Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,85

later, her face was down, her shoulders loose and her fingertips floating. The camera cut out quickly, and I was left with an empty screen.

Thirty

Monica,

I first heard the news through Instagram.

Instagram, of all places.

The post had already been liked a thousand times. I’d woken up on that Sunday morning, the screen burning my half-asleep eyes. The first thing I did was open the app, hoping to devour the pictures from your birthday party the night before, eyeing you with scrutiny as you posed with the Level Ones.

But this post was different.

REST IN PEACE MONICA PENNINGTON. Taken too soon.

But you shouldn’t have been taken at all.

Love, Chloe

TEARS WERE RUNNING thickly down my cheeks. They were the kind of tears you couldn’t really feel. They just sort of gushed silently from your eyes.

I guess now my body decided I could cry.

In some ways, I felt as responsible as Level One. I’d been home that night, consumed by sadness at the first of our birthdays apart. If I’d gone, maybe things would be different. Maybe I’d have been able to talk sense into her—to do something—anything.

I hated them for taking my best friend from me when I couldn’t stop them. I was powerless back then, but not anymore. Not now.

I’d heard the stories that had trickled down over the following days, that it had been a game initiated by Level One. It had fueled the rage that started my plan for revenge.

Now that I’d started crying, I couldn’t stop. I crawled into a ball beneath my covers, the tears soaking my pillow and my breathing turning into sobs.

The therapist my mom had forced me to see had said so many times that I needed to accept what happened was nobody’s responsibility. I needed to accept that she’d made a bad decision, and forgive her for it, but how could I when it was all their fault?

In that moment, the revelation that I had damning footage was nothing compared to the devastation flooding through me. Not only had I refused to accept that Monica had caused her own death, I’d refused to accept she was dead at all. To me, she was still there, on the other side of the ink as I wrote to her. Reachable by just a letter.

I wiped my nose on the back of my sweater sleeve and reached for my phone. I couldn’t trust my voice, so I typed out a message, my vision blurred. William was right. I didn’t want to be alone.

Can I come over?

Almost immediately my phone dinged with his response.

My parents are touring for dad’s campaign atm, so yeah, okay.

I crept downstairs after changing into jeans and a shirt.

“I need to grab notes from my friend for the classes I missed,” I told my mother, grabbing my keys from the counter. I wondered if she’d detect the tears in my voice, but if she did she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Okay, honey. Don’t be out too late.”

He was waiting for me, sitting on the front steps, wearing sweats and a white cotton shirt. I tried my best to inhale deeply and reset my breathing, but my exhale still came out shaky.

“Hey, Whittaker,” William said. His tone was sad. He must have known.

I stepped out of the car. I’d brought my laptop and I hugged it tightly to my chest.

“Here, come inside.”

William led me into the living room. The ceiling was high, a modern chandelier low over the coffee table. I perched on the edge of a sofa.

“What did you see?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He searched my face, his eyes filled with concern, before pulling me into a hug.

“It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. She was gone. The tears erupted again, overflowing onto his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said through a sob. I was so embarrassed. This new Chloe was supposed to be a strong Level One girl. They weren’t supposed to show weakness.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply. “I should be the one apologizing . . . I should have done something. I’ll never stop feeling guilty for that night.”

I straightened and wiped my eyes. Feeling his gaze on me made me insecure. I shouldn’t care what he thought of me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what he was seeing. Dark circles, puffy eyes, and bare skin.

“I just . . . it was so easy to pretend she wasn’t gone,” I said. “It’s so stupid, but I feel like that’s changed. I’d heard all the stories but now I’ve seen