Chapter One: Million Dollar Bills.

There's nothing I want but money and time

Million dollar bills and a tick tick tick tick

Chanel Agresti.

Scarsdale, New York.

"Come in, Miss Agresti."

I rise, smoothing my skirt. Ms. March holds the door, but hardly waits until I'm inside before slamming it shut behind us. "Take a seat, please. I'm on a very tight schedule."

I slide into a hard wooden chair and frown at the state of her office, which, typically spotless, has fallen into stark disorder. Scattered papers are spread across every inch of her desk; overturned coffee cups have been tossed carelessly towards a wastebasket, leaving dark stains on the carpet. Books have been shoved haphazardly into the shelf behind her, while others are piled against the wall or have spilled under my feet.

"Well, it's certainly been a long time since we've seen each other," Ms. March says. Unsmiling, she reaches across her desk for my note. "What is it this time?"

As she reads, I examine the papers closest to me- an assortment of emails, by the look of them, although I can't make out what they say from my angle.

"Hitting another student… threatening students… oh, this won't do." She rubs her temples. "And here I was, hoping you'd finally learned."

"I was provoked," I say. "I can prove it."

"Unfortunately for you, I don't care." She crumples the note up and tosses it towards the trash- like the cups, it hits off the rim and lands on the carpet. I would have made that. "I've said this before- you need to learn to hold your temper."

"I don't have a temper."

"Yet you always seem to have a harder time staying out of my office than most."

"That's not my temper," I argue. "That's other things-"

"Save it. I don't really care about the specifics. You'll be staying here tomorrow, along with everyone else who seems to think they are above our standards. Maybe while the rest of your class is enjoying their day off, you'll learn how to control yourself."

"What? No Ditch Day? Ms.-"

"It's fair. You broke the rules."

"What about Tristan up there? He was taunting me. He was picking a fight. Why isn't he down here? Why isn't he staying back, too?"

"Because he didn't lash out and attack anyone."

"Do you think I would have just punched a kid for no reason? You act like I'm some kind of sadistic maniac," I huff. "I had to. You didn't hear what he was saying. You would have wanted to hit him too!"

"Don't try and tell me what I would have done," she threatens. "I have no tolerance for fighting. Learn to ignore him."

"Are you seriously telling me to ignore him? What about telling him to shut his damn mouth and leave me alone? What about that?"

"This is about you, not-"

"He isn't even hurt!" I yell. "I barely even hit him!"

"Be quiet, Chanel!" She slams her hand on her desk, and the edges of the pages rustle. "You have pushed me to the limit all year, and I have no more capacity for patience with you. Now get out of my office, because I have actual work to do and I can't afford for you to waste my time!"

I resist the urge to flat-out scream in her face, although every bone in my body would love to do just that. Instead, breathing hard, I push myself out of my chair and storm out. It's not fair. It's the last week of school. And he was being a dick! Why can't a girl get her hands dirty when she needs to?

I duck into a nearby bathroom to splash water on my face and hopefully calm down a little. As I rub water in my eyes- waterproof mascara is a lifesaver, honestly- I recite a common mantra under my breath. "Ms. March is a bitch… Tristan can go fuck himself… Ms. March is a bitch…"

I'm so ready to get out of this place.

Not that going to school here has been all bad-this year in particular has been one big "fuck it," so I've been more or less free to do whatever I want. The trouble is those teachers who take us too seriously... who enforce every little rule on every single student, when clearly none of us gives a shit anymore. What's the point of even showing up to class? APs are over, prom was last weekend, and it really doesn't matter what we get on our finals. Only thing left for us is graduation, and that's next week. Other than that, we've all gotten into college, we've done what they asked, now leave us alone.

The bell's not set to ring for another twenty minutes or so, but I don't bother making the trip all the way back to the third floor. Not only because the most we do these days is play Jeopardy and watch Disney movies in foreign languages, but because I need to clear my head over Ms. March, and over the boys up there, who took things too far, once again. I can take a joke, believe me, but once people start making fun of shit they don't understand, that's when it stops being funny and starts getting personal.

"So what'd Wes dump you for, anyway? Bennett thought it was the sex, cause Wes said that you used to cry all the time when you guys were doing it. You really couldn't take him, Agresti?"

"Fuck. Off."

"Ooh, she's mad now! You know, I'm not sure I agree with him, though. I said Wes just felt uncomfortable not being the man in the relationship."

That's when I hit him.

It's stupid, because I really don't have a temper- swear it- and I'm pretty good at ignoring the slurs about the way I dress, or the lesbian jokes (which are so stupid, because people know who I've been sleeping with, and they aren't girls). Only when it comes to Wes do I really lose my mind. And unfortunately, I think people have started to notice. I'd be more worried if it wasn't the end of the year, but I only have six days left with these people and then I never have to see them again. Thank freakin' God.

As I dry my face off, a motion in the mirror makes me jump. I assumed I was the only one in here. Then there's a click as the door unlocks and the creak of crutches being leaned on, and my face breaks out into a grin.

"Gi! Are you kidding me?" I throw myself at her and pull her into a hug. She groans, but doesn't fight to pull herself away from me. "Where have you been? I literally haven't seen you since… since…"

"April," she says, voice smothered in my shoulder. "Don't worry, I wasn't expecting you to visit me or anything."

Shit. Gianna's been injured all spring- tore her ACL in her third game of the year- and I was supposed to take care of her after her surgery at the end of April. I did visit a couple of times (I'm not that horrible) but in all the craziness of AP exams, lacrosse playoffs, and final projects, I must have forgotten all about her.

I pull myself away. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I'm the worst. I don't know what happened."

"Slipped your mind, I guess. It's okay. I'm just your sister."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Seriously, the last thing I need is to be fighting with Gianna right now. "If there's something I can do now to make it up to you…"

"Well, I'm almost okay to walk again, and I'm not all high on painkillers anymore, and I can pretty much get to all my classes on my own without anyone having to carry my bag. So there's not much." She crutches over to the sink and lets the water run over her hands.

"Shit, Gi…" I grasp for any ideas, anything she'd want me to do. "Hey, how about this. This summer, right? I'll take you shopping as soon as we get out of school. Anything you want, it's on me. New phone, or swimsuits, or new volleyball shoes, or scarves and jewelry and shit for school next year. And I'll pay for a new school skirt, since I know your blue one is a mess."

"Nice try," she says. "Mom ordered me a new one last month. Not that it matters, since this place is supposed to be closing after this year."

I'd almost forgotten. Ever since that politician visited last week, rumors have been flying about the school's supposed closure. The general agreement is that he somehow found out about all the kids who died last year, and is shutting the place down for being too unsafe, but none of the teachers have said anything, and there's no real proof of any of it.

"You don't think that's true, do you?"

"Well, I don't know. Haven't you noticed that Ms. March has been really stressed lately?"

"She's definitely being more of a bitch than normal, if that counts. But that could be something to do with her family. It doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, right. This place is her whole life. She's never had a husband, and she doesn't have any kids. It's definitely something to do with the school."

I'm not convinced, but if Gianna believes it, I'm not really in a position to argue with her. Mostly because I'm on a slippery enough slope as it is.

"I'll get you something else, then," I offer. "Or take you on a road trip somewhere. It doesn't matter where, you can pick."

"I don't want to go on a road trip," she says, drying her hands, "and I honestly don't care about going shopping. You can't really make it up to me at this point, so why try?"

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Forget it," she says, and lets the door slam shut behind her.

I'm left standing in the middle of the bathroom, stunned. Well, fuck. This really has not been my day. Maybe I should just go back to bed…

I finish drying my face, then head out to find the nearest stairway, trying to make it to my dorm. Halfway up the main staircase, I freeze. Anabel, Ms. March's appallingly vibrant secretary, is coming the opposite direction. But before I can spin around, hoping she won't notice me, it's too late. I do my best to feign a smile as she greets me, cheery and bubbly as always.

"Chanel," she chirps. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine. Just heading back up to class…" I make to pass her.

"Oh, of course," she says, thankfully catching the hint. As much as I've come to hate her, I at least can appreciate that she's one of the only authority figures around here who doesn't just assume I'm always getting myself into trouble. "Glad you're keeping focused on your schoolwork, even when we're so close to graduation. You wouldn't believe how many students I've seen wandering the halls lately. It's like they've forgotten where to go!"

"I can imagine," I mutter, and continue back up the stairs. Oh, Anabel. She gets on everyone's last nerve with her eternally perky attitude, but at least that's the worst of her. She's hopelessly clueless and so naive it's almost cute, if she wasn't twenty-nine years old. Gullible, too. That, all of us have agreed, is her finest quality. When Anabel is supervising, the students can relax, knowing even if she catches us doing anything suspicious, she'll be easily convinced otherwise.

She is Ms. March's most trusted adviser, though, and as I reach the second floor landing, I pause, remembering my conversation with Gianna. Anabel may be an airhead, but she holds one of the central offices in this school. If there's anyone who will confirm the rumors about this place closing, it's her.

I hurry back down the stairs, but in the time it took for me to climb to the second floor and back, she has disappeared. The only door this close to the stairs is… of course. Ms. March's office. As I approach the door- carefully, of course, because Ms. March doesn't need another reason to punish me- I glimpse the shapes of the two women through the tinted glass. Anabel's in there, all right. Even better, it looks like, in her carelessness, she neglected to shut the door, and I can just make out their conversation if I stand close enough.

"You mean… we're really getting shut down?

"It's over, Anabel. I've tried everything. But the Board won't listen… they want everyone out at the end of this year."

"But there haven't been any problems this year. The school's been completely safe."

"That doesn't matter to them," says Ms. March. "It happened. It's done. They know about the Archer boys, and Sabina, and Peyton..."

Those names. The kids who died my sophomore and junior years. The staff have always tried to keep what happened quiet, but gossip here these days spreads faster than chlamydia did in last year's senior class. Still, it's all pretty much been speculation, and I'll risk whatever this punishment is to be the first to learn the truth. I try to find somewhere comfortable to sit, but the chair I typically use when I'm waiting outside this office is too far away, out of earshot, and in front of the office window, and obviously that defeats the whole point of eavesdropping. My best option is to pop a squat on the floor and hope anyone walking by is too engrossed in their own self-obsession to notice what I'm doing.

"I still don't understand how they found out," she continues, as I scoot up against the wall. "We don't have many visitors to the school, so it's unlikely someone from outside leaked the information. But who from within the school would have tipped Mr. Caville off? Who would have risked their own back to do us in like this?"

"What about the recent hires, Francine? They have the least loyalty to Haversmith. I wouldn't trust any of them."

"Yes, I've thought about it… I just don't want to believe it. Erin, James, Maura… they're all so kind. And I think you can agree that we've been very careful not to share anything unnecessary with them. As far as they know, they are only here for security purposes."

It takes several moments for me to register the footsteps on the stairs. I have just managed to pull myself up and look like I'm walking up towards the stairs myself when Mr. Horan appears. "Chanel," he nods, then pauses. "What are you doing out of class?"

"Just getting something to drink," I say. "It's way too hot."

He only laughs. "Too hot? Here? Just wait until you're down at George Mason, pulling sleds out on the field. It's supposed to be a nasty summer. If this is the most you can manage, good luck."

"Hey," I protest, and he chuckles. "I'm tougher than that. I just thought it might be... inconvenient... if I died of heat exhaustion in the middle of class." Inconvenient to the school, more like.

"As I said, good luck." He grins and continues down the hall. Asshole. But I can't help smiling along with him. Horan is one of the few teachers here who gets along with his students and actually seems to like us, and he's one of my favorites for that reason. Not to mention, he was a huge help for me when I was deciding on college. I can't thank him enough for that.

When he's out of sight, I creep back down the stairs and slide down to the floor next to Ms. March's office door.

"I really do feel bad for the students," Ms. March is saying. "What's happening isn't fair to them."

"I'm sure there are other schools around," Anabel says. Well, duh.

"It isn't just about where they're going to school. It's the money, the tuition… the fact that they had to pay so much more, and we still couldn't keep things quiet. It was all a waste."

"It's not that bad, Francine. The kids have way too much money, anyways. It's hardly affected most of them."

"The scholarship kids, though. What about them? We've robbed them, haven't we?"

"It's sad, but it was necessary," says Anabel. "Especially after what you'd already invested into keeping the other families quiet. If you had to do it again, to keep the school open another year, you would."

So that explains why we haven't been sued. Actually, that explains a lot of things. The cuts to classroom and extracurricular budgets alike, for instance, despite the fact that tuition was raised more than $15,000 this year. Not that that was any sort of emergency for my family- my mother alone makes enough in a year to send both Gianna and I through med school (on second thought, just Gianna, since she's the smart one). But I know several students who nearly didn't come back this year. Their scholarships were reduced because the school, somehow, could not come up with the money to afford them. As a result, there were a number of very angry parents knocking on Haversmith's doors at the beginning of first term.

The more frustrating part for the rest of us have been the other losses. The AC no longer turns on in our dorms or in any of the third floor classrooms. Food costs have doubled, while the food quality has been cut in half. Even our sports teams haven't been spared. Our jersey orders in the fall were cancelled, meaning we had to wear last year's slimy, hole-ridden uniforms and play with lopsided volleyballs. When the bleachers broke midway through basketball season, the school requested that everyone start bringing their own chairs to games, rather than just dealing with the cost right then and there. Many of us just stopped going, because let's face it- it was embarrassing. Even the freaking public schools could afford functional bleachers. We'd all have asked our parents to donate money- God knows they have too much of it- but Ms. March swore everything would be taken care of. Yet here we are, in the first week of June, still sweating our asses off in ninety-degree classrooms and having to strip our beds of all the sheets and covers just so we can get a decent night's sleep.

"I'd do it, yes," Ms. March admits. "I mean, these are our jobs. How are we going to get rehired when we work at a school where our students keep dying?"

They're silent for a few moments. What Ms. March said, honestly, as grim as it is, doesn't surprise me. She's always seemed somewhat out of touch with the kids she controls. She likes the power and the money, I assume, and it's clear her own selfish desires have gotten in the way of what this school needs. What she said about the scholarships, though…

"You did your best," Anabel says. "And you did make it better. You fired Arlene after she let Sabina drown. You got rid of Grayson when he let the Archer boys fall off the climbing wall and break their necks. There wasn't anything you could do about Peyton… but all the evidence proves it was a mistake. Mistakes happen."

Peyton was smarter than that, though, I muse. She was no stranger to painkillers. She would have known what she was doing when she overdosed.

"Personally, I've felt much more comfortable without the two of them here, haven't you? I know you didn't like to do it, but firing them seems to have paid off. No incidents this year. No crazy deaths. We've had a completely safe school year, thanks to you."

"But what's the point?" groans Ms. March. "We're getting shut down anyway. It doesn't matter what has or hasn't happened this year. The Board doesn't care, and Mr. Caville doesn't care. They think we're incompetent… careless… dangerous, even. It doesn't even matter what the kids have accomplished in the classroom. We're done."

They fall into silence again. Moments later, there's a crackle of gravel as a car pulls up outside, and through the opposite window, I glimpse the side of a shiny black limo as it glides up to the gates. From Ms. March's office, there's a squeak. "He's here, Francine. Which office would you like for us to use?"

"This one is fine," she says dejectedly. "It's not like anything he finds will change his mind."

"I'm really sorry," Anabel says. "About everything. You've tried so hard, and you deserve so much better."

"It's not your fault. It's just… too bad." Ms. March sighs. "I am curious, though. I thought he had what he came for. Why does he want to speak with you?"

"Maybe he thinks there's something you've been keeping from him," she says.

"Well, it's all out there now. I suspect it will be a brief meeting." Her chair groans as she stands. "Let me grab you a drink before you start. It's far too warm here."

"Thank you, Francine. Just some iced tea, if you can find some? And another for Benjamin would be just perfect."

As quietly as I can, I scoot away from the door and make a break for the stairs. Coming out of her office, head down, Ms. March does not notice me, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I watch as she disappears down the opposite hallway. As much as I'd like to feel bad for her… I can't. As soon as she let four students die in her school, it was over. The fact that she tried to keep herself out of trouble by essentially stealing from her own students- especially those who could not afford it- is beyond fucked up. Georgia is going to hate this.

From above, I watch this Mr. Caville be helped out of his limo by- an assistant, maybe?- who he motions to stay behind. As Mr. Caville slowly come up to the gates, admiring the building as he walks, Anabel skips out of Ms. March's office to meet him, a smile playing at her lips. She never stops. Someone needs to remind her she's six days away from losing her job.

I head back upstairs, finally, head buzzing with what I heard, yet still tasting disappointment in the back of my throat. Nothing they said about the kids was very new, and I guess the rest of us will have to be satisfied with our speculations. However, at least I know one thing is true- after this week, Haversmith is going to be gone for good.

I'm stretched out across my bed, reading the latest edition of People (Drew Barrymore's new baby girl is the ugliest goblin baby I've ever seen) when Georgia barges in, less than thirty seconds after the bell rings. "Did you really tackle Tristan Wirth over a desk during Mr. Hale's block?"

"Negative," I say, and she looks disappointed. "I did punch him in the mouth, though. Got Ditch Day privileges taken away, but I think it was worth it."

"Fuck that. Just sneak on one of the buses with the rest of us."

"You know I would, but they have a list, George." In return for letting us off campus for the day, Haversmith insists on taking extra precautions so that they don't lose any of us on the forty-minute trip to Conway. Roll call. Checking and double-checking names. Another head count before we get off the bus. Stupid, if you ask me, because once you have all the kids on a bus, where are they going to go? Regardless, security is tight, and I've tried sneaking out before, but it just doesn't work. "It's okay, I'll have loads of fun staying here with... Gavin." I grimace. "Spare me."

"Could be worse. Bet you anything that Harrison spends the whole day following me into stores, hoping he'll get to see me naked in a changing room. I've been able to avoid him up until now, but..."

She flops down next to me and pulls out her phone, and I suddenly remember why I wanted to talk to her so badly. "Hey, I almost forgot. There's something I need to tell you, and you're not going to like it."

"Tell me."

"Close the door."

She shuts it. When she lies back down next to me, her face is serious.

"So, the school's closing."

"Well, I knew that."

"No, but it really is. I heard Ms. March talking..." I pick at the peeling paint on the side of my nightstand. "The guy who was here last Tuesday is the U.S. Secretary of Education, and he knows everything. After this week, Haversmith is going to be gone."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah. Seriously."

"So how'd he find out?" she asks. "And now, of all times? It's been more than a year since anything happened."

"That's the thing. No one really knows. Ms. March thinks someone on the staff must have tipped him off."

"Well, I'm amazed we've made it this far, honestly." She rolls over on her back. "Good for us, I guess. Way to not spoil the secret."

"Don't you think it's kind of thoughtless of her to trust three hundred kids with something like that, though? I mean, I know seventy percent of us aren't really on speaking terms with our parents anymore, but the chances of someone letting something slip over dinner are pretty high. Especially for the newer kids. If I had been a freshman when it happened, I probably would have said something."

"You're right. It's... suspicious. And the families knew. So why didn't they speak up about it?"

"That's the part you're not going to like."

"I don't care. I want to know."

I check to make sure the door's shut and locked before I continue.

"Ms. March... bribed the families of the kids who died," I say, hushed. "Millions, probably, considering the amount tuition was raised to pay for it." I watch as her face flushes red. "That's why we had to pay so much this year... why you had to pay so much more despite your scholarship. It's fucked up, I know."

"You're sure?

"Ms. March said it herself," I say. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Why nothing's been in the news? Why the school's lasted this long without any legal trouble?"

Georgia thinks. "Well... it could... well..." She's trying to find some sort of silver lining, but for once, I think she's at a loss.

She goes silent. She glances away, down to the field below, where a group of sophomores look like they're racing around the lake.

"My scholarship used to cover ninety percent of my costs," she tells me quietly. "My parents paid a few thousand every year for my books, uniform, room, and part of my meal plan, and it wasn't a problem. Then this summer, when they told us we'd be paying double what we were, and for no real reason, my whole family panicked. I mean, you know what my parents do. But not letting me go to Haversmith for another year wasn't an option for them. We cancelled all our summer plans, and I took three part-time jobs, and my dad took another job, and we just barely came up with the money. We kept waiting to know why, why we had to do this, why everything cost so much more..."

She makes a fist, then unclenches it slowly. "Why couldn't she just own up to it?" she whispers. "Deal with the consequences herself, rather than putting the weight on us?"

"She's protecting herself," I say, not really knowing what I'm saying. "She doesn't care about us. She just cares about the money."

"Of course she does. She runs this school like it's a business, and we're her workers. It's not fair."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Georgia watches out the window for several minutes. Finally she stands, picks her sneakers up, and rummages through the drawers for a pair of shorts. When she finds an acceptable pair, she goes and unlocks the door. "I'm going to get some air. A run sounds really good right now. Did you want to meet me down there?"

"No, go ahead," I motion. I glance down at the lake for an instant, and by the time I turn around, Georgia is gone.

I get to bed early, skipping the Ditch-Day's-tomorrow-let's-all-get-fucking-wasted festivities down the hall, knowing everyone there is going to be away at Conway tomorrow, and the only thing worse than being hungover is being hungover and having no one to complain to. Still, it's a long time before I fall asleep. Georgia eventually comes in around one, but I pretend to be asleep to avoid whatever conversation she wants to have now that she's had time to digest what I told her. As much as she trusts me, I just can't understand her perspective. In terms of what we have and where we come from, we are worlds apart.

I plan to sleep late to make up for my involuntary late night, but all of a sudden it's 7:54 and Georgia's violently shaking me awake. "Getupgetupgetupgetupgetupgetup-"

"Jesus Christ, George," I groan, rolling over. "I'm not going, remember?"

"Yes, you are! Anabel sent me up here to come get you- by the way, you only have, like, five minutes to get dressed and grab everything you need, 'cause she only just told me."

Georgia looks beside herself with glee. I don't know what's gotten into her. "You're delusional," I say, head still cloudy with sleep. "Ms. March said I can't, I'm not allowed-"

"Anabel talked with her this morning, and convinced her to let everyone come. It's our last big trip before graduation, so it's only fair that everyone gets to enjoy it."

Shaking my head, I climb out of bed and start leafing through my closet for something passable. "You'd better not be joking, cause if I have to get up for nothing..."

But as it turns out, she's serious. We're one of the last ones down to the buses, though, and as we hurry down the steps- me, carrying my Nikes in one hand and half my medicine cabinet in the other- Anabel rushes up to us. "Oh, Chanel, I'm so happy you made it," she gushes. "Francine was stubborn, but I convinced her that we ought to let you kids have your fun in your last days here. Aren't you excited?"

She's far too chipper for eight in the morning. All I can muster is a quick nod before I'm at the table in front of the buses.

"Chanel Agresti," I state.

"Here you are. Bus One. Hurry up." The man ushers me up the steps, but I wait for Georgia, who's next in line.

"Evers... Georgia Evers... You're on Bus Two, sweetheart."

"Wait a second," I say. "Evers and Agresti are pretty close together. Why aren't we on the same bus?"

"Oh, they're not alphabetical," Anabel chimes. "They were randomly selected. Luck of the draw, you could say!"

Ugh. Whatever. "Meet me in front of Starbucks when we get there," I tell Georgia, and she nods. I raise my makeup bag. "I need to put all this on... and eat something..."

I climb the steps and scan my bus. Up in front, Jeremiah and Freya- they're inseparable- share a seat. Harper sits alone across the aisle. My friends Eimer and Alaina are sitting together near the back. There's no room next to them, but only a row up, there's a spot next to another girl, Audrey. When I sit down next to her, she plugs her headphones in and turns away towards the window.

The bus behind us starts up and pulls out of the driveway. One of the teachers up in the front of ours takes attendance one last time. A few minutes later, we've started up too, and finally are out and onto the road.

I take a look out the back window of the bus as we leave, hoping to watch the school vanish into obscurity behind the trees. Instead, my gaze is captured by yet another black limousine, which glints in the sun before disappearing back towards Haversmith Academy.

Million Dollar Bills by Lorde.

Well, it's finally here, and I hope you're all as excited as I am. I've been planning a rewrite of Darkest Desires ever since the original story was discontinued back in October, so I guess this has been a long time coming. I couldn't commit to working on it through the spring, since it was my junior year and I was playing two sports while trying to live through the hell that is AP tests, but summer has given me a chance to finally bring this baby back. I can't wait to see where it takes us!

I hope this chapter didn't drag on too long. I don't know when it reached 6,000 words, honestly. This was just an introduction to what's to come- you could consider it a third prologue, after the two that Corey posted. Go read them on his page, I'm not going to copy and paste them here. I'm much more excited for the next few chapters, as the students will begin to interact and there will be far more action and drama.

My plans for this story- I have not been able to get in contact with Corey since he left this site, so while I think it's only fair that I ask his permission before I use his verse and essentially his ideas, I haven't heard anything yet, so I'm going to be posting the first few chapters now. If he decides he'd rather I not write this, then I will honor that request. For now, though, I'm going to keep working.

I do plan to stick to his original placements, meaning if your tribute finished last, I'm sorry, but they will still be last. It makes it less complicated for me than to try to come up with 30 new placements, especially because, biased as I am, Chanel would probably still win. The only exception I may make to the list is Jasper's spot. His creator requested that I not use him, so I will likely just add an OC in to fill that spot and let the other tributes take care of him.

I did not originally plan to write multiple POVs- the plan for a long time was just to write about Chanel, hence this introduction- but as I started receiving your guys' tributes, I found I wanted to do more with your characters than just mention them, or have a few conversations. However, I'm still not sure how many tributes I will be writing for. I may just handpick a few and keep it simple for now, since this is my first crack at a SYOT and I don't want to get in over my head. The others will still be very present in the story; I may just not write from their perspectives. Some of them are amazing but just intimidating AF, and I honestly have no clue what to do with them. I want to try to write everyone, but we'll see if it works out.

Hmm, what else? Oh yeah. A HUGE thank you to everyone who supported this by sending me your forms, I probably wouldn't even have posted a chapter without you. Seriously, I tried to figure all these characters out just by their blog post, and once I started getting forms I realized I was dead wrong about pretty much everyone. So you helped me avoid a major crisis there.

Might do another blog, just for shits. Just to keep track of placements and things. Undecided.

Also, this is a working title and I'm considering switching it up. Let me know your thoughts on that, if you really care what this thing is called.

I'm still looking for Alexander, Madison, Gwen, Harper, Dane, Doran, Nico, Shane, Trina, Giles, and Quincy, so if anyone knows who made any of those characters, please shoot me a message so that I can get in contact with them! (especially Alex, since he's the only one out of the top 13 tributes whose form I don't have)

The basic premise, for the lone straggler who hasn't read Darkest Desires, yet somehow made it this far down the page: 30 seniors from a prestigious boarding school are kidnapped and forced to murder each other for a million dollar cash prize. Be the last one standing, and the money is yours. Fail to eliminate all of your competition within one week, and you are executed anyway.

Anyways… It's 4 a.m. I'm exhausted. Alice Kingsleighs insisted I post this now, so while I did proofread the whole thing, I'm still not sure this is even English.

Hope you enjoy, and shoot me a review if you can. Would love to hear your thoughts!

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is property of Suzanne Collins. The Hunting Club concept, the related characters, and this story's placements are JabberjayHeart's, and the tributes are yours. I only own the story I've imagined around them.