Dedicated to fivesaucewhoop for literally being the best 5sos fic writer out there
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It wasn't even a week into school, and Lloyd Fucking Bancroft was already trying to ruin my life.
I mean, it was barely quarter to eleven on a Sunday morning and he was definitely going to make me late for my first team meeting of the new year. He hadn't even said anything remotely important yet; just a load of pompous waffle that served nothing more than to drive his own goddamn ego even further up his ass.
If he keeps at it I'm just going to excuse myself, I thought, and leave the others to suffer through his monotonous drivel - I had a meeting to get to, after all. As captain of the cricket team I had a responsibility to be on time.
Then again, how was I supposed to know we'd get rounded up like cattle and brought to the stuffy old boardroom above the library without any sort of satisfactory explanation. Since when did the Head Boy and Head Girl have the power to pluck up, and virtually abduct, a handful of seemingly random Prefects before the day had even properly started? Not to mention that Lloyd Fucking Bancroft and Rosie (moderately fuckable) Curtis had clearly not checked our personal schedules, because they were clearly going to make me late for my very important meeting.
I had tried to sneakily pull out my phone and shoot a text to Warren saying I'd been kidnapped by Head Dickwad and would therefore probably miss the meeting, but Curtis had seen and shot me a look. Don't really want to mess with her - she's got a mean set of eyebrows and a penchant for impractically sharp pencils.
"Miss Ellsworth will give you your full debriefing later in the week, but let me just give you the gist of why you've been brought here." Bancroft said, tugging proudly at the lapels of his blazer. God, everything that guy did just seemed so pretentious - I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I turned my attention (reluctantly) away from where I was side-eyeing India Short and her short, short skirt, and trained my eyes instead on Bancroft's egg-like head.
"Basically," Curtis cut in, shaking her brown curls over her shoulder, "as of now, you're all in the running for our positions - Head Boy and Head Girl - for the next academic year."
I let out a short breathy laugh as I leaned back in my chair. I've got this in the bag.
"Yes exactly, thank you, Rosie," Captain Pompous continued, "we'll be watching the eight of you very closely from now, until the end of the year, upon which we will make and announce our decision. You're all sitting here today because you're the promising members of our beloved school's Prefect Body; so don't do anything to slip from that rank. Anything that would jeopardise your position as a Prefect will now also jeopardise your potential to be chosen."
My eyebrows pulled together as I looked around the table once again, taking in the faces of my opponents. There was Calum Hood, athlete extraordinaire and probably my biggest threat;
India Short with her short, short skirt and unrivalled social power;
Lucy Whelpton the competitive powerhouse with thighs strong enough to crush a man's skull;
Luke Hemmings the swotty choirboy with more of an attachment to his god-awful purity ring than any girl ever;
Maisy Fox, who, to be honest, I didn't know anything about other than that she was everyone's token ginger;
Imogen Holmwood, St. George's very own drama queen with an affinity for mathematics...and "What the fuck is Clifford doing here?" I asked, pointing at the boy with (currently) pale green hair.
If this was supposed to be our school's cream of the crop, I had a hard time believing he had a place at this table. Michael Clifford was nothing but trouble. Don't get me wrong, the guy's a total legend, but hardly a viable candidate for the roll of Head Boy. They had to be fucking with us; this couldn't be serious. Did Michael Clifford even attend classes? I don't think anybody knew the answer to that.
