going to take revenge on them, I figured you were going to do it with a little sophistication."

"It gets better," He assured me, "Today we're still on that middle-school phase, meaning we dump them in the trashcans, or stuff them into lockers, trip their legs in the cafeteria...stuff like that. Those will hardly bruise. Thursday and Friday, on the other hand, will be when hell actually starts."

I kept silent. There was a lilt of menace in his voice, one that made a chill run down my spine. I loved Jason, he was one of the few people I could always trust, but it seemed as though Hell Week had transformed him into a different person altogether.

"Just promise me one thing," I murmured, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. "Promise me no one will get hurt."

He hesitated. I noticed the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his gaze wavered. But before he could open his mouth to answer, there was a loud commotion at the end of the hallway, a group of boys pushing their way through the crowd.

"Oh, there he comes," Jason muttered, as we turned to face them.

But it wasn't the person I was expecting to see. No, it wasn't Callum Wright. Instead, it was Callum's friend, one of the relatively popular quarterbacks in our school. His name was Gregory Simons, known for his good looks, good hair and basically good physique.

Right now, however, his reputation had completely been flushed down the drain. Or thrown into the trash bin, which was exactly what happened to him two seconds later as a bunch of guys tipped him into the can.

There was no possible route of escape. The guys had bundled Greg so tightly in tape that he looked like a kidnapped chicken. There were nicks and bruises on Greg's face, as if he had put up a fierce fight but ultimately lost.

He looked pissed, and rightfully so. His eyes located Jason, ringleader of this so-called 'revolt', and he scowled. "You're going to regret this, Burke," Greg hissed, "Once this week is over, you're going to regret this."

Jason simply grinned. "We'll see," was his vague response, and lightly placed the lid over the trashcan, before taping the sides with tape.

His friends laughed, and after exchanging a general round of high-fives, they began to walk away, in search of their next victim. Greg yelled after them, but they paid no heed. It was a sort of general rule not to help any of the victims during Hell Week. No one wanted to either, for fear that they might end up a victim as well.

"Scout!" Jason paused and glanced over his shoulder at me. "Are you coming?"

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up," I returned, lifting my lips into a brief smile. "I have to get my books from the locker."

He nodded and left, with his friends in tow. I lingered for a bit, made sure the coast was clear before bending down so I could see Greg in the trashcan.

"Hey, Greg?"

"WHAT?" He roared, practically deafening me. His face was a violent rush of red, it was clear to see he felt humiliated beyond belief and was mentally stabbing Jason to death with a pitchfork.

"Do you know where Callum is?"

He snorted out an almost derisive laugh. "What are you, one of his other quick fucks?"

I bit back the surge of annoyance that rushed through me. Even in a trashcan, Gregory Simons was still a major asshole. "Just tell me where he is, please."

He glared at me for a moment, before answering begrudgingly, "Loitering somewhere. Trust me, they won't get him that easily. He's not in hiding. He's just really difficult to handle - that's why they got me first."

Relief rushed through me as I realised that Callum had survived the first two days of Hell Week. "I'm sorry," I murmured, looking Greg in the eye. "I'm really sorry about what Jason did to you."

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, and I felt half-inclined to act on my impulses and let him out. I knew that there was no way people like Greg were going to beg to be let out. They had far too much pride. My hand had just skimmed the seam of the tape when a familiar voice stopped me.

"Scout! What's taking so long?"

It was Henry, one of Jason's other friends. I glanced up, and realised that Henry was waiting for me by my locker. Which meant that he had seen me talking to Greg.

Flushing, I hastily retracted my hand and straightened up. "Coming," I called back, and headed over to Henry, who had his hands folded across his chest, a grim expression on his face.

"Were you talking to Gregory?" His reproving tone made my cheeks redden.

It was a struggle to keep my tone nonchalant. "He wanted to be let out," I lied, smoothly. "I told him no."

"You did good," Henry smiled, as he leaned on the locker next to mine. "Scumbags like Gregory deserve all the punishment they get during Hell Week. At least he's brave enough to face this. Not like some other pussies on the football team who skipped school."

"You got them all yet?"

He looked rather disappointed. "No. We've spent the past two days chasing them down, and we've meted out some sort of punishment to each one of them, except for Wright. He's as sly as a fox, we can't get him, and the asshole treats this like it's some sort of a joke."

"Well, since he knows you're all out to get him, he won't make this easy."

"No kidding. But we're going to get him, alright. We've got an ambush set up for him by his jeep later this afternoon."

There were times when you had to act on your impulses. This was one of them. An impulsive, stupid thing to do. My hand instinctively reached for the marker and post-it pad I had inside my locker. Making sure to keep my back facing Henry, I hastily scribbled the following words:

Ambush @ your jeep this afternoon.

Please be careful.

"Isn't that against the rules?" I asked, as a form of distraction.

Hell Week was a relatively official tradition every year, passed down by the alumni, but there were, of course, certain guidelines. You didn't rat. It worked on the basic grounds of bullying - generally, you didn't tell a teacher if you got bullied. Most kids handled it on their own.

So the same went for Hell Week, the bullies (who were now the bullied) would never rat out. Pranks were carried out stealthily, away from the eyes of any teacher. Fights were not allowed, so were any pranks that could physically hurt a person. And punishments had to stop once lessons were over for the day.

Henry shrugged. "Who cares? It's already day three, if we don't do it today, that sucker's going to escape for the whole week."

After folding the post-it in half, I stuffed the rest of my books in my bag, before slamming the locker door shut. "Well, I'm done. Thanks for waiting up."

"Don't worry about it, Scout. Let's go," he began walking ahead first.

I cast a swift glance around the hallway. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations, some were rushing to classes, others were taking their books out from their respective lockers.

No one noticed when I slipped the post-it into the little slot near the top of the locker next to mine, before swinging my bag over my shoulder and jogging to catch up with Henry.

No one noticed.

Or, at least, that was what I originally thought.