"Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny."

It was hard to say whether Sara's eyes or Lincoln's gleamed with deeper anger as he spoke the line.

The next day, at school, they had cordially managed to avoid each other until they were due to practice in the auditorium at four.

And it was hell getting through this scene.

All the while, Sara's teeth were grinding hard, her fists clenched tight. All she could think of was Michael's face, the blood in his eye, the unusual lump of his broken nose.

Lincoln had fewer reasons to be really angry, more to be ashamed, but looked angrier for it as a way to hide the more embarrassing truth of what he felt.

Sara was too focused repressing her own fire to see it, and if she had, she couldn't say she would have pitied him at this moment.

When they were done, their teacher, Caroline Reynolds, stared at them in unreadable silence for a while. Her eyes went from Lincoln to Sara and back and forth until she burst out, "This was really good. Without a doubt, your best performance, Lincoln! All this time, you were holding back, but you need to put life into that character! And that edginess you give him is the most interesting thing about your act!"

Sara saw Lincoln roll his eyes, but she wasn't in the mood to smile.

"And you!" Professor Reynolds turned to Sara, her face bright. "I love how angry you played her, Sara. Ophelias are often spineless girls who look like flowers that'll die with the next hard weather. But you gave her a real backbone! At some point, I almost thought she was going to hit Hamlet – you could have, you know. Don't hesitate getting carried away. Improvisation is the mark of true actors."

"Really," Sara hissed through her teeth. "Suppose we try it again?"

Lincoln answered laconically, "Gotta practice with my basketball team now."

Caroline Reynolds sighed. "How children multitask! Always fascinates me. All right then, off you go. Good job, both of you!"

Sara and Lincoln left the auditorium without exchanging so much as a look.

In her mind, Sara was practicing what best to say to condemn his actions, but nothing sharp enough would come. Anyway, it was best save this for when she had her anger under control; she didn't want to get carried away and make a scene at school.

He didn't even say goodbye or look at her before he cut toward the gymnasium, right after they reached the yard. Sara watched him walk away, a look of shock on her face.

How was it he got to act like he had reasons to hate her as much as she did him?

He'd attacked his brother, for Christ's sake.

Surely a wounded pride was faster to heal.

"Hey."

Sara turned around at the sound of Michael's voice. He was dressed in a plain jeans and shirt, and she looked immediately apologetic. "Not working today?"

He smiled. "I'd say my days as a janitor are over."

"Oh no. They fired you?"

"Yep."

"All because you missed one day?"

His laughter was so genuine, Sara blushed, not really from embarrassment but by the sheer warmth of him.

Coming from another guy, it would have made her feel stupid, like a little princess who doesn't understand how the world really works, that people don't go out of their ways to make your life easier, they don't say Sure, I understand. They don't forgive.

"I think they took one look at my face today and it gave them the impression that I was trouble."

"You're not."

It had never struck Sara to think of Michael like that. At least, not traditional trouble.

Would she say that to her dad if she ever brought him over?

"Well, anyway," Michael said. "There'll be other jobs. Can I walk with you?"

The whole stress of the day fluttered away from Sara's chest, as light as it had seemed heavy a moment before.

She liked how he phrased it. Not, Can I walk you home but Can I walk with you.

"Sure."

Sara usually took the bus, but considering that there would be no getting out of her room today, she might as well linger on the way back.

She didn't tell him about her day, though there was plenty time to. Too pleased it had disappeared to bring it right back on the table.

Besides, she could already guess Michael's advice if she talked to him about the weirdness of hanging out with the girls, the big bad wolf lurking in Gretchen's Red Riding Hood smile. You think they're going to mess with you? Michael would say. Then just leave. Disengage.

It was that simple to him.

And she couldn't even think of bringing up Lincoln. Not when Michael's face still looked like it'd been painted for Halloween.

Instead, they picked up the conversation where they'd left off the other night, before anything bad happened. It was easy to do that; grab a thread they'd both left untouched for days on end, as if conversation was never really dead between them, even in silence.

At some point, she said. "By the way…" She took a mature voice, trying to detach herself as much as possible from all the boys who had asked her that before. "Don't you think we should trade phone numbers?"

"Oh, sorry."

Slight panic crept in. Surely, Michael wasn't going to say that she'd misunderstood, that he had a perfect girlfriend outside of school, she was a grownup like him, independent and working, so she wouldn't know her.

"I don't have a phone."

"What?"

Sara tried to swallow back her surprise as soon as she heard it in her own voice. It was too hateful that she really couldn't imagine any teenage boy wouldn't have a phone.

Privilege.

Sometimes, she thought it was the most despicable thing about her, beyond her control as it was.

"Well, then forget it. I just thought – if you did it'd be easier if we could text, you know."

"Yeah. That makes sense."

Sara looked down at her feet, crestfallen. What with her being grounded, she supposed the only place where they could see each other for some time was school. Which was the worst of places for them, really. Everything complicated, gossip, and people getting in the way of the inexplicable simplicity of her attraction to him.

She hadn't told him about being grounded.

Right now, with him getting fired and all that, she would have sounded too much like a child.

"Burrows? Mind if I have a word with you?"

Gretchen's voice made the boys freeze in the middle of their basketball practice. They had been so caught in the game, they hadn't paid attention to the sound of high heels on the floor of the gymnasium.

For a second, the team only stared at the intruder, her body sheathed into a black dress that made her look like some kind of weapon.

Sucre had been holding the ball, ready to take a leap toward the basket, despite Lincoln's standing in his way, trying to block him.

But he let the ball drop and it rolled toward Gretchen, who avoided it as if it had been a grimy street animal.

"Now," she said.

The authority in her voice drew Lincoln out of his surprise. His jaw stiffened and he said, "Get lost, Morgan. We're in the middle of something here."

"I'm sure your boys could use a break."

"I said get lost."

She sighed.

Maybe she had pushed it a bit far by humiliating him like that in front of Sara.

Then this was fair enough, that he should humiliate her before they could have a real conversation. Gretchen would take it impassively.

Her gaze skimmed over the team of sweating boys, who could hardly take their eyes off of her. How much respect would it gain him, to send her away while they watched?

Her lips broke into her usual red grin. She watched as Lincoln's lip quivered ever so slightly, though his green eyes betrayed no desire. He wasn't bad at this. A pity he'd lowered in her esteem so much, chasing after Sara like a tame dog.

"Your loss," she spoke the words barely above a whisper, but she was certain all the boys in the team caught them and believed them without question.

She was aware of every move of her body as she walked away, her whole posture adapting to the fact that she was being looked at.

You could have heard a pen drop in the dumbstruck silence that saw her to the door.

When she had gone, sighs started breaking loose, and Sucre turned to Lincoln. "Man, you ain't in your right mind. I mean, Sara's cute and all –"

"Shut up." He squared his shoulders and summoned his captain-of-the-team tone. "A'right boys, back to work."

But his authority was shy in comparison to the mark that Gretchen's brief apparition had left behind.

While Sucre went to pick up the ball, Lincoln heard him mutter, "Hell of a woman."

Annoyed, Lincoln was about to point out Gretchen was hardly a woman when he decided it was best to let the subject die out. He went to the bleachers instead to get some water from his backpack, but immediately noticed a text lighting up on the screen of his cell.

The number was unknown, but he had no trouble identifying the sender.

When you're done playing tough with your gorillas, meet me at the bus stop outside the yard. Or don't you want to get back at Sara?

It was around five thirty p.m. when Lincoln arrived at the rendezvous spot, hands in his pockets, his looks as casual as ever; but deep down, he was cautious as a U.S. politician meeting with an especially slippery opponent during a diplomatic showdown.

There was no one from school around at this hour, as Gretchen must have intended. She cast Lincoln a playful glance when she saw him. Maybe there was no mischief meant by those blue eyes today, maybe it simply came naturally to her now.

Still, Lincoln had decided to show no vulnerabilities.

"I'm not here to fuck around," he said before she had time to speak.

Her face painted with a pretty look of surprise. "My," she said, "you are a brute. It's all business and no foreplay with you."

"You came here because you had something to say. Say it. Or I'm out of here."

"Okay," but she was still smiling that same smile, like she was in on a joke he'd never have the brainpower to get. "Okay. I'm not going to make this long. Simply put, I want you to do something for me."

He gave a bitter laugh. "I don't see why I'd be doing you any favors, Morgan."

"Not a favor. It wouldn't cost you. Really, it'd be a relief to you."

"Why don't you let me decide that for myself?"

"I want you to quit the school play."

Surprise momentarily overwhelmed his fa?ade of nonchalance. "Wait, what? Why?" He remembered what she had written, that this was a way of getting back at Sara. "You think Sara cares about the play so much? She doesn't. Back during rehearsal today, she could barely stand to look at me. I'd be doing her a favor by bailing."

"You'd be doing yourself a favor. I mean, what are you really doing, spending hours on some school play every week? And all that so what? So you can make a fool of yourself on stage come December?"

Lincoln had to admit she had a point. He had dragged himself painfully to rehearsal today, and he didn't see how the following sessions would be any more pleasant. Some of his friends had been cracking jokes about his new hobby, but so long as it was just about trying to get into a girl's pants, they could understand it. Now though, considering that girl looked like she might set his head on fire with her eyes, and he was nowhere near sealing the deal with her, as the boys in his team would put it, the affair was getting downright humiliating.

That was without mentioning that at this stage, Lincoln's flirtation with theater was some abstract thing to his boys. If they actually came to watch him struggle over his lines during the mid-year representation… Would they ever let him forget it?

Still, he was cautious as he appraised the look in Gretchen's eyes. "And what do you stand to gain?"

She shrugged.

"Give it up," he said. "It doesn't suit you to act innocent."

Her eyes sparkled slightly. "Just some idea I'd like to see play out."

"What idea?"

"If you do this, you'll see for yourself."

He shook his head. By this time, he felt sure it'd be safer for him to wriggle his way out of the play one way or another, but it felt rookie to make it look like he was caving in to Gretchen.

"Like I said. I don't want to fuck around. Give it to me straight, or no deal."

A scowl so hateful found its way on her face, Lincoln felt a little awed for a second. He didn't think she caught it though and, thank god, no one else had been around to see.

"I'll tell you what, Burrows. If you don't quit the play, I'll make sure everyone worth a damn in this school is here to watch. We'll have rotten tomatoes ready, iced drinks, the whole thing. By the time we've reached Act two, you'll be so filthy, you'll look like something that washed out of the sewers."

"Is that what you're planning to do to Sara?"

The features on her face relaxed into her old smile. "Let's just go our separate ways, Burrows. You give up the play, go back to being a full-time basket-ball player. You have your plans, and I have mine."

Lincoln looked her up and down, stalling for time. Really, he didn't see what other choice he had. "You're a fucking psycho, you know that?"

And for some reason, Gretchen looked at him like he'd paid his respects to her.

Maybe because, for the first time since they'd known each other, he had looked at her and seen her as the formidable tyrant everyone said she was.

End Notes: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please share your thoughts in the comment section. Take care!