The door handle clicks and lets me turn it, telling me I'm in.

This means that Mom is up, she forgot to lock the door or she went to bed, expecting me to be back around this time.

This raises three worrisome questions in my head: Is Mom up and waiting for me? Will she suddenly wake up and find me creeping in? And is Lily up and not Mom?

The chances of Lily being the one staying up at this time are slim to none. She doesn't stay up late. Moreover, her bed-time is 8:00 pm.

If Lily's the one awake and she ends up catching me before I can make it safely inside my room, she's definitely going to scream. The fact that all the lights are switched off isn't helping. For someone who tags along when I go to watch horror movies at theaters, she's more afraid of ghosts than the unlucky people in the movies.

Holding my shoes in my hands, I pad my feet on the floor, careful that the bones in my ankles don't make small cracking sounds. They only ever do that when you're trying to be sneaky.

Snitches.

Why am I trying to sneak inside the house when it's not even past 10:00 pm or my curfew which is 11:00 pm? Good question.

I didn't have the time to change back at the amusement park for fear that while I was staring at Leonard and Beach blonde, the clown was catching up on me so immediately I got in the tent, I pleaded with Angelo that we leave. Therefore, I'm still wearing the overall and Angelo's suit jacket, and not the green dress I had on when I left the house. Not just that, I look like a mess with my smudged makeup and beads of sweat on my forehead formed from dashing all the way from the tent to the entrance of the park. Neither Angelo nor I stopped running until we had driven a good distance away from the amusement park.

To top my crappy luck, Angelo's engine developed a fault just when we were getting relieved that we hadn't been chased. It was like heaven was shaking its head at me with disgust and magically made the aftermath of giving the skinny clown a wedgie, bad. Somehow, the engine managed to come alive, but of course, the air conditioning wouldn't.

Like they say, Karma is a beast.

My iPhone buzzes in the box containing my things, startling me. I nearly screech in the darkness. The box shakes too and I try to steady it before it falls.

Glancing around to make sure nobody's suddenly in the living room with me, I slowly drop the box like a suspect just apprehended by the police and told to drop her weapon.

I fish inside the box for my phone. "If it's angelo texting, I'm going to make him worry about more than just a rollercoaster trauma..." I trail off when I see the notification on my screen. It isn't just one text; it's a bunch of texts.

Confused, I swipe up, unlocking my phone. I'm directed to a social app where dozens of texts await me. I recognize the app's icon. It's like those apps where people in your contacts can send you texts, videos, pictures—pretty much anything.

"A group chat?" I mouth, scrolling down from the first text to the last. I barely register what any of the texts say because only one thing is strange to me.

How am I in a group chat?

Maybe someone hacked my phone. I don't have a lock screen password and that's not aiding my case.

I personally don't like cell phone passwords. Sometimes I see them as tests—one that you already know the answer. To get full access to the functions in your locked phone, you need to get the password right, just like answering one question for a final examination or a scholarship interview.

It's enought that I don't like school. Having my phone remind me of school is worse.

Not just that, I always imagine scenarios where I get kidnapped and a stranger finds my phone. Without a password, the stranger will be able to access not just my emergency contacts but anyone else on my contact list who is available. I even have headshot pictures saved in my phone and laptop with the folder name 'lost or kidnapped, might be dead' mainly so that Mom doesn't use just any picture of me that I'll hate to see on the newspaper or a billboard somewhere. Like the one I took when we went snorkeling. Mom says the picture is cute, but there's a boy checking his underwear and a girl flaunting her cleavage to some dude in the background.

I wonder if I can use one of the headshots in the folder for my picture that'll be hung in the principal's office when I climb the ladder.

My phone buzzes again, distorting my train of thoughts. It's a good thing I put it on vibrate when I was leaving the tent to do the task and put it in the box.

What are they even saying in the stupid group chat?

I put my phone back inside the box. I lift the box, cradling it in my arms, pressed to my chest like a lifeline.

Luckily, I make it up the stairs and to my bedroom door. Shuffling to hold the box in one hand and fish for my purse inside with the other, I can her the erratic beating of my heart in my ears. It's so loud! If anyone startles me, there's a hundred percent chance I'm going to die of a heart attack.

I dig my purse for my bedroom key. When I find it, I push it inside the lock, turning it anticlockwise, twice.

I might not lock my phone with a security password, but I value my stuff in my bedroom, especially since Lily might have a ton of getting back at me—for stuff I probably don't remember doing—to do.

I turn the door handle and toe my way in, slowly pushing the door shut with the heel of my foot.

I heave a sigh of relief and place the box on my bed. I take off Angelo's suit jacket. I should give it back when we meet at school on Monday. Next, I take off the overall and put on a nightdress since I'm only in my underwear.

I fall on the bed. I feel the hurt of my feet which is both because I'm finally relaxed, and they've overworked tonight. I frown, realizing that throughout the end of my date, I was barefoot. I still am.

Angelo must be upset and hurting—just not in his toes. The thought of him reminds me of Leonard, and I frown even more. I definitely look like an ogre that jumped right out of a fairytale pop-up book.

I sit up and take my phone from the box. Ignoring the pop up messages from the group chat, I open up the contacts app. I don't have to scroll because Angelo's name starts with an 'A' and is at the top of the list. It's no surprise to you that I don't have many contacts on my phone. My subconscious tells me that's going to change with the group chat and my subconscious is practically always right.

I tap the call icon next to his name and press my phone to my ear, the calling beeps, droning and testing how loud they can be over my still erratically beating heart. He answers after a few rings.

"Hey. You home safe?" He whispers. I assume he's at home too and trying not to wake anyone in the house. It makes me wonder about his family and how they are. Does he have a dictator for a mother? A younger sibling he bullies?

"Yeah. I'm guessing you are too. Look, I'm sorry about how tonight went. It wasn't... my plan."

"Of course it wasn't. It wasn't anybody's plan. Definitely not mine at least. It started out of plan, in fact, with me getting the opening date of the Chinese restaurant wrong." I hear him sigh. "Anyway, as much as tonight wasn't... How do I put this?" He pauses for a second, possibly thinking of what to say.

"Eventful?" I offer.

"Not really. You got to do your first clique task so you got a win out of it."

There is silence on his end. He's waiting for me to say something.

"And you?"

He chuckles deeply. "I got to see you do your first task. Your win is a win for me too."

I feel a tiny jab to the beating organ in my chest. Angelo has a way with words. There's no doubt about that. Unlike me who only knows how to romance chocolate frosted cupcakes while I drool over them.

There's a shuffling sound on his end and I imagine him getting under the covers on his bed. "You should get some rest. You did more running than me and I'm beat."

"Yeah. Goodnight. We'll talk at school on Monday."

"Oh, no. We don't have to wait till Monday to talk. Haven't you seen the group chat?"

The group chat.

"It was you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Suddenly I'm in a group chat and I don't know how. I understand you must have added me to the group chat but what I don't get is how I have the app and a few other social media apps that weren't even on my ph—"

It clicks. My subconscious pulls the light switch in my brain, the light bulb lighting.

"You sent me those apps, didn't you?"

"And you're not on Instagram, isn't it?" My lack of response classified his question. "That's why you blacked out when Steph spoke about having an Instagram account."

"Listen, Angelo, I—"

"No, no. You shouldn't apologize if you aren't on it. I'm not. Both our families are wealthy and influential. We don't need social media to define that for us. Right?"

Crap. The lie about having loaded politicians for parents. I forgot that when you tell a lie about yourself to someone who doesn't know you, it's what they'll describe you as; what they'll claim you are.

"Yeah... Sure." I hope he doesn't dwell on my evasiveness.

"I sent them when I was in the tent, waiting for you to get back from the clown's booth. I didn't want to pry... I'd added your contact to the clique group chat and just wanted to be sure you would start receiving our texts when I found out you didn't even have the app for starters, or any social app. So I sent the ones I'm on and the ones Steph made me have even though I never use them."

"Why do you keep the ones Steph made you have if you don't even use them."

He's mute again, thinking of his reply.

"I should crash." He fakes a yawn. I know a fake yawn when I hear one because I do it a lot! "'Night, beautiful Jess Sanchez."

My heart does a cartwheel, and no. I can't do one.

"'Night, progeny Angelo..." I dwindle.

Crap, crap, crap! I forgot his last name!

He either doesn't notice my dwindle or does and decides to save me the embarrassment by not mentioning it. The line goes dead.

I huff and swipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

I need to know his last name somehow and stop being so stupid all the time.

I tap one of the messages from the group chat on my notification board and get redirected to the group chat on the app. I scroll up to the first message I received.

Noahthedashingstallion: No joke! Jess did that?! Oh my God! Jess, you're a total babe. Rub me some of those guts and wits. I could privately text you which part of that body you could start with.

I roll my eyes. Still a flirt. I'll add pervert to that.

AngeloRomano: @Noahthedashingstallion Dude! Have some shame here.

The light switch in my brain is pulled again, the bulb lighting up pronto. My subconscious screams at me, "His last name's Romano! Get it in your head, Jessica!"

TheStephBruce: Why are you defending her, Angelo? So what if she's acting all bad and boogie. It was only a wedgie. Anybody could do that. She's still a novice with the clique tasks. I doubt she'll survive when she's put in an awkward situation.

Noahthedashingstallion: @TheStephBruce Chill, S. You kept dodging the wedgie task. Don't make it sound like you could have done it. @JessSanchez *winks*

Great. So Angelo already gave me a name on the app.

I stare at the name. "Just Jess Sanchez? That's so boring."

I take a notebook and pen from my reading table and write down a few names for myself. After penning down a few suggestions, I take my phone and scroll down, reading the recent messages.

Maddybaddie: @TheStephBruce With ya, sis!

JanaandSissy4eva: Why isn't Jessica texting us?

AngeloRomano: @JanaandSissy4eva She's not back from the clown's booth yet and I've got her phone. She must have gotten caught up with something.

"Yes. Leonard and Beach blonde are something," I murmur, rolling my eyes.

I eye Jana's name on the app, and to be honest, I'm jealous of it. I scribble down a few similar ones in the notebook. I'm Jessica. I can top hers.

I drop the pen and pick my phone. I quickly type my first text in the group.

JessSanchez: @JanaandSissy4eva Who's Sissy?

I wait for a few seconds before my phone buzzes with a reply.

Noahthedashingstallion: @JessSanchez *rolls eyes* Her rude and prideful pet poodle. I still don't get the 'forever' part in her name here. @JanaandSissy4eva You do know poodles don't live past 15 years tops. Do the math. Sissy's naturally gonna be dead in six years.

I can't help it. I laugh and feel bad about a dog's presumed death. I notice that only my classmates are in the group chat, the others in the clique aren't, so I type again.

JessSanchez: What happened to Bella and the rest of the gang?

My phone buzzes almost immediately I send the text.

TheStephBruce: @JessSanchez Obviously, they aren't in this group chat.

I frown. That's close to evasion. I never thought I'd think it but I prefer Noah replied me. My phone vibrates in my hand and I tap the new text.

AngeloRomano: This group chat is just for seniors. The other clique members have a group chat of their own.

Almost immediately, I receive another text.

Noahthedashingstallion: We don't want freshmen like Kurtz and Zach seeing NC-rated stuff *winks again*

Maddybaddie: @Noahthedashingstallion You're not even 17 yet, Noah. Shut up.

I hear a short excited laugh coming from outside my room. I hop off my bed, carefully open the door and toe out of the room. I hear another laugh, this time a cheeky one. On my tippy toes, I trace the laugh from Mom's room down the hallway.

Who could Mom be speaking with so late?

Standing in front of her bedroom, I press my ear on the door, wary of making myself known. Mom makes stifled giggles like a middle school girl and I scowl. They sound terrible and overly weird coming from her.

For almost a minute, everywhere falls silent, and I guess she's stopped talking to whoever it is she was laughing with.

Tired from transporting myself barefooted and taking pity on my poor toes, I push myself off the door.

"Sleep tight, Theo," I hear Mom whisper.

Theo? Who's Theo?

The trip back to my room is short and the wheels in my mind are turning, working themselves off too much over a name.

Finally in my room and on my bed, I tap my profile icon in the app and type in the name I settled on: Jessforthethrone.

When I fall asleep after pulling the corsage from my ponytail, letting my hair fall free, I dream of a grown man with golden brown hair and gold-flecked dark violet eyes having a picnic under the sunset with a woman with blue eyes and dark brown hair.

—————

Officially the shortest chapter so far, majorly because I was lazy to write (not writer's block though), and I'm working on the next two chapters in advance.

This chapter is important for the clique to have some kind of closeness and for Jessica to finally feel like one of them. So... Although it's short, I don't regret it. Mutuality among the clique members was achieved! *bumps fist in the air*

I wanted to give this chapter a twist-ish ending, one that'll give the main point of the chapter a different turn. Did you notice I've done that in previous chapters? 😈
You probably have a not-so-wild guess about who Theo is. Don't rub it in.

Question of the day 🍗:
• How do you love to spend Thanksgiving? 🤗🍲

Me: I don't live in the U.S. or Canada, but I make sure to text and send greetings to my friends that live there.

Bonus question 👀:
• If you were in the clique group chat, what would be your username?

Me: Osepartieslikeawordstar. Too long? Okay. I'll see myself out.