Clique Bait - Ann Valett Page 0,89

But the contents would still be enough to send ripples around Arlington. It was taking sibling rivalry to a new level.

And then there was a compilation of videos from different parties scattered throughout the last twelve months.

The truth-or-dares. Kept behind closed doors, rituals performed within Level One. Whispers had trickled around the school of their crazy antics, but nobody really believed them. Nobody had any evidence, after all.

Lola’s cards. Lola giving Francis a lap dance in front of the others, Maddy making out with a sophomore girl, Sophie locking a freshman in a basement. The girls making a Level Two girl strip with the threat of shaving her head. A clip of Francis, Lola, and Sophie in Francis’s new Ferrari—Desmond filming from the back seat—as they drifted around the corners of suburban streets, a bottle of vodka passed between them every time they veered. Sophie strutting across a tabletop with cash stuffed in her underwear and navy-and-gold pom-poms in her hands.

Francis cheating with an unknown girl—her face and red hair censored to make her anonymous.

Sophie and Mr. Hammond making out in the empty classroom.

And the final scene. Level One gathered in Monica’s bedroom, about to give the orders that would end her life.

This is your royalty.

The video finished with an eerie black screen.

“Try and concentrate today, Chloe,” my mom said, her voice gravelly with concern, shaking me from my thoughts. “I’m serious. No boys or chitchat about parties. Just try and catch up on work, okay?”

“I will, Mom,” I lied. Schoolwork seemed so distant, especially when I was about to take down the popular clique. Who knows what they would do once this was unleashed.

“I’ll check in with your teachers after school,” she warned, reaching forward to pat my knee. “We’re going to fix this, okay? I’m here for you.”

I looked at her, her unconditional love for me apparent on her face, and for a moment, I believed I could do this. That things would be right. “Okay.”

I took my first step through the halls of Arlington, wearing my favorite shade of cherry lipstick, the one that reminded me of Monica. Now my smirk took a little more effort, my perfected armor worn with grief. But I was ready.

I opened my locker as if it were a normal school day, shoving the flash drive safely behind the door. I needed to wait until lunch, when everyone would be together and I could be sure to gain the attention of every single student.

When I turned around, I caught sight of Maddy Danton, who was looking past me with horror. My confidence faltered at her expression.

I turned to see who she was looking at.

For the first time, Lola Davenport didn’t have anyone by her side. She was wearing not a trace of makeup, clear by the circles under her eyes and the lack of her signature lipstick. She looked stressed. Worried.

And then I saw why.

There was something glinting in her hand, a golden sparkle. The hairpin. Monica’s hairpin.

My hands instinctively flew to my hair. How could I have been so stupid? It must have fallen out at Desmond’s house—my adrenaline preventing me from even noticing—and somehow it had ended up in the hands of Lola Davenport.

Which meant she knew.

“Chloe,” she said, her tone sharp, as if she wanted to waste no time. Her dark eyes stared me down. “I can’t let you do this.”

Thirty-Two

Monica,

We lit candles for you and set up a shrine in the halls. The teachers put up posters telling us not to drink. The school hosted assemblies. All Band-Aids to the bigger problem: their students have too much power. An imbalance of it, where those with less can be exploited and manipulated until there is nothing left.

Even now, I guess I can’t blame the school. After all, it’s us—the students—who crave the power. Us who laughed and made sexist slurs as Maddy Danton was publicly embarrassed, cheered when Lola and Sophie sent Stephanie Griffith walking out of the cafeteria in her underwear. And that’s only in the past few weeks.

Something needs to change, Mon. And I’m going to make it.

This is for you. All of it.

Love, Chloe

“PLEASE—JUST—TALK with me,” Lola continued when I didn’t move. Her gaze was starting to grow frantic and her fingers wrung the corner of her untucked blouse. Was she nervous?

My lips opened and closed, no words escaping. I was so close to revenge I could taste it—so close to ruining her just like she ruined Monica. I didn’t need to listen to Lola Davenport