Sam couldn't watch Principal Hanford pace back and forth anymore, blithering on and on about the school's reputation, how reckless they both were. In all honesty, he couldn't even pay attention to the relaxed, annoying form of Nathaniel Quinn sitting beside him; his mind was swallowed by such rage and secondhand disappointment in himself.

His fingers still shook, in the way that came after someone was so head-spinningly angry. Sam Watson did not get that kind of angry – if he got close to it, he screamed into a pillow, or took a hot shower. He debated in his head, read the stash of mangas under his bed, or masturbated like a normal teenager. He capped himself. He knew how to behave.

But this had left him unhinged, crooked. And he hated Nate Quinn with every fiber of his being.

“Honestly, boys,” Mr. Hanford sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, lifting his thin-rimmed glasses. “I never would have expected something like this from you both.”

His foot started tapping. Sam could explain their rule (their one, simple, goddamned motherfucking rule) but his energy was spent. He was sore and his face was swelling and hurt. Sam knew for certain there was a bruise developing under his ribs without looking.

Beside him, Nate's leg bobbed with impatience. His face was worse off – Sam had socked him hard in the eye and was turning blue, and the cut on his lip made him look like a quintessential bad boy – and a part of Sam was pleased by that. His posture was reclined, expression distant and bored. The quick side-glances his way made the display all the more agitating.

“Especially you, Mr. Quinn. What would your brother think of your antics if he heard about this?”

Nate's lips pursed into a thinner line, and he glanced away.

Sam could still see it, the desolate look on Olivia's face when she glanced at him. He thought she – he didn't know what he was thinking in the moment, but the second she turned the award around, Sam knew Nate had a hand in it. The look of guilt on his face before he punched him said it all, but it wasn't enough.

The bloated carcass of a principal paused behind his desk and placed his round fingers firmly on the tabletop. “Brookfell Academy prides itself on its principles, gentlemen. You know this. For without principles, what is society?”

God, this spiel. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I saw that, Mr. Watson. Now, I certainly won't lie and say your competitive streak with each other is charming, even wonderful to see and encourage for the rest of the school, but this particular behavior is absolutely unacceptable.” Mr. Hanford paused and glared pointedly at Sam. “You could have risked your scholarship.”

He shuddered. Sam knew the parameters of the scholarship back to front. He crossed his arms and glanced away. He didn't need some hazy-eyed fatcat to tell him, that.

“I do not know what on earth happened between you two tonight, but I am grateful for you, Mr. Watson, for covering the way you did. Whether or not it was successful or not is anyone's guess, however.”

Sam didn't know what he was more angry at – the indignation of the award that was clearly meant for him, or the fact he attacked Nate.

It didn't matter, though. It went to Olivia. Whether inadvertent or not, Nate Quinn broke the rule Sam begged him to obey.

Nate sat forward, throwing his hands up. “Look, we're sorry. Okay?” He said it so lazily, like an afterthought, that it made fire burn in Sam's veins all over again.

“'Sorry' is not enough this time,” Mr. Hanford enunciated. He stared down his nose in mock-thought before announcing, “You're barred from the soccer team for the rest of the season.”

The two teens stared.

“You can't be serious,” Nate started. “Our team doesn't stand a chance against Mercer Prep, otherwise.”

“You're also barred from any extracurriculars until after the new year.”

“Okay, hold on,” Sam spluttered, sitting forward. His hands wrapped around his seat. “That isn't fair. Why can't you, just, blame him? The Winter Formal is in, like, a month; I'm part of the board planning all that. How is that fair to everyone else on it?”

“What is fair when rules are broken so flagrantly and trust is shattered so carelessly?”

Sam gritted his teeth and glanced away.

“Detention for one week, as well. This event will be noted on your permanent records, and you both will be meeting with the school's guidance counsellor.”

“This isn't fair!” Sam was standing, his chest sloshing back and forth with the lingering after-effects of his own resentment. He felt like drowning. “It was his fault with his stupid prank!”

Mr. Hanford blinked. “That may be, Mr. Watson, but rules are still rules. I do not want to be punishing Brookfell's best and brightest like this –”

“Don't call us that,” Sam spat.

“– but there needs to be consequences. If it were a normal school day, the consequences would be slimmer, but this was Family Night. I don't doubt your little stunt cost us families choosing to enroll with us.” There was barely any room for retort when Mr. Hanford waved his hand. “Go sit outside, the both of you. I need to speak to your parents, now.”