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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟕
" 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 "
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            "You are insane!" Mack exclaims. So taken aback by what I just suggested, he disregards the Ursids and turns to me instead. "Going against the A-Class? Nico, are you crazy?"

"I have never been more sane in my life," I say, smiling because it's the first time in days that I feel like there is something I can do besides mope.

"How are you even going to do it? The A-Class has been unrivaled for so long. Even before we stepped into St. Madeleine, it's been established that the A-Class is the cream of the crop. They don't call it the star section for nothing!"

"A-ha!" I beam. "And you said so yourself. Even the best and brightest of stars can fall."

Mack's expression falls as he tilts his head to the side. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's true," I say. "I was A-Class and I fell. Now I can't get Anya and those other backstabbing pricks kicked off the star section, but I know a way to bring the whole star section down."

Mack raises his brow as if mildly engrossed. "Go on."

"Best Class award," I state. Ever since the beginning of time, the A-Class has been awarded with this distinction every single term. How can other classes contend? A-Class students are handpicked from the moment of the entrance exams, the thirty applicants with the highest scores automatically get placed there. They become St. Madeleine's best bet for Ivy league schools and interscholastic competitions right off the bat. So, of course, the A-Class always wins in a competition of academic performance. But I know for a fact that the current A-Class' performance is a sham.

A sham devised by me.

"Mack, I carried the whole class on my back for the entire term," I say. No point in being humble. I know I'm right, and Mack knows it too. "If I can do that with the A-Class, what's stopping me from doing it with the D-Class?"

Mack's forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows draw up. "You're not planning on becoming the D-Class' cheat sheet, are you?"

Sitting up and manic, I answer with a "Yes!"

"No," he groans.

"Why not?"

"Because you're looking for trouble, Nic," he says. "The moment Anya catches wind of whatever you're planning, she will snitch on you. And this time you won't just be transferred to D-Class. You'll be expelled for good."

I tilt my head to the side in challenge. "Who's gonna tell her?"

Mack copies the head tilt. Neither of us is backing off. "You can count on it not being me, but you know Anya. She's got eyes and ears everywhere."

"I'm not scared of her." I cross my arms. Why would I be scared of that rotten little bitch? She's smart but lazy. She was so dependent on my cheat sheets, she might as well have copied my name on her answer sheet. "And besides," my lips curl up, "I've got my own set of eyes and ears on her, too."

"Me?" Mack's hand sprawls over his chest. When I nod, he lets out a dry laugh like I've just put on some clown makeup and honked my nose. "Don't drag me into this, Nico."

"Come on," I egg.

"No." He crosses his arms over his chest and scoots away from me.

"Malik," I call in singsong, and I hear him groan right away. He breaks easy. Marupok. Just a little pleading, some puppy dog eyes, a soulful pout, and he's in.

He's trying not to look at me. I poke his side, saying, "Come on. Be a good friend."

"Best friend," he corrects, slapping my hand away. Rude.

I huff. "Fine," I say in my whiniest voice. "I guess you just value your place in the A-Class more than our friendship. Our years-long friendship."

"Wooow!" His head dramatically turns towards me like an owl. "You're using that ploy? Low blow, Nico, low blow indeed."

"Well, it's true isn't it?"

He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at me, his tongue sticking to his cheek. If pleading doesn't work, a little manipulation will do the trick. I'm evil, I know. But I need Mack for this work, I can't risk it. Finally, he uncrosses his arms. Ha! I win.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?"

I wink.

Sighing, he gives in entirely. "So what's the plan?"

Got him. And now for the plan to unfurl.

***

          My phone shuts down at a quarter past one. I've drained its battery conducting some thorough research on my soon-to-be classmates in the D-Class. Stalking is another word for it.

Unsurprisingly, most of the students there are lost causes – teenage washouts, lazy bums, serial partyheads, and worst of all, varsity players. Even their class president is in the softball team. Judging by that and her bright pink highlights, I'd say she's a 2.5 GPA at best.

There is one hopeful prospect, though. Florence Lin, a diamond in the rough, a genius in a sea of idiots. Judging by her recent Instagram posts, she's a total slacker now, but newspaper headlines from five years ago say that she's a math whiz. Now, that I can work with.

I make a mental note of doing more research on this Florence Lin when I get home. Stuffing the dead phone in my coat pocket, I turn to Mack who is already passed out on the wooden floor of the greenhouse.

"Hey." I gently slap his face.

He groans, turning over to the side. Seeing him fast asleep is making me feel drowsy. What's the time again? One o'clock? I still have time before Dad's curfew. A little nap couldn't hurt.

I lie down next to Mack, draping the picnic blanket over him and me.

As I fall fast asleep, my brilliant plan dances around in my head. It's made even better now that there's a chance of me not being the sole brainiac who will pull this operation; there's Florence Lin now. Maybe she can help out with math. 

Trigonometry has always been a pain in my ass. I don't do numbers as well as I do words. I can bullshit an essay but not a polynomial equation.

If I pull this off and manage to steal the Best Class award under Anya's nose before graduation, my butthurt thirst for vengeance will be sated. Anya will be the first A-Class president who loses that title and to the lowly D-Class no less. Oh, I can already imagine her face.

A little while later, I wake up to Malik's arm squirming under my head. I've left a small splotch of dribble on his coat sleeve. He won't mind, but I wipe it off just the same. The space nerd is still snoring beside me, shifting in his sleep, tugging on the picnic blanket away from me. Hogger.

His body heat feels so toasty in the early morning, I must have cozied up close to him mid-sleep. Don't blame me, in my exhausted stupor, his arm began to look like a pillow.

Sunlight's starting to seep through the muddy windows of the greenhouse. I think I can hear traffic nearby.

"It's morning," I mumble groggily. "Oh, shit, it's morning!" Springing up from the floor, I slap myself awake then reach for Mack's hand, yanking his wristwatch to my face. He startles awake, whining about how his wakeup call but I ignore him. Shit. It's way past 7 a.m. and way, way past my sunrise curfew.

"We gotta go."

Mack gives me a ride back to our neighborhood, only up to his house since he has some errands to run with one of his moms. I decide to pop in and say hi since I'm already two hours late. What's a couple minutes more?

"Nicolas!" Loren, Mack's stay-at-home mom, greets when she opens the door. "Glad to see you out and about. Mack tells me you've been moping."

"Like a giant baby," Mack comments as he props his bike by the side of the door.

I playfully elbow her son, and by playfully I mean with force but smiling like it's just a joke. "Don't listen to him, Loren," I say breezily through gritted teeth. "I've just been busy studying for college entrance exams."

Loren pinches my cheek. I feel like I've five years old again. "You study too hard. It's winter break! Unwind." Her eyes widen and twinkle. "That reminds me!" She snaps her fingers. "I have something for you!"

She rushes inside and comes back with a pink box with a neatly tied bow in hand. Her eyes sparkle as he gives it to me. "For the Meowsketeers," she says. "Veena helped me make them."

"Aww," I coo, receiving the gift. "You didn't have to."

"It'll cheer you up." She winks.

What can I say? Mack gets his thoughtfulness from her.

Both of his moms love the Meowsketeers. Mack practically owns them as well. Those little bastards always flock to him when he comes over. They visit this house every once in a while, too. "It's like you and Nic are their parents," Loren once said.

I thought it was funny.

Mack didn't.

I look inside the box, and there are three knitted cat sweaters folded neatly, showing the Meowskeeters' initials stitched on each one. "Aw, this is adorable, Loren." I give her a hug.

"Wouldn't want my grandkids to be cold this winter," she jests, playfully elbowing Mack who looks like he could die of embarrassment.

"Thank you. I'll dress them up and send you pictures."

Loren squeals before finally bidding me goodbye. Mack points a finger gun to his temple and cocks his thumb before he closes the door. I laugh to myself as I continue home.

I take another look at the cat sweaters. They really are adorable. Thinking about dressing those three little furballs up in these makes me a little giddy. And maybe Dad won't be as mad once he sees these. He has a soft spot for the little rascals as well. I jog the rest of the way home.

When I open the door, I knock over a suitcase, but I merely kick it aside as I rush to the kitchen.

"Dad!" I call. "Loren and Veena knitted sweaters for the Meowsketeers. You have to see them!"

I stop dead in my tracks as I enter the room. Dad is there, of course, fixing an all-organic snack. But beside him... is a detestable little man. Short and pudgy, with a terrible peach fuzz on his round face.

"Hey, kiddo," the man says.

Groaning, I make no effort trying to hide my disdain.

He chuckles and points his lips at the unabashedly pink gift box in my hands. "Your boyfriend gave that to you?"

Uncle Victor.