Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,83

that he would hide it. The thought of him deleting it brought a wave of fear, until I came across an unusual folder name at the bottom. Unlike the others, it wasn’t labeled with an organized date.

Escarlate. In one quick sweep, I highlighted the title and entered it into Google Translate. Scarlet.

Like Monica’s hair.

My heart froze, cloaking in a sheet of burning ice. Though I was numb with anticipation, my fingers somehow managed to double click.

The folder revealed thirty or so media files, the thumbnails making it look as if they’d all been taken in the same place. The same night. Darkness, green and purple films of light.

With bated breath I highlighted them, my stomach squirming with a knot so tight I thought I was going to be sick.

I pressed play.

Twenty-Nine

Monica,

Happy birthday. I never actually said that to you. I was too angry. Of course, I never made it to your party either. I wish I had. Maybe things would have been different.

I know you would have looked beautiful, and everyone’s eyes would have been on you. They always were on you, anyway.

That’s probably why Level One hated you.

Love, Chloe

“HEY, SCARLET,” I heard from behind the camera.

Monica twirled for Desmond, and for a moment, with her eyes staring directly down the lens and her red hair flowing in spirals down her back, it felt real. It felt like she was grinning at me, like she was really here.

It was her birthday party. Her parents had abandoned her family mansion for their beach house in Miami so she could host her own party, inviting only the most popular of Arlington’s student body.

At that point, we hadn’t spoken in weeks. But I still found the invite in my locker that afternoon, as if I were an afterthought.

“Are you going to get ready for Mon’s party?” my mom had asked, having seen the invitation discarded in the trash.

“I can’t,” I’d said. There’d been a lump in my throat. I’d cried a lot back then, mostly in secret. I felt so lonely once she started hanging with them, maybe even lonelier than after she’d left.

Of course I’d thought about going. But I knew what it’d be like. Monica would have invited me out of guilt, and I’d stand by the sidelines watching as she tried harder and harder to be a Level One.

Desmond’s camera followed her around as she embraced Lola and Sophie. I saw Monica pause to whisper something in their ears, but all the audio registered was some loud pop song blaring from the speakers she’d set up in the living room.

I skipped through the first few clips, the ones of Monica posing and dancing with people as they arrived. It made a painful knot grow in my stomach. One of those people could have been me. Should have been me.

One clip stood out to me, a black thumbnail among the colorful lights.

The first few seconds, the screen was dark. I could hear distant music and Desmond’s breathing; he must have been outside somewhere. Then figures appeared, silhouetted a few yards away. Desmond was adjusting the camera, bringing them in and out of focus, until stopping on the perfect setting. I could clearly see who it was.

“Being difficult?” Francis’s whisper barely registered. I had to turn up the volume, so the background noise was blaring through my headphones.

“You wish,” Monica said back. “You love it when I’m difficult.”

“Actually, it frustrates me,” he said roughly. “A lot.”

“Then show it,” she challenged.

“Out here?” he asked, gesturing to the house. “It’s almost like you want to rub it in my girlfriend’s face.”

“Who cares,” Monica said dryly. The tone of her voice was so familiar it made a shiver run down my spine. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Careful,” he cooed, leaning in so close that his chest pressed against hers, her back against the hedge framing her backyard.

“Careful,” she mimicked. “If you love her so much, then why do you want me so badly?”

“We all have our weaknesses.”

And then he kissed her.

I was ready to exit the clip, bile rising to my mouth, when there was the sound of a branch snapping and Francis’s face flipped toward the camera.

“Desmond, I’m going to kill you!” he said with fury.

“Wow, sorry, man,” Desmond said from behind the camera as he straightened, the lens pointing toward the ground. “I honestly didn’t know it was you—I saw the birthday girl and thought it would be—”

And then the camera was snatched from his hand and thrown to the