Outcasts » Luke Hemmings

➥ four: i need your help

                   IT WAS MIDDAY WHEN LUKE'S name was blared across the entire PA systems throughout Riverdale.

I was slouched in my seat during fifth period, my ears attentive as I listened to Mr. Barter blather on about Julius Caesar when the abrupt blast from the PA system immediately pulled me from my daze.

In that moment, everything had happened in a matter of seconds, and it was way too swift for me to have processed anything. To be frank, I was recollecting my thoughts on the demise of the Roman Republic one minute, and in the next, Luke's name was bellowing across my eardrums, tugging onto all the neurons that led to my brain. And to be quite honest, in the midst of the suspense, the only thing I'd thought of was the sudden collapses of emotions Luke had showed around me, and sudden bursts of anger and fear.

Of course, Luke was called down to the office, and was going to be facing Mrs. Hawkins. She was a generally nice principal, but she was strict with consequences students have had to face after constant dilemmas. And I would know because I had watched Aiden get into a ton of shit after the event of the year.

He'd been suspended for a week after the confirmation of beating Luke to the bloody pulp. Though, to be quite blunt, it didn't seem like he gave a flying fuck-and he probably didn't because Luke was nothing but a bastard to him. After the horrid suspension, Mrs. Hawkins placed him into some kind of mandatory community service he was obliged to do. He was pulled straight from his spare periods into cleaning the gum under the school desks and of course-scrubbing the scrawls of profanity off the boys' bathroom stalls. In the end, I'm sure all was embarrassing to him-even considering his caste. Although, Aiden looked the least bit concerned, and perhaps beating up Luke had made up for the embarrassment.

The thought of it quenched my stomach and made me feel queasy. I've told him I'd help him, but would I be any help when he's speaking to Mrs. Hawkins on the near edge of discipline?

With that thought swimming across my mind, I instantaneously glanced up from my history textbook, gaping at the expressions on everyone's face.

It was absurd to watch—to watch the flock of people exploding into varying expressions. And hell, even watching it had stirred up my very own contrasting emotions in the very pit of my stomach. I swore I felt every single feeling pumping through my veins and rushing through every nerve cell of my body. And if I felt this way, I couldn't possibly imagine how Luke felt at this very moment.

I drummed my fingers across the mahogany pigmented desk, a scowl on my face as I gazed at the dumb fucks that were already discussing the punishments Luke might encounter-making bets and jokes about his unruly attitude. And that took all of my fucking willpower not to bash them across the face—the Royals and the Aristocrats—because they were just that annoying.

I pushed myself up from my seat, my fingertips skimming the edge of my desk. I maundered towards Mr. Barter's desk, glancing at all the faces that surrounded me. I caught glimpses of Outcasts, who showed nothing but empathy towards the infamous Royal.

That's when I understood it—Outcasts don't feel sympathy as others do. Empathy is our commonality, and no matter what caste Luke had been placed in, we don't care. He's now a part of our caste—he's one of us, even in spite of what he used to be.

And that's what separates Outcasts from Royals. Outcasts unite themselves as we, and as for Royals, there is no we, but only I.

To be quite blunt, I didn't care about climbing the pyramid. Perhaps I did before the incident, but I didn't anymore. And I'm not going to say I changed, because I'm still Reagan, I'm still the girl who enjoys the same things I did a year ago. Maybe my perspectives altered, but I'm not going to say that I'm a totally new person. For fuck's sake, I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not.