Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,66

keep my cool as she sauntered through the hall, her eyes training lazily on the ogling students before they found their way to me.

“Chloe,” she said, as if she were surprised that she’d made her way directly into my path. When she spoke, her voice was injected with a sickly sweet dose of false friendliness. “I hope things are okay between us with everything going on. I mean, boys will be boys, right?”

“Right,” I said, my tone too high as I tried to go along with whatever she was playing at. Boys will be boys, what bullshit.

Her voice dropped even lower. “I can’t help that they’re fighting over me.”

I narrowed my eyes. Not even Sophie and Maddy were in earshot to hear that one. There were so many retorts I wanted to hurl at her perfectly smug face, preferably ones that the whole school would hear. But I couldn’t waste my progress on pettiness. There was a bigger picture here.

“Must be hard being Lola Davenport,” I replied sarcastically, making my way past her.

She seemed disappointed that I hadn’t taken the bait. That was clear when she called out after me, her voice laced with venom. “See you at lunch, Chloe!”

I headed to my next class early, suddenly feeling dirty from the pairs of eyes that clung to me. Everyone was talking about the fight. The stories about it had become so exaggerated that some people were saying Francis was in a coma and William was being held in jail.

I wasn’t the only one early to class, though. “Hi, Jack.”

Jack looked up from the textbook he was reading and smiled, acting as if he hadn’t been avoiding me for the last week. I still hadn’t managed to catch him on his own since the party. “Hey, Chloe.”

“How are you doing?” I asked. I wished I could reassure him by telling him I was going to take them down, that Level One would pay for being mean to him and everyone else.

“Fine. Busy with school,” he said with a shrug, his brown eyes lingering on the floor. “You know, sometimes I mistake you for Monica, sitting with them.”

I swallowed. I remembered the days where Monica would sit between Lola and Sophie, laughing at freshmen as they pooled into the cafeteria. It stung to think Jack saw me as just the same. “I’m sorry about the party.”

“So Claire said,” he mused. “It was shitty, but it’s in the past. I just want to be done with it.”

I nodded, but I could tell things weren’t quite resolved.

By lunch, my stomach was in knots. Between being nervous for the outcome of Will’s meeting with the principal and the prospect of joining Level One without him by my side, I was dreading entering the cafeteria. And so I dodged it, making a beeline for the quad, sitting beneath a tree and pulling out my phone.

I began my usual routine, scrolling through Instagram, checking for Facebook updates and viewing the Snapchat map. That’s when I noticed something I’d missed this morning. An account leaving a comment on Sophie’s latest selfie—one taken with an angel filter and a wide smile.

Click here for lols

I clicked the username, @jackoffjack.

The profile was filled with screenshots and pictures. I scrolled back to the first one, posted a week ago. The timestamp told me it was from messages sent in freshman year.

Love you, Soph. I know we’ve only known each other a week, but I know this is it. I think we’re meant 2 be.—9:12am

U don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone.—9:46pm

See u at school tomorrow xx.—9:53pm

All were from Jack Thomas.

I looked at the next one. He’d sent a picture, a mirror selfie with his shirt off. Prepuberty Jack was scrawny, ribs showing as he bit his lip.

Do u want to see more?—10:20

Ur so pretty. Want u so bad—10:26

I couldn’t believe it. How could Jack have ever thought it was a good idea to send Sophie these messages? And on closer examination, it seemed like Sophie’s responses had been cleverly deleted. I could have bet my entire family’s fortune that it was her who set up this account.

Each photo contained a plethora of comments and likes, some handles I recognized as people from Arlington, some even from Richmond Prep. Although there were one or two standing up for him, at least 90 percent were making a mockery of his extreme freshman crush.

And all of this, I was sure, was because of me. I’d invited him to that party, and Sophie had seen