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"Hi!" Monica said brightly. "Got plans today, Claire? I was thinking we could hang."
That's it, Claire thought. I'm dreaming. Only this is a nightmare, right? Monica pretending to be my friend? Definitely a nightmare.
"I -- what do you want?" Because Claire's relationship with Monica, Gina and Jennifer had started with being pushed down stairs at the dorm, and hadn't improved since. She was a crawling bug, to the Cool Girls. At best. Or ... a tool. Was this about Michael? Because his status had changed from "hermit musician" to "hottie vampire" in one night, and Monica was definitely a fang-banger, right? "You want to talk to Michael?"
Monica gave her an odd look. "Why would I want to do that? Can he go shopping in broad daylight?"
"Oh." She had no idea what else to say to that.
"I thought a little retail therapy, and then we can all go study," Monica said. "We're going to check out that new place, not Common Grounds. Common Grounds is so last century. Like I want to be under Oliver's thumb all the time. Now that he's taken over as Protector for our family, he's been all hands-on, wanting to see my grades. Sucks, right?"
"I -- "
"C'mon, save my life. I really need help with Economics, and these two are boneheads." Monica dismissed her two closest friends with an offhand wave. "Seriously. Come with us. Please? I could really use your brainpower. And I think we should get to know each other a little better, don't you? Seeing as how things have changed?"
Claire opened her mouth, then closed it without saying anything. The last two times she'd gone anywhere with Monica, she'd been flat on her back on the floor of a van, getting beaten and terrorized.
She managed to stammer, "I know this is going to sound rude, but --what the hell are you doing?"
Monica sighed and looked -- how weird was this? -- contrite. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, I was a bitch to you, and I hurt you. And I'm sorry." Gina and Jennifer, her constant Greek chorus, nodded and repeated sorry in whispers. "Water under the bridge, all right? All is forgiven?"
Claire was, if anything, even more mystified. "Why are you doing this?"
Monica pursed her glossy lips, leaned forward, and dropped her voice to a low, confidential tone. "Well ... all right, yeah, it's not like I had a head injury or something and woke up thinking you were cool. But you're different now. I can help. I can introduce you around to all the people you really need to know."
"You're kidding. I'm different how?"
Monica leaned even closer. "You signed."
So ... this wasn't about Michael. Claire had just become ... popular. Because she'd become Amelie's property.
And that was terrifying.
"Oh," she managed, and then, more slowly, "Oh."
"Trust me," Monica said. "You need somebody in the know. Somebody to show you the ropes."
If the only other person left on the planet was Jack the Ripper, Claire would have trusted him first. "Sorry," she said. "I have plans. But -- thank you. Maybe some other time."
She shut the door on Monica's surprised face, then locked it. She jumped when she turned to find Shane standing right behind her, staring at her like he'd never seen her before.
"Thank you?" he mimicked. "You're thanking that bitch? For what, Claire? For beating you? For trying to kill you? For killing my sister? Christ. First Michael, then you. I don't know any of you anymore."
In true Shane fashion, he just took off. She listened to the heavy tread of his footsteps cross the living room and travel up the stairs. Heard the familiar slam of his door.
"Hey!" she shouted after him. "I was just being polite!"
Chapter Two
"So," Eve asked as she drove Claire to school, "what was up with the Monica thing? I mean, maybe you ought to watch your back with her. Even more than you already do."
"She sounded like she really kind of meant it. It took a lot for her to come eat crow like that."
Eve shot her a look. One of those looks, doubly effective coming from a girl wearing rice-powder makeup and flawless eye liner and black cherry lips. "In Monica's world, being friends means doing whatever Monica wants, when Monica wants to do it. Somehow, I can't see you as one of her brain-dead backup singers."
"No! That's not -- I didn't say I was going to be her friend, just -- you asked." Claire crossed her arms and settled back in the bucket seat of Eve's ancient black Caddy, shooting for a stubborn look. "She's not my friend, okay? You're my friend."
"So when Monica starts bringing the in-crowd to hang at your study table, you'll get up and leave? No way. You're too nice. Before you know it, you're tagging along with them, and then you start to actually feel sorry for them. You'll tell me how Monica's not bad, she's just misunderstood, and before you know it you're braiding each others' hair and giggling over boy bands."
Claire made a retching sound. "I wouldn't do that."
"Please. You like everybody. You even like me. You like Shane, and let's face it, Shane's kind of an idiot, at least right now." Eve's eyes narrowed as she thought about that. "And about Shane, I swear, if he doesn't snap out of it I'm going to punch him in the face. Well, punch him in the face and then run like hell."
Claire played that out in her head, and nearly laughed. Eve's best possible punch wouldn't do more than surprise Shane, she figured, but she could just picture the wounded look of confusion on his face. What the hell did I do?
"I'm not popular," she declared. "Monica's not my friend, and I'm not hanging with her, ever, end of story."
"Swear?"
Claire held up her hand. "Swear."
"Huh." Eve didn't sound convinced. "Whatev."
"Look, if we're friends, how about buying me a mocha?"
"Mooch."
"You're the one with the job."
###
Mid-afternoon, and it was raining, which was kind of a rarity -- a cold early fall rain that came down in glittering sheets. Claire, like about ninety percent of the other students, hadn't thought to bring an umbrella, so she sloshed along miserably along the Quadrangle, past the empty benches and rain-soaked message boards, toward her Chem Lab. She loved Chem Lab. She hated rain. She hated being soaked to the skin and frankly, living in this part of Texas, it wasn't usually that much of a risk. There was no room in her backpack for anything frivolous, like a raincoat. She worried her books were getting soggy, but the backpack was supposed to be waterproof ...
