Half of our group is lined up at the end of Actors’ Alley, drinking our morning coffee and surveying the school from our expansive view of the grounds. As far as the eye can see, there are students in every kind of blue outfit imaginable. I’m still out of my house, and my friends have all been supplying clothes for me, so I’m stuck in a borrowed blue shirt of Trey’s.

“So far, I’ve seen a blue flapper,” Tanner says, “three blue prom dresses, and the burner group’s all made dark-blue shirts with Gotta Catch Me on them. So I guess I coined a new catch phrase.”

Arch grins. “That was the handywork of Dante, and I love it.”

A tall boy in an elf costume, complete with elf ears and a royal-blue cape, wanders by.

“That one right there,” Tanner says. “That wins the award for the weirdest of the day.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, someone passes by in a full body plush Smurfette costume like you’d see at an amusement park. Our eyebrows are in our hairlines as we watch Smurfette waddle by.

“Whoops,” Tanner says. “Spoke too soon.” He shrugs. “I guess if you’re gonna wear Tanner Blue, do it with a bang.”

We all crack up.

I love it here. There’s nowhere else quite like Hollywood High.

“How much trouble are we about to be in?” I ask Arch.

He sneers at me with an evil gleam in his eyes. “A whole lot, I hope.” He looks to Dante, who nods and heads around the back side of Actors’ Alley. “Dante’s on it.”

“Well then, there’s no time like the present,” Adam says. “Let’s find His Masterfulness. I don’t want to miss any of this show.”

We walk in a line down the wide quad corridor. The students are enjoying this little display of rebellion, and they seem to be in a great mood.

Trey groans in frustration. “Do you know how pathetic it is that we’ve been reduced to rebelling using the color blue? This is so beneath what we’re capable of.”

Marcus, usually the happy-go-lucky jokester of the group, uncharacteristically echoes the groan. “It makes me sick. Buttrum’s dragged us down to his level, and I hate him for it.”

Presley snuggles in closer to Marcus. “Don’t worry, babe. Torturing the middle-aged nightmare might be fun.”

“Remember what my mom told us,” I remind. “We stay one step ahead and keep it creative. I kind of like the Blue Rebellion. At least the students are smiling again.” Thinking about my mom right now makes my heart hurt, but I shake it off.

“Incoming,” Tanner hisses.

Sure enough, here comes Principal Buttrum, his undersized shirt straining around his oversized belly as he aggressively strides toward us. He has Ms. G, Mr. Bentley, and Mr. Isley at his heels, and they’re all giving us amused looks.

“Let me handle this,” Arch whispers to us.

Students all around the quads come our way, quietly gathering to watch round two. The rest of our group flows over, joining our student council clump at the front of the growing crowd. Marcus situates himself in front of me to block the principal’s view. I still can’t believe how well this hide-and-distract tactic is working. It’s like he’s forgotten about me entirely.

Principal Buttrum stops in front of us, huffing and panting from his short-legged trot across the vast campus. He’s so winded that it takes him a minute before he can catch his breath enough to croak out, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Arch puts on his best innocent expression. “The meaning of what, sir?”

Buttrum turns in a circle and waves his arms around spastically. He looks like a short, fat pelican flapping its wings. I close my eyes tight, trying not to laugh. Only when I’ve gained control of my expression do I open my eyes again.

Presley’s looking right at me, grinning. She quietly squawks out, “Bekack!” like a bird.

Losing it, I lean my head on Trey’s shoulder and cover my rising laugh with a cough. I send the image of Buttrum as a fat pelican through our laced hands, and Trey’s shoulders start shaking with laughter. That does it. Trey and I double over, quietly busting up. Bear steps in front of us, next to Marcus, while we get through our giggling fit. It’s a good thing Bear’s a mountain of a guy, or we’d have nowhere to hide.

After I compose myself, I shoot an amused sort of death glare at Presley. She grins at us, her striking, heart-shaped face and green eyes aglow with hilarity. Typical Presley—she couldn’t care less about consequences most of the time. She’s my best friend for a reason.

Arch clears his throat as if trying not to laugh. “All I see are students behaving like model citizens. No one’s even making a peep! Looks to me like the students have dutifully learned how to—” He pauses, putting a finger to his lip and looking up for a moment like he’s dramatically contemplating. “What was it you requested? Oh, yes, now I remember! Master your discipline! Master good behavior! Wasn’t this what you wanted?”

“I said no blue!” Buttrum hollers.

So the growing, hushed crowd can hear, Arch responds loudly. “No. No. That’s not what you said. You said, ‘No red. And no Tanner Blue.’ Tanner Blue is a light blue. I’ve only seen one rouge Smurfette running around here in Tanner Blue. The rest of us are in shades of blue that are perfectly acceptable within the parameters that you masterfully set for us.”

The crowd of students, along with Ms. G., Mr. Isley, and Mr. Bentley, all snickers. Buttrum looks like he’s going to have a stroke.

“Sir, do you need to sit down?” Finley asks sweetly. “You don’t look so good.”

Unexpectedly, Principal Buttrum turns on Finley, his fists balled up with rage, and starts aggressively backing her against the wall of one of the quad-one bungalows. He screeches, “No back talk!” He’s lost it.

Tanner, Arch, Adam, and Trey all rush in front of Finley, who cowers behind them. Of all the girls in our group to bully, Buttrum picked the nicest one. We’re fiercely protective of her, and this guy just made a grave error. Tanner steps up so close to Principal Buttrum that he’s touching Buttrum’s girthy middle with the edge of his dark-blue sequined jacket. He towers over the principal as he glares down at him, radiating barely controlled malice.

In a low, menacing voice, Tanner growls, “You just crossed a line. If you ever come near my girl again, you’ll land in the hospital. This has all been fun and games while you throw your weight around and we pretend to give a shit, but let’s be clear . . . You’re playing with fire. We outnumber you, we’re smarter than you, and we will win. Step off, Buttrum!”

The principal takes a few hesitant steps back, surprised by Tanner’s ferocity, and Mr. Isley steps up to stand next to him. Buttrum looks up, seems to see Mr. Isley there, and turns back to us with puffed-up confidence. Mr. Isley’s a force to be reckoned with, and he too towers over the principal.

Mr. Isley turns a slow, skeptical look down at Buttrum. His expression screams that he’s baffled at the realization that this man thinks he’s stepping up to serve as his personal bodyguard. The look on Mr. Isley’s face as he stares down at the puffed-up frog would be hilarious if we weren’t all so angry.

His bravery returned, Buttrum looks at Tanner and loudly says, “You? You have a girlfriend? All the makeup and sparkles?” He waves his hands dismissively in Tanner’s direction. “I’m not scared of a dandy like you.”

Inwardly, I grin. Tanner’s one of the scrappiest guys at the school. We’ve all seen it. He fights like a demon straight out of hell.

Tanner narrows his perfectly eyeshadowed eyes. His heavy black eyeliner and mascara suddenly look menacing. “Good. I love being underestimated. Your day’s coming, Buttrum. Mark my words.”

Principal Buttrum squints his beady little eyes and turns in a circle. “You all broke the rules,” he announces to the crowd. “What’s your punishment, you ask? Until further notice, no more bathrooms! I’m locking every student bathroom in the school.” He crosses his arms over his dumpy chest and grins like he just proclaimed a genius plan.

Motion flashes to my right. It’s Marcus. He swings his backpack around and unzips the little pocket on the front. He pulls out his cell phone and steps forward to the front of our group. Cell phones are new, and Marcus is one of the few kids from a family that can afford one for him. The rest of us are stuck with pagers and pay phones. He flips open the phone, dials a number, and stares at Principal Buttrum as he waits.

Someone picks up on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Dad,” Marcus says. “Principal Buttrum just physically attacked Finley, and now he’s locking all the student bathrooms as punishment because students are wearing blue.”

He pauses, listening. “Yes. I said blue.”

He pauses again while his dad, Bruce, asks him something.

“Because he’s bat-crap crazy,” Marcus answers.

Marcus listens again and then answers, “Yes, Finley’s okay. You know our group wouldn’t let him hurt her. We’re all here, and Tanner’s peeved.”

Now Marcus turns to us, grinning while he listens to his dad. “Yeah, Principal Buttrum just told Tanner that he’s not scared of a dandy like him. His words.”

A moment later, Marcus laughs. “You’re telling me! If he comes near Finley again, Tanner’s likely to kill him dead in the middle of the quad and solve this problem for all of us.”

Another few seconds pass.

“Please call your friend Gregory,” Marcus says as he stares daggers through Buttrum. “You know, the president of the school board of regents for the independent Los Angeles school district.”

Buttrum runs red.

“Ahh, yes,” Marcus continues. “I’ve always just called him Greg when he comes over for dinner, but now that you said it, I remember that his last name’s Bains.” Now he hits Buttrum with an uncharacteristically arrogant expression and says, “Thanks, Dad.”

When Marcus snaps his phone closed, Buttrum’s standing statue still with his mouth hanging open. He looks like a man who just learned that toying with the students is all fun and games until you find out how well-connected our parents are. He sputters, unsure what to say.

Marcus answers for him. “You think we’re nothing but a bunch of stupid kids. You’re wrong. My father will bury you. Keep pushing, Buttrum. We love a challenge. And we hate when things get dull.” He smirks. “Gotta catch us.”

Before the principal can respond, Adam steps forward. “Principal Buttrum, is your office the same one that Principal Walker had?”

“Yes,” Buttrum answers, befuddled. “Why?”

Adam starts walking toward the two-story building. “I have to take a leak,” he yells back over his shoulder. “Bathrooms are off-limits, apparently. I’ll be using your trash can.”

Trey grabs my arm, and we melt into the crowd before Buttrum can spot me.

The principal waddles away, and the students disperse.

Dante rushes up to our group.

“Well?” Arch asks him.

Dante’s all a tizzy as he waves a paper about frantically. His eyes are huge, but he’s so winded, he can’t speak.

“Smokers’ Corner,” Arch orders. “Now.”

~~~

Adam, Trey, Darren, and I light up another round of smokes. Arch starts reading the paper again as I lie back in the grass. This is our third read of the cryptic memo, and by now, I’ve heard enough of it.

“By the authority of the LAUSD school board, funds are granted for the hire of the Cobra Militia, in the amount of thirty-five thousand dollars. Funding must be used during the 1992–93 calendar school year, ending June 30, 1993.”

“All right, who are the Cobra Militia?” Bear has asked this after each illustrious reading of said memo.

I huff because, clearly, none of us know.

Marcus snaps open his cell phone and dials a number. “Hey, Dad.”

Now that something new is happening, I sit up.

“Any clue who the Cobra Militia are?” Marcus asks into the phone.

Victoria chooses this moment to sashay around the hedges and join our group. Her eyes snap wide when she hears Marcus’s question. “Please, no,” she breathes out.

Marcus rushes to tell his dad that he’ll call him back later. Victoria sinks to her knees and takes the paper from Arch. Her expression shows more and more dread as she reads.

“What is it, Vic?” Demitri asks.

We all look at him quizzically because everyone else calls her Tori when they’re being nice to her.

“Cobra Militia is a mercenary group,” Victoria says, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically. “Joel Stamp’s dad, Daniel Stamp, runs it.”

A cold sweat breaks out as I fold myself at the waist. This was an answer I never expected. That seems to be a theme lately.

“Tell me everything you know,” Trey says as he takes a pen and notepad from his backpack.

Victoria looks Trey in the eyes and slowly shakes her head. “This is bad, Trey. Daniel Stamp was a sharpshooter in the military. He was a big-ass deal in Desert Storm. They wound up tossing him out with a dishonorable discharge, but he’s proud of it. Long story short, he got word of a key enemy’s location and defied orders for him and his men to wait. Stamp managed to get to where the mark was holed up in this huge building in Kuwait. He put a gun to the back of the guy’s head and shot him at point-blank range. Then he ordered his platoon to take out every moving soul in the building. They didn’t know at the time that the place used to be a hotel, and it was where the enemy’s families were living. It was supposed to be a safe house for innocents. A bunch of them died, women and children mostly. It turned into a huge potential war-crimes debacle that was kept out of the news because the military had to save face.”

“How do you know this?” Trey asks.

Victoria shrugs. “Both Joel and his dad would brag about it. Back when I was in the Drone group, Joel begged his dad to tell the story at a party. He didn’t seem to have any problem with sharing the details.”

Trey nods. “Continue.” He’s jotting down stuff on his notepad.

“Well, with a dishonorable discharge, the usual civilian career options for ex-military slipped away. Stamp couldn’t find work, and so he opted to start his own goon-for-hire squad. He has a lot of his old military buddies on the company roster. They seem all kinds of professional to the casual observer, but they’re into some seriously shady stuff. Heavy bank accounts hire his guys, and it’s not always above board. Yeah, they run special security operations for a few of the shadier firms in the States, but they make most of their money on bodyguard work overseas.”

“What kind of bodyguard work?” Trey asks, his ears seeming to perk up.

“I’m out of the loop now,” Victoria explains, “but when Melanie and Joel were going through that rapist Olympics at the start of the school year, the Cobra Militia were bodyguarding for a group of wealthy Columbian drug runners.”

We all sit back, stunned.

“Work like that was how the Stamps had all that money Joel was always bragging about. At least until he was locked in the slammer.”

“And our school district has hired these nutjobs for security?” Marcus says in disbelief.

“By the authority of the LAUSD school board,” Bear starts reading again, “funds are granted for the hire of the Cobra Militia—”

“Yeah, Bear, we get it,” I cut in.

Silence descends.

Internally, I’m panicking. “These same guys were asking for me at the dance. Are you telling us that I’m the target of someone hired by a dirty militia group with no ethics? A group owned by someone who wants my ass dead because he blames me for his son going to prison?”

Eyes widen all around the circle.

“Buttrum was asking for you too, Mel,” Darren offers. “Could be connected.”

“Buttrum could be a coincidence,” Demitri suggests.

Marcus gestures to the memo in Bear’s hand. “It’s addressed to Principal Buttrum, who looks like he filed the request. And a school board member, Charlie Sisterno, authorized it.”

“Why would Buttrum request funds from a random militia organization?” Darren asks.

Presley gives Demitri a pointed look. “Not to mention that all this craziness started at the same time. And we know Buttrum’s also retired military. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Trey attempts to rationalize. “Buttrum’s retired navy. From the sounds of it, Daniel Stamp was in the army.”

“Sorry to blow your theory out of the water,” Victoria says, “but Stamp has guys from all military branches in his company.” When she hits me with a concerned gaze, I exhale hard.

Demitri stares at me in worry. I choose to look down again. D and I have yet to discuss what happened at his house, and on top of my life apparently being in danger, I’m uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Trey throws his pen and notepad down and jumps up. He walks off a few yards and pauses at the fence, holding on to the chain-link as he stares out at nothing for a long moment.

“We’re going to figure something out, Trey,” Arch assures. “We can do this.”

Trey whips around and stalks our way. He gestures emphatically in my direction. “Again! It’s fucking happening again. The Stamp family is after Melanie! Only this time is different.” His face runs pale. “I’m good, Arch, but I’m not armed militia good. We’re teenagers.” He gestures around the group. “TEENAGERS!”

We hear footsteps coming around the hedges and look up to find Mr. Isley and Ms. G surveying our group. Their gaze stops on Trey.

Before they can say anything, Darren sarcastically announces, “Put out your smoky treats, kids. Mom and Dad are here.”

Ms. G snorts. “I don’t care about the cigarettes. If Trey is this upset, something much bigger than your impending lung cancer is afoot.”

I take another drag off my cigarette and gesture to Trey. “We’re teenagers, apparently.”

“True.” Ms. G. chuckles.

“We have a choice to make,” I say with a shrug. “Either I give myself up to Daniel Stamp’s plant, Principal Dickhead, or a militia is sure to follow.”

Ms. G’s eyes widen. As Trey fills our teachers in on the situation, they take a seat. Eventually, Ms. G gestures for me to bum her a cigarette. I slide one out of my pack and hand it over. Quickly, she lights it.

“Welcome to the Cancer Impending crew,” Darren snarks. “So glad you could join us.”

Ms. G takes a long drag and blows a huge plume of smoke. “You want to run that by me again?” she asks Trey.

“My future wife is apparently being hunted by Daniel Stamp, his military goons, and a short fat fuck.”

Apparently, propriety has launched straight out the window, but Ms. G and Mr. Isley accept Trey’s fowl mouth without even flinching.

“Aw!” Tanner crows. “You said ‘future wife.’”

Trey looks at him like he’s nuts. “Is that a surprise? I put a promise ring on her finger at homecoming.” He looks down at me, and I give him girlie eyes before taking another drag of my smoke.

“Well, Trey,” I say, “I guess we should probably get hitched before I’m gang-raped and murdered by a middle-aged military squadron.”

Trey closes his eyes tight. “I can’t take this anymore. I have zero clue what to do this time.”

I shrug and put out my cigarette. “Fuck it. Let’s have as much fun as we can while we’re dodging the inevitable.” I stand and gesture for my friends to follow me.

“Wait!” Mr. Isley calls after us. “Get back here.”

We pause at the fence, and I look his way. “I’m headed home, Mr. Isley. If my parents still refuse to see the trouble I’m in, I’ll let you know if I need a couch to crash on again. Thank you for helping me.”

We all slip out through the hole in the fence that Arch made with bolt cutters last year. He doesn’t handle being caged well—so much so that he’s created exit holes and rigged the gates all over the school.

“Wait for us,” Ms. G says. “We’re going with you. We’ll meet you at Melanie’s house.”

“We can’t just leave! I’ve got classes to teach.” Mr. Isley’s responsible logic falls on deaf ears as Ms. G hightails it across the field, likely heading to the teachers’ parking lot.