Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,2

Angeles, sabotaged his opposition’s campaign by paying off his rival’s assistant, quite possibly the sole reason he wound up in power to begin with. William’s dad was a fraud. My leverage.

“Hey, Jack?” I asked, tearing my gaze from Bishop. “Is there anything on this weekend?”

The most valuable thing about Jack was that he was Level Two through and through. His life revolved around Level One and their social calendar.

“The twins are having a party on Friday since everyone’s finally back in town,” he said.

“Oh, really?” I raised a brow nonchalantly.

“Are you going to come?” Jack asked, surprised.

“Maybe.”

“You totally should. It’s senior year. You have to start being a part of these things, you know?”

There was no way I could miss an opportunity. I needed to confront William Bishop on his own, and everyone knew it wasn’t difficult to get a Level One boy alone at parties.

William was last on my list. In fact, I’d debated for a while whether to add him at all. Even though he was just another spoiled rich boy who ruled the school, he was probably the only one of them who was kind to Monica.

But even then, his kindness wasn’t enough to stop what they did. I’d never tried blackmail before, but there was a first time for everything.

“You’re right,” I said to Jack. “I’ll definitely make an appearance.”

Stage Two

Blackmail

Two

Dear Monica,

You’d think Arlington would be a little darker without its brightest star.

Okay, that was lame. I know. But point is, it isn’t. Nothing’s really changed since you left.

It’s like the start of sophomore year, when you dyed the bottom of your hair neon pink, expecting everyone to be in awe. I’ve always envied your fearless style. But nobody seemed to care. It’s like nobody here notices you unless you’re in with Lola Davenport.

Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being invisible sometimes. It makes it easier to spy.

Love, Chloe

I FOLDED UP the patterned paper, my fingernails gliding against its edges. I promised her I’d write every day I could. All these letters would drive her crazy, but she should have been here anyway.

My eyes felt like they weighed a ton beneath the charcoal that coated them. It had cost me more than I was willing to admit to stock up my makeup collection, and now, wearing more makeup than I had in my entire life, I started to question whether it was worth it. But if I wanted to take down the Level Ones, I was going to have to blend in with them first.

After a week of eating my lunch with Jack and playing Level Two with his table of friends, it was finally Friday, the night of the Rutherfords’ start-of-semester party. Finally time to go past simply observing the Level Ones and make my first move.

It had taken hours just to shower and primp. My mother, ecstatic that I had the so-called privilege of attending a high school party, had stuck her head into my room at every opportunity, offering me tips and motherly reminders like Don’t take drinks from strangers!

I loved her deeply, really, but my mother could be too enthusiastic for her own good. And I meant enthusiastic about everything. I guess it would take an optimist to stay with my dad.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try the golden dress we picked out at the start of summer?” she asked, her chestnut locks bouncing against her shoulders as she darted into my room again.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied in a clipped tone. I knew the more reasons I offered for why I didn’t want to wear the dress, the more reasons she’d provide for wearing it. It was gorgeous, I’d give her that, with full sleeves and a skirt that fluttered around my knees, but it’d be social blasphemy to wear something last season. The Level Ones would pick it up in an instant.

Instead I was wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt with a patterned skirt and strappy heels, something that felt so unfamiliar it made me uneasy. My wardrobe before this summer was filled with denim jackets and simple silhouettes. I was never attracted to feminine florals or frills like the Level Ones. Though I was only showing a portion of my torso, combined with the amount of my legs visible, I felt exposed.

“Really, this is a pretty casual party. Just trust me,” I reasoned. Mom’s weak spot was the words just trust me. My dad used them on her all the time.

“Well, make sure you’re not out too late. And text me.