Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,43

to anyone again. Especially you.”

“It wasn’t just you kissing me,” I reminded him. “It was because you did it to make her jealous.”

“I know.”

I bit my lip for half a second before deciding my next words. They came out fast when I finally found the courage to speak them. “And you stole my first kiss.”

“First kiss?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Yep.”

“I’m an idiot,” he said. I studied his face, searching for any flaws in his apologetic expression. But I found none. He seemed genuinely guilty.

“Pick me up tomorrow?” I said, breaking the silence.

“Sure,” he said, but I was already opening the door and stepping back out into the school parking lot. I gave him one last small smile before turning and walking toward my Audi.

Unusually, my mother was nowhere to be seen when I arrived home. I hesitantly walked down the hall.

“Mom?” I asked, knocking my fist against the polished wood of her bedroom door. I heard a groan, giving me approval to enter.

She was lying in bed, her hand dramatically tossed over her forehead, her palm stuffed with tissues.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, dropping onto the corner of the bed.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her words slurred. I looked to her bedside table to find an empty bottle of champagne. “Chloe, your outfit is so cute. When did you start dressing so cute? Is it for the mayor’s son?”

“Mom,” I scolded. “Where’s Dad?”

My mother let out a rattled sigh. “He just left for New York to visit . . . a friend from high school. No, baseball. Actually, his cousin. He’s seeing his cousin.”

I let my lips sink into a straight line. Of course, this was because of Dad. Why didn’t he at least try to cover up his shady “business trips” better?

“Look, Mom, I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll come in here and we can put some movies on and go to sleep.”

“Like when you were a kid, sleeping in my bed because you were scared of the monsters next door.” This brought forth a drunken giggle. “Oh, the monsters. They were really the Barkers’ greyhound puppies next door.”

I smiled at the memory, thinking of how much my family life had crumbled since the days where my greatest fear stemmed from the pets next door. As I became older, I outgrew my rose-colored glasses. “I’ll be back in a second, Mom.”

“Don’t take too long,” she said. “I want to hear all about William Bishop when you’re back.”

Sixteen

Mon,

I can always go to my mom when I’m feeling down. I mean, I go to you about 90 percent of things, but there’s always that 10 percent that only she can understand.

Sometimes I thought you were jealous of that. It’s never been the same for you. Your mom would go ballistic if she knew half the things you keep from her. And add your dad, and the combined pressure . . . well, I know you’re too afraid to ever talk to them about anything more than the superficial.

You know I’ve always been here, right? I know it’s not the same. But it’s something.

Love always,

Chlo

WHEN NEITHER LOLA nor Sophie made any clear attempt to take me down for the rest of the week, I started to wonder if the stolen phone had really redeemed me in their eyes after the slip of information to Maddy. Things were starting to go to plan. William would pick me up in the morning while my mother peeked nosily through the curtains. Then we’d separate and go to class, only to meet again at lunchtime.

On Friday, the conversations at the table revolved around that night’s lacrosse game and heated debates on who was wearing what for the after-party at Maddy’s. William and Francis argued over who played better in attack, Sophie chiming in with her opinion occasionally, while Zach and Maddy gave a detailed analysis of the other team’s players. It sounded incredibly complicated.

And I stayed mostly silent. I smiled and tried to contribute at appropriate times, but I was mostly observing. Sophie keeps looking over her shoulder toward the doorway. Is she waiting for someone? Lola and Francis look a little more affectionate today. Did Zach just openly glance over his shoulder toward Max?

Like everyone else at school I was counting down the minutes until the bell rang, although unlike them, the start of the weekend meant my work was just beginning. When the afternoon finally arrived, I rushed home to change into what I was beginning to think of as my armor.