Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,52

make the system stick. You can’t pretend you don’t notice that.”

William sighed. “Yeah, I can see that. But we wouldn’t be where we are if people weren’t obsessed with the idea of climbing the . . . hierarchy.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Though God knows why anybody is.”

“You are.”

“That’s for a different reason, though,” I reminded him. “Monica.”

He looked somber as he digested my words. Then he put an arm on the back of my seat to regard me more intently. “And how close are you?”

I looked at him with confusion.

“To taking down Level One.”

His use of the term made me shudder. It was strange to hear it voiced aloud by anyone other than Monica or Jack. I blinked in frustration, the pressure of my task heavy on my shoulders.

“I need more evidence,” I said.

Then I remembered. After the patchy memory of the girls’ drinking game, I’d forgotten the most powerful resource of all. Photographs.

“Can you tell me about Desmond?” I asked suddenly.

“Desmond?” Will’s brows furrowed for a fraction of a second before it dawned on him. “Oh, the photographer?”

“Yeah,” I said. “There really is a private Level One photographer? I thought it was just a rumor.”

William looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face?” I asked.

“Because it’s a long shot,” William said, letting out a rattled breath and leaning back in his seat.

I watched as students milled around their cars, dawdling before class and oblivious to me pumping William for information to destroy their hierarchy system.

“Desmond went to Richmond Prep,” he continued. “He wants to be a paparazzi when he’s older. The girls love him. He lives with two other guys in an apartment on the edge of Wandemore Valley. Rumor has it he was kicked out after he caught a snapshot of two teachers having an affair.”

“Wow,” I said, not expecting him to be so forthcoming with details. “You seem to know a lot.”

“I’m not really a big fan of the guy,” he admitted. “But the group has dragged me to a party or two he’s thrown. He gets his income from recording and taking pictures at parties, he probably has hours and hours of footage. Probably footage that could get a lot of people in trouble.”

“And possibly footage of Monica.”

William stretched, deep in thought. “The night Monica . . . well, it’s hard for me to remember. It’s hazy because I was pretty drunk. I think he was there. I mean, I’m sure Monica would have wanted him there. It was her birthday party, after all.”

My heart was beating rapidly with a newfound excitement. It flooded me with so much adrenaline that I needed to dig my fingers into the leather to stop from demanding he turn the car around and take me to Desmond’s house right that second. I needed to be careful and thorough. I needed to meet Desmond.

“Class?” William asked when I didn’t reply.

Right. With dread, I realized we’d need to head in now if we didn’t want to be late. I nodded and gave a thankful smile as we exited his car.

At school, the student body was bubbling with speculation. It was as if everywhere I went, murmurs and curious looks followed. Apparently, Sophie’s photo of me on Friday night had spread fast.

“I heard she’s actually addicted to drugs, and Will’s helping her through it,” one girl whispered loudly to her friend behind me at my locker. I narrowed my eyes, wondering how they’d jumped straight to drugs.

For the first time, Level One was now targeting me. I’d watched them easily take down Stephanie over the period of a few days, and Monica after toying with her for a few months. How long would it take, to finally cross them off my list?

I slammed my locker shut. Maybe it was time to actually do something.

I was making my way to my desk when someone fell into step with me. “Chloe, hi!”

“Hi, Claire,” I said a little cautiously as she took the seat beside me.

“Did you have a good weekend?” she asked.

“It was okay,” I said, trying to decipher any sort of emotion she could be feeling. Was she pissed with me? I couldn’t tell. “How was yours?”

She shrugged. “Pretty good.”

“Good?” I pressed.

Claire sighed. “Look, Chloe, it’s totally fine, but you should have just said the party on Friday was exclusive.”

“I didn’t realize,” I told her. I shouldn’t have felt guilty—I shouldn’t have invited her in the first place. It