Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,86

with my own eyes that it’s true.”

“It’s not stupid. Everyone processes things differently, Chloe. It’s a big deal what you went through. Losing her, I mean.”

His words made me want to cry more, and I had to avert my eyes to the shag rug in the middle of the room. Though I’d broken from our hug, his hand still rested on my knee.

“I just need to talk about her,” I said. “I know I never wanted to before, but . . . I need to be sure before I do this. Take them down.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he said.

I took in a rattled breath.

“You said once that Monica changed Level One,” I said, my voice wavering slightly.

William’s jaw pulsed in concentration as he traced his finger along my kneecap “She did. Of course she did.”

I waited for him to gather his thoughts, silence stretching before he continued.

“I think everyone changed after that night,” he said, his gaze out of the window. “None of us wanted it to happen, Chloe. I don’t think we even knew that it could. It’s easy to feel untouchable—like nothing can hurt you—when you live life with everything at your fingertips. We made a pact . . . not to talk about the game.”

A pact. So they wouldn’t be held responsible.

“Maddy,” he said, his voice catching a little. “She hasn’t always been so reckless, it doesn’t make sense. You’d think she’d have toned it down. But it’s like she’s . . . taken Monica’s place. She’s self-destructing. I think she’s using it to mute something.”

“What do you think she’s trying to mute?”

“Guilt,” he said.

She was supposed to be Monica’s friend too.

“Zach’s always been a dick, but it’s worse now. He lashes out, even at us. Monica always liked him, they were good friends, and now it’s like he resents the world. He’s bitter, he has a lot of anger at himself for not doing something to stop her, and he takes that out on other people.”

I hated him. I hated him for being close to her, and still letting her die.

“And Sophie,” he continued. “Ever since Monica she’s become protective over Lola, even more than before. I’m sure you’ve seen it. She’s scared. I think everything she puts into her tough exterior takes a lot of effort. Beneath it she’s really nothing anymore. She used to be warm, you know? Warmer, at least. Now she’s Lola’s cold shadow.”

I thought back to the way she threatened me in Maddy’s bathroom. She was definitely protective over Lola. Had Monica made her feel threatened? Or brought her even closer to Lola with her death?

“Lola,” he said, his voice quieting. “She didn’t talk for a week. To anyone. Not even to me. She took a long time to come around, it really got to her. And then it was as if she snapped back to normal in an instant. She was loyal to Francis again. She just wiped her memory clean. Her way of coping, I guess.”

I was angry. It felt wrong that Lola could be tormented by my best friend. I was jealous even, that up until her last moments, Lola had known her better than I did. Than I ever would.

“Francis has gone off the rails. But he was heading there, anyway,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t think he’s made it to even half of his classes this semester. And it’s senior year.”

In a way, I felt a pang of satisfaction that they were at least suffering in some way. But they weren’t suffering for the same reason I was. I was suffering because I lost my only friend. They were suffering because they killed her.

“I keep thinking there was something I could have done,” William said. “I told you about the others, but she changed me too, Chlo. It destroys me to think about it. All the times I tried to help her—it was like she didn’t care. I had no idea this would happen, if I did . . .”

His fingers tightened over my leg as he spoke.

“But she still made those choices. She wasn’t always the victim. She was playing her own game too.”

She was. She was trying to control Lola. That’s the only reason she’d want footage of her and Francis. She used to joke about what it would be like to be queen of Arlington, to sit in Lola Davenport’s shoes. Maybe that was exactly her aim all along.

She’d pretend she didn’t know me in the halls,