Page 118 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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Sometimes in life, there’s the feeling that, at some point, I’ve entered the world at an angle. There’s a lurch, a paradigm shift. Like the world I’d always known is too far behind and no longer within reach, no longer understandable, not friendly or accessible, the way it had always seemed like it could be — for others, if not for me. Now it’s been repositioned, set on a skewed axis and dangling precariously, spinning until all its citizens, or at least the ones who pay attention, feel like they’re floating in a land that’s turned utterly topsy-turvy.

This is one of those moments.

“What?” I stare at Finlay, blinking, like perhaps I’d misheard. “They’re…siding… with the protesters?”

Even Danny, who has remained resolutely out of this debate, wears a faint expression of alarm.

Finlay’s brows furrow as he reads, in an exaggeratedly pompous tone, “…can confirm an incident has taken place, blah blah blah… As an inclusive venue, we welcome all points o’ view, particularly those from marginalized voices… blah blah blah… We support the decision for protesters tae express themselves and remain open-minded about their cause. We understand that despite its rich history, the name o’ oor theater in particular is considered offensive. Yadda yadda yadda… We thank the various community protest groups, including Antiro, who have reached oot tae us and, after a period o’ reflection and re-education, have decided the name will be changed tae something mair appropriate. We look forward tae welcoming ye tae future performances at the Theatre Republic.”

I goggle at Finlay. “Are they… what… are they serious? Have they lost their damnminds?”

Luke takes a small sip from his glass, wetting his lips, a bemused smile playing on his face like this is beyond parody. “Arts people are so open-minded their brains have fallen out,” he remarks bitterly, taking a large, cleansing swallow.

“This is absurd,” I say, numb with shock. I’d been there. It had been terrifying. I’d expected Antiro to be punished. Fines? Arrests? Surely something for disrupting the peace, for choosing to protest a private performance.

Now I have no idea what’s going on anymore; it’s as though a rug has been pulled from under me, the small certainties I’d believed in no longer quite so certain.

The theater bends over backward. The police don’t prosecute. And Antiro chalks up another public win.

I massage my temples. “This can’t be happening.”

“Antiro was a fringe cause until this year,” Luke murmurs, gazing into his glass as though it contains all the answers to his musings. “This time last year, we were laughing at them, at what they stood for. And now look. Every institution is captured – either silent or desperate to capitalize on their infamy. The protesters are wreaking havoc and there hasn’t been a single condemnation. Not one official has put their head above the parapet and said hold up a minute.”

Finlay toys with his fingers. “This isnae the way I’d have chosen any o’ this tae happen. But it’s no’ as bad as ye make oot.”

“Not as bad?” Luke asks sharply. “My family has received mass death threats. It’s practically being encouraged by the media. Wishing death to my family is now a motto, a meme, a sign that you’re supposedly on theright side of history. We’re being othered, witch-hunted, dehumanized. This is fascism, yeah?”

“No, it’s no’ fascism,” Finlay says patiently through a sigh, though he sounds tired, “because words actually mean things.”

“Except the wordroyal. Can’t use that anymore. Too offensive. It means nothing and everything to these fools.” Abruptly, Luke stands, peering through the thick drapes. “Do you realize they’re calling me ‘the Royal formerly known as Prince’? They think my life is a joke. I know you can’t be bothered to think beyond yourself, Fin, but imagine your entire sense of self, your entire history, being wiped out by people desperate to oppress you.”

“Aye. Aye, somehow I can imagine that,” Finlay says flatly. He watches Luke, who paces around the living room like a captured panther. “Yer mother could put a stop tae this. One statement and a’ this ends.”

When Luke glares daggers at Finlay, for some reason Finlay decides to continue. “She hasnae released a statement renouncin’ the throne. She’s puttin’ everything in jeopardy — the entire future o’ the country. No one’s seen her since the leak — is she even in the UK?”

At first, I don’t expect Luke to respond. But eventually he answers quietly, “I don’t know. I don’t know where she is. But if she isn’t here then she’d have gone to America.” He pauses and adds with acerbic pointedness, as though the UK doesn’t understand what it’s rebelling against, “They actuallylikeher over there.”

“If she’s no’ in the country, then she cannae dae her job,” Finlay states, matter-of-fact. “So she needs tae renounce the throne urgently. Though remind me,” he adds in parenthesis, with the undertone of spiteful pleasure that Finlay is never able to resist, never able to rein in when the opportunity’s offered, “whatwasher job again? Schmoozing wi’ the rich and famous? Being papped in next season’shaute couture?”

“Don’t.” Luke’s voice is ice.

Finlay’s shoulders sag, and he tosses his tablet across to the other side of the sofa, like even he’s now bored with the slab and its depressive updates. “Yer mother could put a stop tae this and she hasnae,” he summarizes with a shrug.

The curtain’s peeled back the tiniest fraction by Luke’s fingers, his eye peering into the golden lights of the city beyond.

“This isn’t the life I want,” Luke mutters, snapping the curtain closed as though it’s futile. “I want to go outside. I want to see things, do things. I can’t be stuck in here any longer — I’m going mad — but if I go outside, I’ll be killed.”

“Ye probably willnae be killed,” Finlay says pragmatically, which seems of scant comfort to Luke. “Tortured, maybe, for information on yer mother.”

“Right now I’m an enemy of the state. Will they hell go easy on me.”

“Will you be able to attend Lochkelvin?” I ask, suddenly struck by the idea. Lochkelvin without Luke seems wrong, a stark imbalance within the chiefs. The others brought the drama, but Luke’s physically towering presence calmed everyone the hell down.

Luke’s mouth purses in contemplation. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Anyone there could do me in.” He glances over at Finlay. “Sometimes I have half a mind thatyou’re…” He doesn’t finish but his meaning is clear from his dark gaze.

“We’re friends,” Finlay points out, looking deadly serious about it. “We’re chiefs,” he adds, like this trumps his previous statement.

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