Follow Me, Like Me Page 8

  Before I have a chance to speak, she storms off into the night.

  As she disappears into some trees, there’s a gargled sob.

  I stand there dumbly as Rachel runs after her, and a couple of the guys start giggling.

  My heart is thumping in my throat.

  Louise knows everyone I’ve ever got with. I haven’t hidden anything from her.

  Tom comes over and puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it – she’s just drunk.’

  I think of the way she behaved today. How she barely even looked or spoke to me during every lesson together. I was so busy chatting to everyone else, I barely noticed, to be honest. But now I think about it, she’s usually right by my side, in every conversation.

  I frown at the spot where she stood.

  What is going on?

  CHAPTER 24

  Chloe

  On Monday when I come into school, Louise is huddled in a circle whispering to Rachel and Ameerah outside registration. I go over to join them, but instead of looking up, they fall silent.

  Rachel shoots me a look. Louise won’t even meet my eye.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, sidling next to them.

  No one speaks.

  I launch into talking about Friday night, but Louise coughs and looks the other way. Ameerah glances at the floor and starts fidgeting.

  I look at all of them.

  What the hell?

  Louise stalks off to sit in her seat when I’m mid-story. As soon as she’s out of earshot, I grab Rachel and Ameerah and pull them aside.

  ‘OK, so something weird happened on Friday night,’ I say in hushed tones, and then explain exactly what Louise said to me. ‘It’s just so bizarre. I don’t know why she’s being like this.’

  But it doesn’t get the reaction I was expecting. No one is gasping or saying Louise is acting strangely. They just . . . don’t say anything.

  Rachel gets two spots of pink on her cheeks and doesn’t meet my eye. Ameerah frowns.

  ‘Mmm,’ says Rachel. She takes a deep breath. ‘The thing is – The thing . . . I mean, are you sure you never got with Jerome?’

  ‘Jerome!’ I give a relieved laugh. ‘That’s who she thinks I got with? C’mon!’

  ‘And that other guy you said – J,’ says Ameerah.

  The mention of him sends a jolt through my spine, which I brush aside.

  I shake my head.

  ‘You guys really think I got with Jerome? When? She’s being silly. Look, I’ll go and speak to Louise at break. Get this sorted out.’

  But the girls aren’t smiling and shaking their head at Louise. Instead, they’re looking at me like they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing.

  ‘Yeah, I really think you should speak to Louise,’ says Ameerah quietly.

  Our form tutor Ms Brown wanders over and waves us into our seats. When I get to me and Louise’s desk, it’s empty. I glance across the room. Louise has gone to sit in the spare seat beside Ameerah, and they’re huddled with their heads together in an intense conversation.

  I feel a heat spread across my cheeks.

  Fine. I don’t need her.

  Lifting my chin, I push one of my long curls over my shoulder and sit down at the desk, alone. Then I pull out my phone and start messaging Tom. He almost instantly replies with a funny GIF, but it doesn’t make me smile. I put down my phone and glance back at Louise.

  I just don’t understand what’s going on. I never got with Jerome. I’ve barely even spoken to him. And I knew him and Louise were getting together, so I wouldn’t have got with him.

  So why does she think I did?

  At that moment, there’s a knock at the door. It’s one of the Year Eleven prefects with her chin up, holding a scrap of square paper like her life depends on keeping it pristine.

  I roll my eyes. She glances at me with what looks like a sneer, then says something to Ms Brown.

  Ms Brown takes the paper, pushes her glasses to the end of her nose, and looks straight at me.

  ‘Chloe MacNeil, Ms Benewood would like to see you. In her office.’

  The headteacher’s office?

  ‘Ms Benewood would like to see me?’

  ‘Yes. In her office. Now, please. We haven’t got all day.’

  A hush descends across the entire class. Every single eye is on me – and Louise gives a snort of laughter as I stand up. My cheeks are burning, and I can’t meet anyone’s eye.

  I take a few steps towards Ms Brown.

  ‘Why does she want to see me?’ I say, lifting my chin.

  Ms Brown’s gaze scans over the class, who are all leaning forward, eager. ‘I think it’s best that she speaks to you about that,’ is all she says.

  As soon as I leave the classroom, I can hear everyone erupt into chatter. Ms Brown desperately tries to quieten them. ‘OK, everyone – calm down,’ she says about a million times.

  I sigh and lean back against the cool wall outside class.

  There’s the loud sound of a throat being cleared. It’s the prefect – Alison, or something. I can’t quite remember her name.

  I look up at her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m here to escort you to Ms Benewood.’

  ‘Escort me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  But she doesn’t reply; she just looks nervously from side to side.

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  ‘OK, OK – I’m coming,’ I say, and start walking ahead of her towards the headteacher’s office.

  Once I’m outside the door, Ms Benewood comes out and thanks the prefect for bringing me. Alison, or Amelie – whoever – shoots me a snide look as she walks off.

  ‘Come in,’ says Ms Benewood.

  As I step into her office, I’m not even scared. What are they going to tell me off for? Kissing Tom outside school? There’s hundreds of couples every year who kiss at school. Where else are we supposed to do it? It’s not like I have my own place I can bring him home to every evening – most of the time that we get to see each other is on school grounds.

  Ms Benewood clears her throat.

  ‘Chloe, I think you already know why you’re here. Sending school emails like that is completely unacceptable.’

  Emails?

  I look to see if she’s laughing, but her face is stony.

  For the first time, there’s a stir of unease in my stomach.

  CHAPTER 25

  Amber

  Monday morning, I reach the gym half an hour before registration. The air has a damp chill that sinks through my bones as I step into the warm entrance.

  My head is buzzing with all the images I’ve looked at online over the past few days, trying to make sense of them. Ren. Ansh. Jerome. Last night, Seb had gone round to a mate’s house, and he’d left WhatsApp web open on his laptop.

  I didn’t mean to read his group chat, I honestly didn’t. But somehow within minutes, I’d opened the conversation and read something that made my throat turn dry.

  In between the GIFs and in-jokes, there was a line from his mate Bill saying Jerome and Chloe got together at Tom’s party.

  There’s been a weird, queasy feeling in my stomach ever since.

  Maybe Jerome is the guy Seb saw with Chloe after the party – maybe he is the one who assaulted her. Maybe I’m not just being crazy. Maybe Ren really has been framed, and Jerome assaulted those girls.

  My mind is working so fast that I don’t even notice I’ve changed into my gym clothes. I absently make my way over to the equipment room, but there’s a man standing there, blocking the entrance. I try to walk past, but he puts his hand out in front of me.

  ‘Can’t go in, I’m afraid. There’s a class going on.’

  I try to peer past him into the window, craning my neck. ‘Um, yeah – I’m in that class.’

  His eyes flick to the school eagle crest on my PE jumper. ‘No high-schoolers,’ he grunts.

  No ‘high-schoolers’? Seriously?

  But I don’t say anythi
ng back. I just mutter ‘sorry’ and look at the floor.

  I’m not going to be able to speak to Ansh today to find out anything more about Ren. It’s a completely wasted day. I’m going to go to school, sit by myself all lunch, then go back to lessons, and in the afternoon, sit bored out of my mind for the entire day.

  Looking outside from the leisure centre entrance, I’m so close to the window pane, my nose is almost pressed up against the glass. Staring out at the gym car park, I can almost make out the school field. Though of course, at this time, it’s empty. My eyes settle on a guy with a shock of dark hair, leaning against the back wall, a gym bag slung over one shoulder.

  My heart gives a little lurch. Is it Ren?

  But then I focus on him, and the fizzy feeling inside me settles. His eyes flick vaguely in my direction, and my mouth drops open. It may not be Ren, but it’s the next best thing: Ansh.

  I fling open the door to the gym and practically run towards him. As I get closer, he stands up a bit straighter, looking alarmed.

  By the time I reach him, I’m red-faced and out of breath.

  He blinks. ‘Ren’s sister? Amber, is it? Are you OK?’

  But I can’t speak; I’m bent forward clutching my chest.

  Oh God, why am I so unfit?!

  ‘Y-y-yes,’ I gasp out in between breaths.

  Ansh’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a warm, prickling sensation in my cheeks. Now I’m here, I don’t know what to say.

  Oh God, why did I run over like that?

  Ansh scrape s one of his trainers across the floor. There’s an uncomfortably long silence.

  ‘So, how’s Ren?’ he says.

  My eyes widen – how does he know I’ve been watching Ren . . . But then I shake myself. Duh. He thinks I’m his sister.

  ‘Oh, yeah, y’know, he’s doing OK. Still a bit down about everything that happened.’ I glance at Ansh, trying to gauge his reaction, but he’s squinting into the distance.

  ‘Yeah, I can imagine,’ he says.

  I tilt my head to one side. ‘So, I mean, um, do you think he did it?’

  Ansh looks at me sharply. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, it just seems like . . . I have a few—’

  ‘I know he did it,’ says Ansh.

  ‘But how do you know?’

  There’s a long pause.

  ‘People don’t just lie about things like that,’ he says eventually. ‘But – when you posted that photo with Maisie—’

  I suddenly stop talking, afraid of what I’ve just said. Ansh’s face is scrunched up, and his eyebrows have descended to form a furrow below his hairline.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing!’ I step away, feeling my face flush. ‘Anyway, um, I have to go . . .’

  ‘Wait,’ Ansh says, stepping forward, his voice quieter. ‘Don’t go looking for what he did.’

  But I can barely hear him. My mind is ringing with the things that I’ve given away. That I stalked the picture Ansh posted of Jerome and Maisie. That I’m a complete and utter freak.

  I back further away. ‘AnywayI’vegottagobye!’

  Ansh looks like he wants to say something else, but I don’t let him. I turn on my heel and walk as quickly as I can back towards the school, almost tripping over my feet, I’m stumbling so fast.

  I almost said about Jemma’s date, the tagged photo, the video. I almost told Ansh that I’d stalked his Facebook and Ren’s Instagram. And, oh God, I sent him a message. He must think I’m such a freak. But then again, he didn’t mention it, did he? Maybe he hasn’t been on Instagram yet. Oh God, maybe he’s going to find my message now and think I’m even weirder.

  The path starts to blur as I make my way back to the school field. Why do I always do this?

  Why can’t I, for once, act normally?

  When I get back into school, I make a beeline for the nearest toilets, which happen to be the Year Nine’s. I throw myself through the doors, go to the very last cubicle at the end, and bolt myself in.

  Sitting down, I realize I’ve left my phone back up in my gym locker. So rather than refreshing Ren’s Instagram page, I just sit there and stare at the back of the cubicle door, horrible thoughts circling my mind until the bell rings twenty minutes later.

  CHAPTER 26

  Chloe

  It turns out, I’m not going to get a chance to speak to Louise at break. I haven’t even made it to first period. I’m trailing along the back path, by myself, my scarf wound tightly around my neck, packed in my short, padded coat as the wind whips my hair across my lips.

  I’ve been sent home. Suspended for five days.

  Ms Benewood has called Mum and left a message. I’m dreading what she will say when I step through the door. The sick feeling in my stomach is growing worse and worse. Queasy, whirling, cramping. I feel like I’m going to hurl at any moment.

  I stare at the stone ground in front of me, gnawing my lip. The walkway starts to blur before my eyes.

  I just don’t understand what’s going on. First Louise freaking out, and now this.

  Ms Benewood said I’d sent ‘inappropriate photographs of Louise Bailey to the male students in my class’. I thought I was going to burst out laughing when she first said it. If the whole situation wasn’t so unnerving, I would have done.

  But as she was talking, my blood began to run cold. I remembered several months ago, when Louise was dating that guy Yousef, she asked my opinion on the photos she was going to send him. She sent me bikini photos over WhatsApp. And I helped her choose the best ones.

  They’re saved on my phone, but I’ve never sent on any of those photos, not to anyone. At least, I don’t remember sending those messages.

  But how would anyone else have gotten those photos?

  I stop dead in the middle of the path. A chilling feeling grips my chest.

  Am I losing it? How could I be doing these things and not even remembering?

  My head starts to swim.

  I know I’ve been feeling different recently. Spooked since the party . . . Do I even remember his name?

  I shake my head, trying to get a grip on my thoughts.

  No. I definitely didn’t send those photos. I don’t remember doing it.

  That doesn’t mean you didn’t send them. How drunk were you at the party?

  But they weren’t in my sent emails, either. I opened up my school email on my phone to show Ms Benewood.

  ‘Look. I promise I didn’t send them!’ I said, waving the screen under her nose.

  But she just met my eye and said, in a level voice, ‘I might not be on Snapchat or Instagram, but even I know you can delete sent emails, Chloe.’

  My phone is vibrating. Slowly filling up with messages from Tom and people from school wanting to hear the gossip. I bet even more messages are swirling around that I can’t see. Messages from people gossiping about me, sharing the photos of Louise. It’s probably the talk of the entire school.

  I feel a heat rising in my cheeks and – away from everyone, before I have to face Mum – I let a tear fall down my cheek.

  I sniff into the navy sleeve of my school jumper, my stomach churning and churning.

  Another tear leaks down my face.

  Either this is one big giant prank, or there are bits of Tom’s party I really don’t remember.

  CHAPTER 27

  Amber

  Later that morning, I’m sitting in chemistry, trying not to fall asleep as Ms Woodford drones on about the components of an atom. I’m swiping through Ren’s recent locations, my brain buzzing with all the possible reasons he could have been set up, when my phone lights up with a message.

  I’m so used to getting push notifications from various apps that it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s a full-blown message, not just some reminder telling me to ‘check back in’.

  AnshMan Sorry I missed your message earlier. How’s your afternoon going?

  It’s sitting there, nestled between the status updates and ‘you may have missed’ me
ssages, like it’s just like any other notific ation, but it’s not. This is a message someone sent to me – only me.

  I read it almost instantly, but it takes a few moments to sink in.

  Ansh messaged me back, after I behaved like a complete freak in the gym this morning and made out I was some kind of online stalker.

  Why would he do that?

  Slowly, I pick up my phone and stare at the keyboard.

  I go to my notes app and start typing out a few different messages so he won’t know how long it takes me to write something. Eventually I type back:

  Amber0789 Good, thanks – trying not to fall asleep in chemistry . How’s yours?

  He almost instantly sends a GIF of a cat sleeping on a keyboard. My mouth unwillingly lifts into a smile. I want to apologize now – send a long message saying sorry for being so weird this morning. I start typing one out in my notes, but then stop.

  I think of the way Seb’s phone dings almost constantly with hundreds of messages. How he just fires off a response without thinking about it. The way he never goes too deeply into things.

  I swipe across to cat GIFs and send one of a kitten wearing comic glasses and a little hat, studying.

  Ansh almost instantly sends back a crying-with-laughter emoji.

  I tap on the message again, and a warm feeling radiates through my chest.

  CHAPTER 28

  Chloe

  ‘No, Mum – I’m trying to tell you I didn’t send those email s . . . Mum, stop – please! I didn’t—’

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table across from Mum, who has just found out about the suspension and is screaming at me at the top of her lungs.

  ‘Just wait until your father hears about this!’ She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘Sending rude emails to boys! Taking naked photos of Louise? What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Mum, please! You’ve got to believe me! I didn’t send emails to any boys, or take photos of Louise.’ Even as I say the words, I can feel a stirring in my gut.

  But did you send them? Can you be sure?