I used my vantage point to spot Jack. It wasn’t difficult. He stood out with his lanky frame. When he saw me worming my way toward him, he shot out an arm and hung it around my shoulder. Leaning in close, he yelled in my ear over the heavy music. “Chlo! You disappeared!”
“I bumped into some friends!” I yelled back. “But I really have to head home now.”
He frowned, as if disappointed, and maneuvered us toward a quieter corner of the dance floor. “Where were you?”
“I just caught up with some friends,” I said nonchalantly. If William cooperated, Jack would know what I meant by that on Monday. For now, vague answers were all I could give.
“From Arlington?” he pushed. “I saw you just came from upstairs.”
I shrugged and yawned, feigning fatigue as I pulled out my phone to punch out a quick text to Mom. “Yeah, I just used the bathroom up there.”
Jack seemed to accept my explanation and launched into a play-by-play of how a guy from Richmond Prep had used one of the Rutherford’s rare antique vases to chug his beer. I apparently hadn’t missed much by going off on my little mission. Nothing that would have helped me, anyway.
Mom picked me up on the street, casting me excited glances from the driver’s seat the entire ride home. I figured she’d be excited by the prospect of taking me home, giving her some involvement in my night. The heavy pop music was still echoing in my ears as we finally pulled onto our street, my mind faraway, analyzing the events of the party.
I climbed to the second floor before shedding my heels, rubbing the soles of my feet in the hopes the pain wouldn’t carry through to the morning.
I’d really done it. I’d 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. He’s made reservations at La Lanterne. Did you know that’s where he took me for our first anniversary?”
“That’s great, Mom,” I said, trying to inject some happiness into my tone for her sake. My mother was great at deluding herself, pretending everything was fine when our family was completely dysfunctional. But even so, I wasn’t about to burst her bubble. Besides, if Dad really had gone to this effort, then maybe tonight would almost be nice.
“That computer will ruin your vision, you know.”
I rolled my eyes, glad I was facing away from her so I didn’t have to paint on a smile.
The golden dress Mom had tried to convince me to wear to the party was still hanging on the back of my door, and I pulled it on just for her. Part of me was stupidly clinging to the flimsy possibility of tonight turning into a pleasant family dinner. Her enthusiasm was contagious, even if I knew deep down it was misplaced.
I hadn’t seen Dad all week. He usually slept until I went to school and then spent his evenings at the office. Some nights, I was convinced he didn’t return home at all.
I watched Mom from the corner of my eye as she drove us in the Mercedes Dad had bought her only months before. She had aged gracefully, partly thanks to a few surgeries and miracle creams. People said I was a mirror image of her in her youth, with warm brown eyes and chestnut hair. I thought she was beautiful, the corners of her mouth worn with smile lines from her wide grin. But her confidence had taken a nosedive when Dad had decided he preferred women under thirty.