**Officially published as Clique Bait with HarperTeen!**
Payment is usually a part of a basic transaction. You give and then you take. But, at Arlington Preparatory, people take at their leisure. They take their entertainment in the form of humiliat...
Funny. I don't believe you. And even if I did, once you're, in you're in. They wouldn't let you go easily. Especially if your downgrade down the social ladder is landing you next to Jack.
Just be very careful.
As for me, I'm great. I miss you, and I miss my old home, but I'm great. Things are oddly quiet here. It's nice.
Monica
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Lacrosse was one brutal game, its physical intensity almost rivaling the ferocity of level one's most terrifying members. Maybe even Sophie Rutherford.
Our partitioned section of the stands gave us a perfect view of the field, where navy and white colored uniforms clashed barbarically in favor of a black rubber ball the size of my fist. I could understand why each player was dressed in what looked like a freaking suit of armor.
I could spot William on the field, he was a little taller than the others in navy and had a band around his upper arm to signal his captainship. Watching him made me a little uncomfortable. I swear I winced every time he collided with another player or their stick.
By half-time, the score was six to four in our favor, and by full time we had won eleven to nine. William had undoubtedly scored at least eight of the goals and assisted with the others. It was easy to see why he was captain.
"Come on!" Maddy said enthusiastically as soon as the final whistle called and the crowd burst into applause. "We should go down there and congratulate them."
The others didn't look too keen, but Sophie and Lola joined us as we maneuvered between the chanting sea of navy and towards the lacrosse buildings which I'd hidden in on Monday afternoon.
"Everyone's looking at you," Maddy said into my ear as she linked her arm in mine. "You're wearing the last name of the best player of the game on your back."
"I guess I am," I said, looking around to see a number of eyes pinned on me, darting away as soon as mine made contact with them. One stood out though, and that was the cold stare of Lola Davenport who was trailing behind us.
The boys took a while to come off of the field, they were too busy basking in the joy of the win. When they did, they were still breathing deeply and covered in mud and sweat, helmets and sticks in hand.
"Congratulations," Sophie said loudly when Max and Zach walked our way. William was too busy talking with the man I assumed to be their coach.
"Thanks, Soph," Max said. "Where were your pom-poms?"
"Must have left them in the car," she said snidely, her top lip curling.
"Great job boys!" Lola said, a contrast to Sophie's enthusiasm as she went as far as to sweep the two of them into a hug. What I first thought was an over-the-top gesture of congratulations turned out to be a lot more when Lola's hand subtly roamed to the waistband of Max's pants, where I saw the flicker of a small white baggie be secured before his shirt fell back over it.
