"What did I ever do to you?" Claire blurted. She was scared, but she was angry, too. Furious. There were seven girls standing around doing nothing because they were scared, and of what? Monica? What the hell gave the Monicas the right to run the world?
"You know exactly what you did. You tried to make me look stupid," Monica said.
"Tried?" Claire shot back, which was dumb, but she couldn't stop the impulse. It got her hit in the face.
Hard. Right on top of the first bruise, which took away her breath in slow throbs of white-hot agony.
Everything felt funny, rattled by the impact of Monica's jab. Claire felt pressure on her arms, and realized that the Monickettes were holding her up. She put some stiffness back into her legs, opened her eyes, and glared at Monica.
"How come you live in Howard?" she asked.
Monica, inspecting her knuckles for signs of bruising, looked up in honest surprise.
"What?"
"Your family's rich, right? You could be living in an apartment. Or in a sorority house. How come you live in Howard Hall with the rest of us freaks?" She caught her breath at the sudden cold blaze in Monica's eyes. "Unless you're a freak, too. A freak who gets off on hurting somebody weaker than you.
A freak your family's ashamed of. Somebody they hide here where they don't have to look at you."
"Shut up," Jennifer hissed, low in her ear. "Don't be stupid! She'll kill you - don't you get it?"
She jerked her head away. "I heard you went away to college," Claire continued. Her stomach was rolling, she felt like she was going to puke and die, but all she had to do was stall for time. Shane would come. Eve would come. Maybe Michael. She could imagine Michael standing in the doorway, with those ice-cold eyes and that angel's face, staring holes through Monica. Yeah, that would rock. Monica wouldn't look so big then. "What's the matter? Couldn't you cut it? I'm not surprised - anybody who thinks World War Two was in China isn't exactly going to impress - "
She saw the punch coming this time, and ducked as best she could. Monica's fist smashed into her forehead, which hurt, but it must have hurt Monica a whole lot more, because she let out a shrill little scream and backed off, clutching her right hand in her left. That made the horrible throbbing in Claire's head almost okay.
"Careful," Claire gasped, nearly giggling. The scab on her lip had broken open, and she licked blood from her lips. "Don't break a nail! I'm not worth it, remember?"
"Got that right!" Monica snarled. "Let that bitch go. What are you waiting for? Go on, do it! Do you think that wimp's going to hurt me?"
The Monickettes looked at each other, clearly wondering if their queen bee had lost her mind, then let go of Claire's arms and stepped back. Jennifer bumped into the towering column of boxes, spilling an avalanche of dust and old papers, but when Claire looked at her, Jennifer was staring at a spot between the boxes.
The spot where Claire had hidden the phone. Jen had to have seen it, and Claire gasped out loud, suddenly a whole lot more afraid than she'd thought she was.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Monica snarled at Jen, and Jen very deliberately turned her back on the incriminating phone, folded her arms, and stood there blocking it from view. Not looking at Claire at all. Wow. That's... what? Not lucky, exactly. Jennifer had shown some cracks already. And maybe she wasn't a complete convert to the First Church of Monica.
Maybe Monica had just pissed her off one too many times. Not that she would be stepping in on Claire's side anytime soon.
Claire wiped the blood from her lip and looked at the other girls. The ones who were standing, uneasy and indecisive. Monica had been challenged and, so far, hadn't exactly delivered the smackdown everybody - Claire included - had expected. Kind of weird, really. Unless Claire really struck some nerve besides the ones running through Monica's knuckles.
Monica was rubbing her hand, looking at Claire as if she'd never seen her before. Assessing her. She said, "Nobody's told you the facts of life, Claire. The fact is, if you suddenly just up and disappear...?"
She jerked her pretty, pointed chin at the dusty towers of boxes. "Nobody but the janitor's ever going to know or care. You think Mommy and Daddy are going to get all upset? Maybe they would, but by the time they spend their last dime putting your picture on milk cartons and chasing down rumors of how you ran off with somebody else's boyfriend? They're going to hate to even think about you. Morganville's got it down to a science, making people disappear. They never disappear here. Always somewhere else."
Monica wasn't taunting her. That was the scary part. She was talking evenly, quietly, as if they were two equals having a friendly conversation.
"You want to know why I live in Howard?" she continued. "Because in this town, I can live anywhere I want. Any way I want. And you - you're just a walking organ donor. So take my advice, Claire. Don't get in my face, because if you do, you won't have one for long. Are we clear?"
Claire nodded slowly. She didn't dare look away. Monica reminded her of a feral dog, one that would jump for your throat the second you showed weakness. "We're clear," she said. "You're kind of a psycho. I get that."
"I might be," Monica agreed, and gave her a slow, strange smile. "You're one smart little freak. Now run away, smart little freak, before I change my mind and stick you in one of these old suitcases for some architect to find a hundred years from now."
Claire blinked. "Archaeologist."
Monica's eyes turned winter cold. "Oh, you'd better start running away now."
Claire went back to where Jennifer was standing, and reached behind her to drag the phone out from between the boxes. She held it up to Monica. "Speak clearly for the microphone. I want to make sure my friends get every word."
For a second, nobody moved, and then Monica laughed. "Damn, freak. You're going to be fun." She glanced away from Claire, behind her. "Not until I say so."
Claire looked over her shoulder. Gina was standing there, right there, and she had some kind of metal bar in her hand.
Oh my God. There was something awful and cold in Gina's eyes.
"She'll get hers," Monica said. "And we'll get to watch. But hey, why hurry? I haven't had this much fun in years."
Claire's legs felt like they'd suddenly turned into overcooked spaghetti. She wanted to throw up, wanted to cry, and didn't dare do anything but pretend to be brave. They'd kill her down here if they thought she was bluffing.
She walked past Gina, between two girls who wouldn't meet her eyes at all, and put her hand on the doorknob. As she did, she glanced down at the phone's display.