‘Bold, thrilling and wickedly addictive. Keep Your Friends Close will be your next obsession.’
KAREN M. McMANUS, author of One of Us is Lying
‘An intricately crafted YA thriller that I cannot wait to read again.’
BILL WOOD, author of Let’s Split Up
‘A taut and twisty read that takes no prisoners. This captivatingly murderous book will keep you up all night and leave you unsure who you can trust.’
KATHRYN FOXFIELD, author of Good Girls Die First
‘Twists, turns and heart-stopping tension, Cynthia Murphy is a thriller author at the top of her game.’
BENJAMIN DEAN, author of How to Die Famous
‘Chloe Roberts is an ambitious, brilliantly flawed protagonist who fights her way out of the darkest places.’
SUE WALLMAN, author of I Know You Did It
‘Delicious 90s Scream vibes, a vicious teen secret society and bodies piling up around every corner . . . This is Cynthia Murphy at her absolute best.’
KAT ELLIS, author of Harrow LaKe
‘Dark, viciously fun and dangerously addictive. Cynthia Murphy writes academia like it’s a blood sport – get ready to play.’
JOSH SILVER, author of HappyHead
‘Mean Girls meets The Secret History. The perfect blend of 90s nostalgia and twisty, compelling murder mystery.’
LAURA WOOD, author of The Agency for Scandal
‘An engrossing and cut-throat thriller where mean-girl antics, shifting alliances and a growing web of secrets keep the tension sky-high. Twisty and unputdownable.’
CHANNELLE DESAMOURS, author of Needy Little Things
‘A white-knuckled, stomach-clenching, unputdownable thriller with characters you love to hate. The twists kept me on the edge of my seat!’
J. L. SIMMONDS, author of Run Away With Me
‘Twisty, atmospheric and great fun –Cynthia Murphy has done it again!’
AMY McCAW, author of Mina and the Undead
‘Murder is on the timetable at Morton Academy in this twisty tale of murderous backstabbing and secret societies.’
AMY GOLDSMITH, author of Those We Drown
‘The UK’s No. 1 Scream Queen has done it again! Keep Your Friends Close is a twisty, scalpel-crafted novel, paced like a bullet train and packed with twists.’
MELINDA SALISBURY, author of The Sin Eater’s Daughter
‘Nostalgic, dark and witty, this book will keep readers up way past bedtime, until they reach the very last page.’
MELISSA WELLIVER, author of My Love Life and the Apocalypse
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For Luke, for everything.
Friday 9 July 1999
What a bitch.
I clap politely as my very best friend at Morton Academy takes her place beside me on the stage. I’m only joining the applause to stop myself slapping the Head Girl badge out of her cheating little hands, because that won’t get me anywhere, will it?
No.
Instead, I do what I always force myself to do. I unclench my jaw, paint on a practised smile and pretend that everything is fine.
Just fine.
I’ll get over it; I always do. Sure, my new role as Deputy Head isn’t quite the same as taking the top spot, but it’s almost as good. It doesn’t matter that I was a shoo-in, that I’d already
decided how to decorate the en-suite bedroom that comes with the title. No, none of that is important any more. What I have to do now is get on with things. Pretend her betrayal doesn’t bother me. I have a whole summer to go home and cool off, and when we come back in September there will only be two things I have to do.
The first will be getting through our final year in one piece. The second? I lock eyes with my bestie. The little black badge twinkles merrily on her lapel and I fight the urge to strangle her.
The second thing will be making sure I don’t murder Nikhita Patel.
CHAPTER ONE
Sunday 5 September 1999
I manage to reverse park on my third attempt, which isn’t bad going considering it’s the first time I’ve ever done it outside of driving lessons. It didn’t even come up in my test this summer. I turn the engine off and take a deep breath, closing my eyes to avoid looking towards the tall hedges that separate the car park from the main school building.
‘You can do this,’ I whisper as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I open my eyes, do a quick make-up check in the rear-view mirror and retrieve my bag from the passenger seat. I dig out the little pink Nokia and switch it on, admiring the glittery cover. It was a gift from Mum – a back-to-school present that I know she can’t afford – so I do as I promised and type out a text message to let her know I’ve arrived safely. When she presented me with the phone last night, I was going to argue
that I could just call her from the school payphone, but the proud look on her face stopped me in my tracks.
‘Chloe?’ My stomach flips as a familiar voice drifts in through the open window.
‘Theo?’
Oh my god, he looks good, all floppy brown hair and big blue eyes. I didn’t expect him to meet me as soon as I arrived. We agreed to chat at some point today, but we’ve barely spoken all summer, so I just assumed I’d bump into him at the pyjama party tonight. I smooth out my long brown hair and duck my head through the window.
‘Hi! One sec, OK?’ I wind the lever to close the window and then open the door, pulling my keys from the ignition. ‘How long have you been back?’ I ask as I climb out, discreetly brushing crumbs from my lap. It was a long drive and lunch had been eaten on the go from a McDonald’s drive-thru. Having my own car is amazing.
‘A few hours. Got here around midday. It’s good to see you,’ he says, holding his arms out for a hug.
I hesitate, but relief draws me to his broad frame. We’re still a couple then. I mean, we didn’t break up last term or anything, but I’ve been stressing about our relationship all summer. Phone calls were scarce between me having to pull double shifts to pay for my driving lessons and Theo’s stint working for Eurocamp in Italy. We talked as much as we could, but one of us was always in a rush.
‘I missed you,’ I mumble into his neck, the delight of seeing him outweighing my worry at being back after the
whole Head Girl thing. Theo isn’t the only person I haven’t spoken to this summer. I pull back to get a good look at him. His hair is a little longer, curtains now framing his face, but it suits him, and his white skin has the remnants of a summer tan. I smile up at him as he brushes my hair behind one ear.
‘Is that . . . lettuce?’ He has a bright-green shred from my Big Mac between his fingers. Theo hates junk food.
‘I had the window down,’ I explain, trying not to sound too guilty. ‘Must be a leaf or something.’
‘Right.’ We stare at each other for a second. ‘Are your bags in the car? Do you need a hand?’
I really hope I’ve hidden the takeout bag under my seat. ‘Oh, yeah, please.’ Why does it suddenly feel awkward between us? I unlock the boot and pull out a suitcase as Theo studies my little red Fiesta. ‘What do you think? I know it’s not exactly a Porsche, but it gets me around and it was cheap so –’
‘No, it’s cool,’ he interrupts, taking the case from me and setting it down on the ground. ‘Listen, Chloe, there was a reason I wanted to see you as soon as you got here.’
‘Oh?’ I try to keep my voice light as I pretend to search for something in the boot, but I feel that horrible little flip in my stomach, warning me something is wrong.
‘Yeah. Come here.’ Theo gently takes hold of my hands and pulls me round to face him. His big blue eyes are earnest as he lets out a sigh. ‘I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Clo.’
‘What way?’ I say it as innocently as I can muster, but I’m not daft. I know what’s coming.
‘You must feel it too. We drifted apart this summer . . .’ My ears start to ring as Theo launches into his break-up speech. What an idiot. We drifted apart ? He means we hardly spoke on the phone and he didn’t reply to any of my letters until last week. Does he think I’m stupid? I knew this was coming, but when I saw him waiting for me, I thought maybe there was still a chance, that I’d been reading too much into the lack of contact. I didn’t think he’d break up with me as soon as I got out of the bloody car. Typical Theo – he never wants to make a scene. Well, I’ll make a scene for him. I’ll scream right in his pretty face and drag my fingernails down his cheeks and tell everyone exactly what he tried to get me to do at the end-of-year party in July and . . . ‘– focus on our studies. I think some time apart will be really good for both of us.’
‘Good for both of us?’ I echo, realizing I haven’t heard a word Theo’s said. I exhale, my revenge fantasies fading as the reality of what’s happening overrides the anger, threatening to wind me like a punch to the gut.
‘I knew you’d understand. I mean, I’m Head Boy, and you’re . . . deputy. We’re under a lot of pressure to succeed this year, especially now we’re in Jewel and Bone. We need to focus.’ He smiles gently, but I heard that pause. So that’s the reason for all this. I’m not good enough for Theo any more. I want to rip the wing mirrors off my car and beat him over the head with them. I want to drive my knee between his legs so hard that . . . ‘I’m so glad you’re cool with this, Clo.’
‘Of course,’ I say, taking my hands from his and painting
an agreeable look on my face. Don’t show him you’re upset. Keep the peace; you know the drill. ‘You’re so sensible.’
‘We can still be friends, right? I’d hate to lose you.’
Oh, please.
‘Of course we’re still friends,’ I say in agreement, smiling as I heave my other case out of the boot. What a prick.
‘You’re the best.’ Theo grins at me and gestures to the car. ‘This really is cool. Maybe we can take a drive to Prescott when we get some time off. You know, as mates.’
‘Sure.’ I really want to tell him to fuck off, but I have two massive suitcases and I don’t want to make two trips up to the main building if I can avoid it.
‘Great.’ Theo pretends to pat his curtains so he can check his watch. ‘Sorry, I’m late to meet the footie lads. You’ll be OK, right?’ He’s already walking away as he says it.
‘Right,’ I say, grinding the word out through clenched teeth.
‘See you later, Clo,’ he calls over his shoulder. I stifle the urge to give him the finger and stare after him instead, trying not to cry. Just like that, I’m forgotten.
Theo disappears beyond the hedges, leaving me with my two huge bags, a bruised ego and the start of a tension headache.
The car park is situated to the side of the main school building, so when I emerge on to the grounds of Morton
House properly, I have to drag my cases along a colonnade that stretches past the front of the school. The walkway provides some much-needed shade from the blazing afternoon sun as I pass the library, beads of sweat already threatening to ruin my make-up.
‘May I, Miss Roberts?’ I glance up in relief as the groundskeeper and general handyman approaches me from his perch at the main doors and holds his hands out for my bags.
‘Yes, thanks, Mr Loomis.’
I let him carry them up to the entrance and step out from under the elegant columns and on to the driveway, wrapping my hair round one hand as I attempt to create a breeze on the nape of my neck with the other. I cross the gravel to the lawn and tell myself I’m simply taking a second to enjoy being back at school, not putting off the start of a new year. I let my hair drop and turn my face up to the sun, forcing my shoulders to relax even though I’m almost melting. I can practically feel my freckles multiplying as I squint through the sunshine at the country’s most prestigious sixth-form college looming in front of me.
No, looming is the wrong word. It’s too ominous-sounding for Morton Academy, the place that has felt like home since the moment I arrived. The sheer scale of the building is overwhelming though, especially at first glance. There are four floors of honey-coloured stone supported by ranks of Greekinspired columns, an impressive entryway and a façade that is dotted with what seem to be a million windows. It always
amazes me that this place was a family home once, back in the early nineteenth century. According to the keystone above the main doors, the house was built in 1838 for the incredibly rich Morton family, who owned the majority of the land in the area. That was until confirmed bachelor Patrick Morton inherited it at the turn of the century and decided that instead of letting a distant relative get their hands on it when he died, he’d do something for the community instead. Morton Academy was founded in 1906 to educate boys and girls who showed academic promise but didn’t have the funds for fancy establishments like Eton College or Harrow School, and it’s been thriving ever since. I wonder what the original Morton family would make of their house being turned into a school for the underprivileged.
‘Come on, Roberts,’ I mutter, pushing thoughts of Theo and Nikhita away as I walk back towards the school. I can compartmentalize my feelings for a little longer, can’t I? I’ve had plenty of practice at home.
I climb the low, wide steps that lead into the main entrance hall, admiring the long, embroidered banners on either side of the doors that say ‘Welcome Back Class of 2000!’, and slip through the open office door to the left, where I’m greeted with an impressive level of organization.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Roberts, and welcome back to school. Here’s your room key.’ Mrs Pritchard, Morton’s secretary, holds out a small silver key on a black leather fob. One side is emblazoned with the school’s crest, the worker bee, and the other has the number seven carved into it. My
heart sinks a little as I take it from her. I was so sure I’d get the Head Girl’s room that I never made a roommate request last year. I could be stuck with anyone. ‘Mr Loomis has already taken your bags up and your roommates have yet to arrive, so you have time to get yourself settled.’ She hands me a thick black folder edged with the almost neon-green colour that is ubiquitous at Morton. ‘Your timetable and all the usual backto-school information is in here so you can be ready to go first thing in the morning. Any questions?’
‘Just one. Do you know who I’m sharing a room with?’
‘Well, I could tell you, but that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?’ She chuckles as I fight to keep a neutral expression. ‘You’ll be inseparable soon enough!’
I hold in a sigh. Great, I’m obviously expected to bond with random people.
I leave the office and trudge my way up to the West Wing, where the girls’ dorms are. I roomed with Nikhita and Rachel last year, who were strangers when we started as juniors –that’s what first years at Morton are called – because everyone comes from different high schools. It’s different in your senior year when you get a choice of roommates, although there is one notable exception – Head Boy and Girl each get their own room on the top floor, just off the senior lounges. Not only that, but their rooms boast their own bathrooms. Everyone else has to share the huge communal ones.
I stare at my key as I reach the top of the main staircase. The Head Girl’s room should have been mine. I hope Nikhita’s toilet gets blocked on the first night and she has to move out.
Or even better, it floods the room and leaves it inaccessible for months.
Karma.
I turn down the senior girls’ corridor and stop outside room number seven. The door is ajar, so I push it open. My cases are already in the room, which is a carbon copy of the one I was in last year: three beds, one to the left, one to the right and one directly ahead, all flanked by wooden bedside tables. The beds have been made with fluffy white linens, and I know that three freshly washed and pressed uniforms will be hanging in the trio of wardrobes. Morton might be full of kids who grew up without much of anything, but they treat us like royalty when we’re here. There are also bookshelves and a shared desk, although last year we used that as a dressing table because everyone studies in the common rooms or the library.
A small gift basket full of toiletries and other essentials sits on each bed, a typical Morton touch, and they have names attached, so I read the labels. My roommates are Claire Walker and Amari Haddad. I can picture them both – Claire is one of those miserable-looking gothy types who’s probably watched The Craft too many times, and Amari is more bookish and seems a bit of a wallflower. I can’t remember if I’ve ever had any classes with them, but they weren’t inducted into Jewel and Bone at the end of last year, that’s for certain. I slam the door closed in annoyance. I knew I’d get stuck with some random losers. Everyone else will have submitted a stupid roommate request.
Apart from Nikhita, I bet.
I try to push my lying, cheating ex-best friend out of my mind as I drag one of my cases to a wardrobe and start to unpack. I hang my clothes methodically, letting the repetition of the task calm me down as I wonder when the first society meeting will be. The thought creates a fizz of excitement. Who thought a girl from a council estate in the North-West would end up at Morton, never mind being inducted into an illustrious secret society for her senior year?
I think back to the day I was called into the office at my old high school, and even now it feels like a fever dream. I’d vaguely heard of Morton Academy and had assumed it was somewhere only the kids of millionaires or celebrities went to, so I’d never even bothered looking into it – there was no way my mum could afford to pay for school, and my dad hasn’t been in the picture since the day the condom broke. So I applied to my local sixth-form college like all my friends, but when I was introduced to Morton’s Headmaster Brierley in that dingy old office, I knew my fortunes had changed. He handed me the glossy school brochure and told me I’d been hand-selected to attend Morton and, even better, it would all be free. By the time my perpetually late mum had joined us, I’d all but signed the official offer letter.
I ponder what being a senior – and a Jewel, which is the cute nickname the acolytes gave ourselves after we were inducted – will actually mean this year as I tuck my clothes away. I mostly own casual outfits, but I did bring one nice dress for the Hunter’s Moon Banquet, even though that’s weeks
away. I stow it in a garment bag and start to line up my shoes on the floor of the wardrobe. I empty my other case too, which is crammed with books and a few photos and trinkets from home, then I leave the cases outside the bedroom door for Mr Loomis to collect and put into storage. There are a few people wandering around out there now, and I brighten as I spot my friend Lottie, happy to see a familiar face. Lottie and I bonded immediately on the first day last year, when we stood next to each other in the welcome assembly and both got the giggles. And when I say giggles, I mean she laughs like a barking seal, so eventually the whole junior class broke and joined in with us. I smile at the memory and wave, ready to run over for a hug, but she just waves back, mouths, ‘See you later,’ and disappears down the hall. I deflate a little, try to ignore the feeling that I’ve just been shunned and wonder who else is here instead. I can’t wait to see Rachel. She’s the only person I managed to actually spend time with over the summer, even if it was fleeting.
There’s no sign of my roommates.
I go back inside my new room and unfold the fancy nightclothes I bought for tonight, draping them over the bed. The first night back is the senior pyjama party, held on the roof, and I’m determined to look even better than usual. I’ll show Theo what he’s missing. I take a fresh towel from the shared hamper, planning to hit the communal bathroom while it’s still fairly quiet.
‘Hey, bitch!’ I freeze at the familiar voice, my back to the open door as she trills the next words. ‘Welcome back!’
I steel myself, making a show of dropping my towel on
the floor and spinning round with my arms outstretched. ‘Nikhita!’ I squeal. ‘Babe! How are you?’
‘Oh, you know, same same.’ She looks around the room and pouts. ‘Oh, I’ll miss you so much this year. Who are you sharing with?’ It’s amazing how easily I can see through her bull now.
‘They haven’t arrived yet,’ I say lightly, studying her. Her brown skin is a deeper shade than usual, which means she’s probably been somewhere hot over the summer. Her black hair has grown and is now halfway down her back, but it’s still thick and glossy, like a model out of a shampoo ad. How I wish she looked like shit. ‘So,’ I chirp. ‘What’s your new room like?’
‘Fine, I suppose. I just hope I don’t get too lonely up there.’ She sighs, like she never even wanted her own room. ‘Some of the girls are already up there – Lottie and Francesca wanted to start the pre-party early, but I said we couldn’t until my best bitch got here!’
‘Great.’ God, could I sound less sincere? Nikhita narrows her eyes at me.
‘Is everything OK?’ She lowers her voice and leans into the room again. ‘We heard about Theo. I mean, how could he? He’s dead to us now. You know that, right?’ How the hell does she know already? To my utter dismay, my eyes start to water. ‘Oh, don’t cry!’ Nikhita’s voice seems thick with concern, but she doesn’t make a move to comfort me, or even enter the room. ‘Come on, grab your stuff and join us upstairs. Lottie has Lambrini or something equally disgusting to drink. We’ll take your mind off him.’
‘OK,’ I say, agreeing, my voice small as I collect my things and follow her out into the corridor, hating myself as I do it. What choice do I have though? I don’t have anyone else now. Better the devil you know.
Right?
CHAPTER TWO
‘So he just, like, broke up with you?’ I assume Lottie is talking to me, but she’s so busy making sure all four glasses have equal amounts of alcohol in them that she doesn’t actually look up.
‘It was kind of mutual.’ I try to sound breezy, unbothered. ‘We both have so much going on this year. This way we can focus on ourselves, you know?’
‘Totally.’ Lottie nods, her blue eyes wide as she thrusts a squat glass at me. She’s mostly a sweetheart, but I’ve recently realized she has very little backbone. She’s absolutely gorgeous though, with almost translucent porcelain skin and natural white-blonde curls that bounce round her petite face.
‘Chloe, get out here!’ Nikhita orders from the senior lounge, and I roll my eyes, but only on the inside. I take a sip of the cheap fizz that Lottie smuggled in and wince as the bubbles threaten to explode out of my nose.
‘Coming,’ I manage to choke out. Ugh. I do not like Lambrini. I set the glass back on Nikhita’s huge dressing table as Lottie sits on the bed, studying the back of a can of glitter spray.
‘Good, right?’ She nods at the Lambrini and shakes the cannister.
‘Yummy,’ I lie. ‘Back in a sec.’ I nip out of the bedroom to join Nikhita and Francesca in the lounge. ‘Lottie has poured us all drinks,’ I announce.
‘Help us blow these up, will you?’ Nikhita pretends not to hear me and instead throws a thick lump of silver plastic in my direction. It takes a second, but I realize it’s an inflatable sofa. She can’t be serious.
‘With what?’ I ask, but I already know the answer thanks to Francesca’s red face and swollen lips.
‘It’s not that bad,’ Francesca says, panting between puffs into a bright pink inflatable chair.
She’s sitting cross-legged, her tall frame hunched over as she tries to keep going. Her new shorter hair is pulled back in a teeny brown ponytail, and her white skin is slightly sunburned. She grins at me and makes a silly face, which forces me to grin back. Fran is a total doll, but how she and Lottie were invited to attend Morton is beyond me. They might score well on tests, but they don’t share an ounce of common sense. The pink chair is starting to take shape, but I’m pretty sure it is that bad. I eye the silver sofa – it’s twice the size, easily – and then look at Nikhita, who’s balancing on a chair in a pair of tiny shorts and an oversized GAP hoodie.
‘Do you want to take turns or something?’ I ask innocently. Nikhita stops sticking balloons to the wall where her portrait now hangs alongside all the Head Girls since 1906 and looks down at me.
‘I’m busy. Get Lottie to help you.’
Fine.
‘Hey, Lottie.’ I stick my head back into the bedroom, where tiny flecks of glitter dance through the air. ‘Can you give me a hand out here?’
‘OK . Shall I bring the drinks? The teachers aren’t going to bother us tonight, are they?’
‘No, the first-night-back party is tradition from what I’ve heard. Apparently they leave us to it unless someone dies or something.’ Lottie raises her pale eyebrows at me, so I circle back to the original subject. ‘Yes, good idea, bring out the drinks, but don’t try to carry them all – I’ll get mine in a sec.’
I smile as she leaves the room cradling three glasses, then go in and take a quick look around. Nikhita hasn’t unpacked properly yet, but her make-up bag is open, the contents spilling out on to the table. I make sure I’m alone before having a quick rummage through. Glitter polish . . . blue eyeshadow . . . bronzer . . . Bingo! I slide the nail clippers into my jeans pocket and pick up my drink, bringing the rest of the bottle too. I walk back into the lounge and hold the Lambrini aloft. ‘Who needs a refill?’
At Lottie’s insistence, we down the contents of our glasses before she will top them up. I take three huge gulps, try my best to keep it down and then sit on the floor. I tackle the
inflatable sofa, unfolding the plastic the best I can before I start to blow deep puffs of air in via the tiny mouthpiece.
‘Nothing’s happening,’ I groan, taking a break and admiring Francesca’s work. It’s looking much better than before, almost chair-shaped now. ‘How long did that take you, Fran?’
‘About half an hour,’ she says, wheezing. ‘I think it’s almost done.’ I do the maths. Mine is double the size, and double the time means it will take me an hour at least.
I don’t think so.
‘Keep going, Clo. It’ll take your mind off Theo.’ Nikhita pulls a sad face at me from the leather armchair she’s settled into, swishing her drink around like it’s expensive brandy, not two-quid wine. Can you drown someone in an inch of Lambrini?
I keep puffing for a couple of minutes, but the plastic doesn’t rise, not even a tiny bit. ‘I think it’s faulty,’ I say. ‘Have you used it before?’
‘No, it’s brand new.’ Nikhita snatches the sofa out of my hands and starts to inspect the plastic. ‘It better not have a hole in it . . . Shit! Look.’ She holds it out, pointing at a tiny little slash in the plastic. ‘I knew I should have packed it separately. It must have snagged on something in my case.’ She tosses it back to me. ‘Put it in my room. I’ll see if one of the boys can patch it up later.’
I do as she says, hiding a smirk as I drop it on top of her suitcase and replace the nail clippers before she notices they’re gone.
I head back into the lounge, quietly sipping my drink and watching as Nikhita bosses Francesca and Lottie around. It’s weird, but I don’t remember her being like this last year. The girls did her bidding to a certain extent, but it seems as though Nikhita has now fully settled into the Queen Bee role. Does that mean she’s changed? Or have I? Was I one of these simpering little idiots last year too, or is this a whole new level of sycophancy? I start to compliment Francesca on her new shiny bob when Nikhita disappears back into her bedroom without a word and closes the door.
‘Helloooooo!’ Oh, thank god. A Black girl with long, tightly woven braids appears at the top of the spiral staircase and I find myself almost crying with joy.
‘Rach!’ I squeak, jumping up from the floor and racing over. She wraps me up in a hug I didn’t know I needed.
‘Chloe, you look amazing, as always.’ I let her gorgeous Liverpudlian accent wash over me as she squishes me again, before letting go. ‘I heard about Theo. I’m so sorry.’
Jesus Christ. Has he put up a bulletin or something?
‘I’m fine,’ I say tightly and a flicker of concern crosses Rachel’s face. We both shared a room with Nikhita last year and they’re the only ones at Morton who have ever seen me cry. Rachel in particular seems to have the ability to know when there’s something going on with me, no matter how well I think I’m hiding it. ‘Honestly.’ I change the subject.
‘Nice nose stud!’
‘Are we allowed those this year?’ Lottie asks, wobbling slightly.
‘No idea,’ Rachel says, then lowers her voice. ‘What are they doing?’
‘Apparently it gets you drunk faster,’ I whisper, as we watch Francesca down her drink while she spins around. Lottie lets out a loud hiccup, and when Francesca wobbles, the two of them start to giggle. Rachel shakes her head.
‘My new roommates, would you believe it?’ She leans over to mutter in my ear. ‘You would never think they’re two of the most intelligent girls in the country. Anyway –’ she glances around the rest of the lounge – ‘where’s Nikhita? I thought she’d be putting her stamp on tonight, being the new Head Girl and everything.’ She winces. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘I’m pretty sure she is.’ I ignore the last comment and gesture to the closed door. ‘She disappeared in there just before you got here.’
‘Nikhita!’ Rachel takes long strides over to the bedroom and hammers on the door. ‘Get your arse out here!’
Nikhita throws her door open. ‘Took you long enough!’ she says in faux surprise and exchanges a hug with Rachel. When she pulls away, I see she’s changed into a strappy satin nightdress. ‘Come on, bitches. Time to get ready.’
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I sip my drink – now a more palatable Malibu and Coke, thanks to Rachel’s older sister – and try to find a quiet spot outside. It’s bright and the September air is still deliciously
warm, clinging on to summer for as long as it can. A bit like me, I suppose. The roof garden is looking gorgeous, full of potted plants in full bloom and big outdoor cushions and blankets strewn around. You’d think it would be busy out here, but someone has plugged in a CD player and there’s a full-on disco happening in the lounge. The teachers clearly are turning a blind eye to tonight’s shenanigans, because I can hear the music word for word, so it must be thumping inside. I don’t know many of the people out here, but I do recognize them all, including my new roommates. I should be polite and say hi or something, but screw it. They’re not in JB , so I’ll barely see them anyway. Plus, it’s not like they’ve said hello to me.
I sit on the low wall that separates us from the East Wing, where the male dorms are located. It’s not much of a barrier –the boys climbed over easily when Nikhita declared the party open and invited everyone over to this side. You’d think they’d put a fence up or something. I blush as I remember how I spent as many nights in Theo’s room as my own last year. Theo.
I don’t know if the initial anger has worn off or if the Malibu is taking effect, but I miss him already. We started going out just before Valentine’s Day in junior year, and even though I’d gone out with other guys at school, Theo was my first proper boyfriend. We lived in each other’s pockets for the rest of the school year, so being at a party without his arm round my shoulder is jarring. I’ve only been back a few hours and I already feel completely out of the loop with everything. I’ve been playing it cool with him all evening, not that he’s
noticed. I look down at my pyjamas, cute pink-and-white striped satin shorts paired with a lacy white vest top and a hot pink bra showing through. I’d thought it was so sexy when I packed it. My long brown hair is down and parted in a zigzag, and I’m wearing candyfloss lip gloss to match the pink, but next to Nikhita I look like a toddler. Who even owns a red silk nightdress? It looks like the famous Kate Moss slip, if Kate had the boobs to fill it like Nikhita does. I’d intended to make Theo regret his decision, but instead I’m in hiding.
I need another drink.
‘Hey, trouble.’ As though she’s read my mind, Rachel sits next to me and pours half of her drink into mine. She smells of Palmer’s cocoa butter and she’s rocking a tiny cropped Fiorelli angel tee with a pair of checked pyjama bottoms. She’s effortlessly cool. If I wore that I’d look like I’d been rummaging in the dressing-up box. ‘You look like you need this more than I do.’
‘Thanks.’ She doesn’t push, just sits with me. I missed Rachel over the summer – we managed to meet up once, but we were both so busy working that it never happened again. She’s one person who did respond to all of my letters though.
‘Wanna go in and dance? I’ve got the Christina Aguilera album in my room. I can go get it,’ Rachel asks.
‘I’m more of a Britney girl, you know that. I hope you didn’t spend all your wages on cute T-shirts and questionable music?’
‘Listen, working in that stinky chip shop had to be good for something. I swear I can still smell the deep-fat fryers.’ She nudges me. ‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘I’m fine, really. Tell me about the rest of your summer instead.’
Rachel’s eyes light up. ‘Well, you remember James, from my high school? I saw him at –’
‘Hi, um, Chloe?’ I look up from my drink. A doe-eyed girl with warm-brown skin and thick curls approaches us, a nervous smile tugging at her lips as I meet her gaze. I give her companion a quick glance too – a slim girl with a lip piercing and skin so pale she looks ill beneath her bruise-coloured eye make-up. They’re both wearing shorts and obscure band Tshirts. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I’m Amari and this –’
‘Excuse me, this is a private conversation?’ Rachel shoots them a withering look she has clearly developed for those mere mortals who didn’t make the cut for Jewel and Bone.
‘Oh, sorry, we just, er . . .’ Amari’s cheeks flush with embarrassment and her voice trails off as Rachel fixes her with an icy stare. ‘Never mind. Sorry to interrupt.’
‘Oh, great.’ I watch their retreating forms as they head into the party. ‘You know who they are, right?’
‘Should I?’ Rachel snorts. ‘Anyway, where was I?’
‘Rach, those are my new roommates. I haven’t even spoken to them yet.’
‘Oh. Oh. Shit, sorry. Was I rude?’ I fix her with the same frosty glare. ‘Shit,’ she repeats. ‘They’ll be fine. You can talk to them later. Just tell them I’m due on or something.’
‘No, I better go and apologize now.’ I stand up and drain my drink, my balance ever so slightly off. I feel warm and fuzzy. It’s kind of nice. ‘I don’t want them to hate me.’ The
truth is I couldn’t give a shit what my new roommates think of me, but I’m done with this party. I want to get into bed and start a new day already, and I probably can’t do that until I at least introduce myself to them. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. We have psychology together, right?’
‘First lesson?’ she asks, and I nod. ‘Yep. I’ll walk down with you now though. I want to get that Christina album.’ She picks up her empty glass and we make our way in.
The lounge is heaving compared to the roof, and we squeeze through the dancing throng, nodding and waving at people. I can just about see Amari and Claire starting to descend the spiral staircase, obviously heading down to our bedroom, and quicken my pace.
‘Chloe!’ A pair of arms land round my shoulders from behind, a waft of vomit-breath coming with them. Lottie. ‘Where you been?’ She hiccups, and I notice she’s spilled something down the front of her royal-blue nightdress. ‘I don’t feel good.’
Christ. I look around for Rachel, but she’s been collared by Freddie Catton, the Deputy Head Boy who seems to think he’s one fifth of a boyband judging by his new frosted tips.
‘Where’s Fran?’ I shout and Lottie shrugs, her eyes glassy. I scan the crowd and spot Francesca pressed up against the far wall, furiously snogging Ben from my English class. ‘Great.’ I grab Lottie’s hand. ‘Come on.’
I pull her behind me. We almost make it to the top of the stairs when Lottie freezes, her hands clamped over her mouth. She’s never going to make it to the bathroom downstairs
without spewing. I weigh up my options, hesitate, and then drag her over to the Head Girl’s bedroom.
Ha. Sorry, Nikhita.
The door is wide open and the lights are off, but there’s definitely someone inside. I know Nikhita will lose her shit if she thinks anyone else is using her bathroom, so I start to say something, but as my eyes adjust, I realize Nikhita is the one in her room, and she’s kissing a boy. It only takes a split second to realize it’s my boy.
Nikhita is kissing Theo.
The blood drains from my face as I watch his hand slide into her glossy hair as he pulls her closer. I want to tear them apart, but my body shifts into flight mode, and without thinking I leave the room, pushing my way out of the crowd as sobs start to rise from my chest. I leave Lottie heaving in the doorway and run towards the stairs, even though I can barely see them through the tears in my eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
My heart thumps as I climb down the metal steps, my banging feet drowned out by most of the seniors singing along to ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’. The stupid spiral staircase means I have to walk slowly when what I really want to do is storm off. I finally get down to the corridor and stomp my way to the shared bathroom, where I lock myself in a cubicle and scream. God, that felt good.
I scream again, not caring if anyone hears me. I thought I’d be bawling, but the heat of my rage has evaporated any tears that were threatening to spill upstairs. I unclench my fists and study the little crescent moons that my nails have dug into my palms. I’m done. Done with being a doormat, finished with pleasing everyone all the time.
I’m exhausted.
I collapse on to the toilet lid, the plastic cold against my bare legs. How dare they? Theo, the snake. ‘Focus on
ourselves,’ my arse. I’m not good enough for him because I’m not Head Girl, that much is obvious. My breath comes in little sobs now, and my eyes fill up again, although I can’t tell if it’s from sadness, betrayal or just pure, unbridled fury.
I’ll take fury. Anger sounds good at the moment. Productive. What’s the point of sitting around crying over a boy anyway? Even if he was a good kisser. No, sod Theo and his stupid Lego hair. He’ll be sorry when he realizes what a scheming little witch she is. Fire surges through my veins as I think about her.
Nikhita.
All last year, we were best friends – her, me and Rachel. Inseparable, even. The three of us bonded as soon as we realized we’d all brought the same shirtless poster of Brad Pitt in Thelma & Louise. They were the people I ran to when I was happy or sad, who I told my deepest, darkest secrets to. Sure, I knew Nikhita could be mean to people she didn’t deem to be in the same social stratum as her, but she was funny too. Kind and generous, when she wanted to be. I’m annoyed at myself that I never realized how manipulative she is. All year I thought I could trust her with anything, until we finished The Hunt. When the anonymous invitations were pinned to our pillows, we were so excited to take part in the scavenger hunt that would dictate if we were secret society material. We’d promised each other we’d work on it together, even though you’re supposed to do it alone, and when I solved the final clue – the glass window in the library that points to the chapel – we agreed to follow it into the woods together.
And then, at the last moment, she literally tripped me over.
I’m not even joking. When we saw the chapel, she stuck her foot out in front of me. I saw it all in slow motion – one of those horrible moments where you know exactly what’s about to happen, but you can’t stop it. ‘Oh no, did you get stuck on a bramble?’ she’d simpered. ‘You’re OK , right?’ And then she left me there on the ground, confused and nursing a grazed knee. She didn’t even attempt to help me up.
I’d brushed myself off in a daze and run after her, but she was the first one through the door, and according to the hierarchy of Jewel and Bone, first one in gets the top spot, not just in the society but in school too. Nikhita was given the coveted position of Head Girl, and I was left trailing behind in second place, something my natural urge to win did not like. That’s when I realized she’d been playing me the whole time. There were whispers of a secret society at the end of last year, so when The Hunt was called, we all had an inkling about what its purpose was. But Nikhita must have known more than she was letting on. She stuck with me because she knew I’d solve the clues the fastest and, somehow, she also knew that going in before me would be beneficial. I’m good with riddles and problem-solving, but I’m clearly not so good at seeing when I’m being used by people, as proven by the fact I just caught her snogging my ex five minutes after he broke up with me.
Well, that is going to change.
I leave the cubicle and walk over to the sinks, washing my hands with warm water before wiping away the black
mascara decorating my face. I take a proper look in the mirror. Considering how angry I am, I just look sad. Maybe that’s a good thing. If I don’t seem angry then maybe Nikhita will never see it coming. I have a whole year to plan my revenge and I’m in no rush, but at some point my ex-best friend is going down.
I hesitate outside my new bedroom. I can hear voices, so Claire and Amari must be inside. Should I knock? No, it’s my room too. They’re clearly already friends though. I bet they asked to room together in a double and now they’re stuck with me. Maybe I should have left the mascara all over my face to get the sympathy vote. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I rub my eyes, hoping they look all red and smudgy, and slide my key into the lock, deciding to act polite as I knock quickly before opening the door.
‘Sorry if I’m interrupting . . .’ My voice trails off as Claire and Amari fall quiet. They’re both sitting on Claire’s bed to my left, her walls now decorated with paintings of skulls, pictures of boys wearing black nail varnish and a huge Blade movie poster. I close the door behind me and walk over to sit on my bed, glad it’s on the opposite side. ‘I tried to follow you, to say sorry about Rachel, but . . .’ To my own surprise, I melt into sobs and can’t finish my sentence.
‘Oh, hey.’ Amari moves and sits on her own bed, the one in the middle. ‘Don’t cry. We heard about Theo. Are you OK ?’
‘Seriously?’ I wipe my eyes with a tissue from the pack in my welcome basket. Are there no such things as secrets around here?
‘Yeah,’ Claire chimes in, her tone sharper than Amari’s. ‘We heard that dick dumped you on the first day back. Way harsh.’
‘Oh.’ I sniffle and lean back on the wall. ‘Yeah.’
‘Wait.’ Claire leans forward. ‘Is that not it? Has something else happened?’
‘No, I . . .’ Should I tell them? I mean, I can almost guarantee that someone else is going to see those two dry humping up there. They were hardly being discreet, were they? Leaving the door wide open like that. It’s almost like Nikhita wanted me to see. My breath catches as it finally dawns on me. Oh my god. She wanted me to see!
‘It’s OK .’ Amari shoots Claire a look as I try to regulate my breathing, pressing fingers to the inner corners of my eyes to stem another flood of tears. ‘You don’t have to tell us. Claire just has a serious lack of boundaries.’
‘It’s called growing up in foster care.’ Claire shrugs. ‘It’s why you love me.’
‘Actually,’ I say, not sure how to react to Claire’s comment, so I just brush past it, pretending I didn’t hear her. ‘Something happened when I was coming after the two of you.’ Neither respond but both lean forward slightly. Good, I have their full attention. ‘I saw Theo kissing someone else.’
‘What?!’ Amari explodes, surprising me. ‘Straight after he broke up with you?’