confronted William Bishop. And God, it’d been harder than I thought. I could only hope he’d come up with something that worked for both of us. I hated relying on other people.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I slipped into my silky pajamas, but my night wasn’t over yet.
I pulled my laptop from my desk and climbed into bed before flipping it open and typing in the multiple passwords I’d secured it with. While I waited for it to unlock, my eyes wandered toward the list’s hiding place. One step at a time.
I smiled at the desktop background of me and Monica on the Ferris wheel at Santa Monica Pier last summer, but I didn’t let the memories distract me for now. I logged on to social media and began noting tonight’s interactions on the digital flowchart I’d created. It was important to track the Level Ones online. It was almost as significant as their real-life activity.
For example, after noting Sophie’s sudden lack of flirtatious likes and comments, I suspected she was sneaking around with someone. Sophie didn’t usually keep her own romantic encounters hidden within her treasure trove of secrets, so her hiding it was a big deal. If I could work it out, I would have the first weapon to bring her down.
I sighed, scrolling through their feeds. It was like they were obsessed with making people covet their lives. Once, Monica had even told me that they’d hired their own photographer to follow them around at parties, but all the research I’d done into it had led to dead ends. It was just another rumor.
“Soon I’ll make things right, Mon,” I whispered. “I haven’t forgotten what they did.”
Three
Mon,
Do you remember your first Level One party? I do. I helped you try on a gazillion outfits just for you to choose the first, the bright blue jumpsuit. You always loved bright colors, while I was all for textures. You invited me along, but of course I refused. I loved you, but I didn’t love high school parties. At least not back then.
Now I wish I’d gone anyway. Just so it didn’t come to this.
Love, Chloe
IT WAS ONE of the first weeks of freshman year, our shirts freshly ironed and our summer tans fading, when Francis Rutherford set his eyes on Lola Davenport.
The Rutherford siblings—a pair in which both twins were the evil one—with their ice-blond hair, chilling stares, and insane trust funds, were destined to be popular.
But even they couldn’t compete with Lola Davenport, her daddy heir to an American cosmetics brand and her mom, a Vietnamese industrial conglomerate. The Davenport name alone was worth more than Level One’s wealth combined. And most important, they were one of the most crucial investors to the Rutherfords’ international real estate company.
Whether it was that or Lola’s beauty that caught Francis’s attention, I don’t know. I just remember him taking her hand in his and asking her to be his girlfriend in front of the whole freshman class. It was cheesy, awkward, and it drew the whole school’s interest. Francis was charming. A heartthrob.
She said no.
After that, flowers started showing up everywhere, scattered around the campus, sitting on Arlington’s statues, poked into the vents of lockers, all labeled with her name.
And then, on the last day of the week, Francis arrived with the biggest bouquet I’d ever seen.
She said yes after that.
Their friends converged and others joined, the power couple the founders of a new clique. That was the beginning of Level One.
I was thinking of this—of how a group so popular and powerful grew out of such a cheesy gesture—as I killed time. Saturday was passing at a sluggish pace that left my skin crawling. I hated waiting for William to text. I wasn’t used to depending on people, especially people I didn’t trust. What could he be doing? Maybe finding a way out of my leverage.
With nothing to do but wait, I spent the afternoon finishing homework and scrolling through photos from the night before. It didn’t feel productive, though. My mind was busy running around in paranoid circles. If William knew how much keeping me in the dark was making me squirm, he’d leave me hanging forever.
I’d just rechecked all of William’s social media accounts for the hundredth time when my mom came knocking on the door to announce we were going for dinner. She was already dolled up, cooing in excitement and completely oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm.
“Your father sounded really excited on the phone.