|| Dedicated to scyrenne for the awesome cover. Thanks :) ||

Chapter One

“I know your world is in my hands, and you know I pull the strings. I like to see how tall you stand, ‘cause if I wanted I could take it away.” –Adelitas Way, The Collapse

“I wanna make a deal.”

I looked up from the glossy magazine’s double spread and cocked an eyebrow at Chelsea Colbert, who was fidgeting self-consciously with her garish green sweater, which only served to illuminate the nauseous tint of her pale skin.

My lips twitched into a smirk, and I slowly closed the cover of the magazing and crossed my legs. “Oh,” I said calmly. “Do you now?”

She nodded, and tucked a long, straw-like blonde lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes. I do.”

I set aside the magazine and crossed my arms over my chest, continuing to laze on the brick walkway. “Interesting. Tell me, Chelsea, what could I possibly do for a ravishing girl such as yourself?”

“I wanna be head cheerleader,” Chelsea said quickly, as if she wished to rid herself of the confession as quickly as possible. “I keep trying to get into the squad, but they won’t let me in. I need your help, Cam.”

I groaned and flopped my head back, grateful for the warm sun beating down on my skin. “Come on, Chels. Really? The cheerleading team? You could do so much better. Are you sure you really want this?”

I peeped one eye open just in time to see her nod. “Yes. I do. Please help me, Cam.”

“Fine,” I sighed, as if the mere idea of lowering myself to such a platform pained me. “Consider it done. But it’s gonna cost you.”

She winced. “How much?”

I pursed my lips. Considering the dirt I had on Lena, the current head cheerleader, it would be no trouble whatsoever. “One secret. And as a free bonus, I’ll even get you some free lessons from Lena Hall herself.”

She pulled forward her ratty tote bag, and I frowned, wrinkling my nose. “I can pay you,” she said quickly. “Really. I have five hundred dollars. Please, Cam.”

I laughed. How adorable. “I don’t want your money, kid. I got enough of my own. Sorry, but it’s secrets or nothing. What’s it going to be?”

She chewed on her chapped lip and stared off vaguely somewhere behind my shoulder, considering her options. Finally she nodded resolutely, and I admired her persistence and verve towards getting what she wanted. “No, I want this, Camila. I’ll do it.”

I sat up and brushed off my jeans, which were perfectly clean and pressed. “Done. Now, as for my payment….” I looked her over, considering what part of her I could gain info on. “Tell me, Chelsea, how’d you lose the weight over summer break? I know diets and exercise works wonders, but you don’t even have stretch marks. Mind sharing your mad weight loss secret with me?”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, please. Anything but that. Come on, Camila. Please.”

I clicked my tongue. “Sorry, Chels. But that’s my price. Spill. What’s with the sudden weight loss? Was it those protein shakes featured on the infomercials? I hear they cause bloating, though. Ew.”

She stayed silent, and seemed to be reconsidering our exchange. “Come on, Chelsea,” I sing-songed. “Fess up.”

She whispered something unintelligible, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Chelsea, I know you can speak louder than that. How are you going to cheer with that voice?”

“Liposuction, okay?” she cried out, throwing her hands in the air exasperatedly. “I got liposuction!”

I sucked in a breath and winced. “Ooh, lipo! Damn, Chels. Really? I thought you were better than that?”

“Yeah, well, not all of us can wear a size zero,” she spat.

“Now, that’s the catty attitude you need to be on the cheerleading team,” I told her. “Keep up the saucy exterior, and they’ll love you.”

“How would you know?”

I giggled. “Um, maybe because I created the cheerleading team for this school. It cost the girl five secrets, but damn, it was worth it. The footballers love it. And now I got a crappy plaque on the wall dedicated to me for funding the cheerleading team. Secrets made it worth it, though.”

“How can you do that?” Chelsea asked, frowning at me. “How can you take people’s deepest secrets and be okay with it?”

“Because as long as people are stupid enough to barter their secrets for favors, I’m smart enough to enjoy it, Chel-Bell,” I replied nonchalantly. “Come on, now. Let’s get you that cheerleading spot, huh?”

It was a dirty job, but someone has to do it. There isn’t much far out of my reach. I wouldn’t even rule out assassination, honestly. But when you have a million-dollar allowance, you can do pretty much anything for the people stupid enough to beg for help from the most manipulative inhabitant of Leighton Fields.

I feel compelled to point out that, no, it wasn’t just petty high school girls that came to me for help. I had elderly ladies I’d helped sneak out of nursing homes for the day (seems that grandmas keep pretty crappy secrets, by the way), and I even helped Helena Porter divorce her ex-husband, Walton Gregory, without the public knowing. No one even knows they’re separated and living in different houses.

I’m nothing if not thorough. Whether you’re a priest, a teacher, a principal or politician, not much is from my grasp. Trust me. The last governor? He was only voted in thanks to me and a pretty nifty secret that involved he and his wife and the pool boy. All it took was a little bit of flirting with the ballot keeper and we had a new winner. No questions asked.

I know how I must seem to you. I mean, an eighteen year-old girl who runs her town on blackmailing and thievery. Pretty awful, right?

And you know what? You’re dead right. It is awful. It’s dirty and risky, and is pretty illegal, too. But I don’t care. I get secrets, and the joy of holding something over someone’s head, and I don’t care if that makes me a horrible human being or not. Finding out about the football team’s little drug accident is worth the judgmental looks and grimaces of disgust when I walk past.

It doesn’t matter how many times you glare at me; I still know about what happened at freshman camp between you and Toby Parker. And, no, I’m not going to forget it. And, yes, I will hold it over your head until I never see you again.

Oh, and, no, I’m not sorry at all.

Getting Chelsea into the cheerleading team was about as easy as you’d expect. Which is, to say, pretty damned hard when you’re dealing with Lena Hall, who is totally not ready to relinquish her rights to the cheerleading captain crown to an airheaded, uncoordinated newbie.

“Not my problem,” I told her simply, after she’d finished a very unladylike rant to me for five minutes about the importance of cheerleading etiquette and the need for order.

“You can’t just replace her because she told you some crappy little secret about the stuffed toy she still sleeps with,” Lena snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Though I was pretty sure she was wearing an inflatable bra, because no one sprouts a D cup within three months, but whatever.

“First of all, that wasn’t her secret. And, second of all, I sure as hell can. Because, last I checked, my family funds this frigging team, and, also, the only reason you’re head cheerleader is because of me. So I’d be very careful how you speak to me. Are we clear?”

“She can’t even cheer!” Lena hissed, glancing at Chelsea, who was watching the twirling cheerleaders in confused wonderment.

“Once again, not my problem,” I reminded her, with a false cheery smile. “But I did tell her you’d help her learn how. Hope you don’t mind.”

Her jaw fell open. “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can!” I replied, flipping my hair over my shoulder and faking her level of indignation. “Watch me.”

“I’ll pay you. Please, Cam. Don’t do this to me. I need this for college. I’m trying to get in on a cheerleading scholarship.”

“I don’t see the part where this is my problem,” I told her.

Tears filled her baby-blue eyes, but I wasn’t some sucker for crocodile tears. I don’t know what Camila Stryker she thought she was dealing with, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. “Look, Lena,” I said. “Train her up, and get her ready for the team. Do it silently and without complaint, and don’t give me any more trouble. Or everyone finds out about your little bulimia problem. Are we clear, Lena?”

She looked ready to punch something, and her lips trembled with fear, but she kept her mouth locked shut, knowing I would fulfill my promise so fast she’d suffer whiplash.

“Good girl,” I drawled patronizingly. “I’ll leave you two it.”

I turned around and started for the door, not sparing a glance back to the ex-head cheerleader seconds away from having a total meltdown right there in the gymnasium. I spun around, needing to use my one last chance to add insult to injury. “Oh, and Lena?”

“What?” she whispered, face already streaked with tears (reminder to self: cheerleaders are total drama queens).

I winked. “Happy cheerleading.”

I turned around, and as I reached the sun outside the door, I reached up and pushed my sunglasses over my eyes, before sauntering outside and away from the gym, where, in the distance, I could hear her letting out a hysterical scream.

“Just another day at Leighton Fields,” I murmured, smirking to myself as I set off down the path and away from the drama of the cheerleaders.

If I had a dime for every time I made someone cry, I’d have enough money to pay for the therapy they all obviously need.

Well, I could pay for that, anyway.

But, ha, like I’m gonna spend it on their therapy bills.

I’m my own kind of crazy.

~          *          ~

Coming home from school that day, I could already hear my parents fighting somewhere in the distance, and chose to ignore it in favor of my room.

Climbing the mahogany stairs, I finally made it to my room and closed the door quietly behind me, hoping it would be enough to drown out their yelling.

Nope. No dice.

I sighed and turned on my stereo, before pulling down the loose top I’d pulled on, and tied my long brown hair up into a ponytail.

I walked into my walk-in closet, and grabbed my pad of Post-It notes. I scribbled down in black marker

Chelsea Colbert. Head cheerleader. Liposuction.

Then I pinned it to what I liked to call my ‘Wall of Secrets’, where I kept all the secrets, jobs, and manipulations I’d worked on over the years. It spanned the large plaster walls of my closet, including the journal entries, pictures, news articles, and whatever else connected to it, all pinned in an orderly fashion. I also had thumbtacks and yarn connecting different students and how they’d connected to certain teams or people thanks to me. I tacked a large red piece of yarn from Chelsea to Lena, and drew an X over Lena’s face in a news article about leading the cheerleading team to victory, and then sat back on my bed, satisfied with my work.

I’d thought manipulation would be significantly harder than it turned out to be. But it turns out manipulating people wasn’t half as bad or damaging as expected. All I had to do was talk to the right people, do a healthy amount of stalking (not all my juicy pieces of gossip came from customers, you know) and keep my ears tuned into gossip central, and I had a whole business made. It was like the black market of secrets, all with one person running the secrets cartel. Moi. And I loved every second.

Of course, an imperative part of running a business like this is making sure you actually have the ability of distinguishing fact from fiction. For instance:

Joey Marshall and Lara Toms hooked up behind the cafeteria during a fire drill: FACT

Afterwards, Lara got pregnant, hence why she had two weeks off of school a month later: FICTION (They actually only made out, and Lara got the chickenpox, not pregnancy).

Ethan Lowrie is in love with his best friend of three years, Eddie George: FICTION. (But don’t worry; I’m keeping my ears open, just in case.)

My parents are on the verge of divorce and they’re still screaming profanities at each other in the kitchen: FACT (Not that anyone else is going to ever know about that.)

Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between the two, especially when the fact can seem extremely surreal, and the false part of it can be backed up by seemingly solid facts.

But one thing I’d invested in after starting this business and realizing many people can lie their way through a secret was the ability to detect a lie. Really, no one needs a lie detector test when you’ve got the human incarnation here. If you fix your hair, scratch your ear, fiddle with your fingers, or divert your eyes, I’m onto you. If you do a number of other things, you are so gone. The business has been lucrative ever since, and you can bet I have not had any cheats thus far. I run a tight ship.

Just then my phone went off, and I was grateful for a distraction. I was very bad at keeping busy. Movies, TV shows and books bored me, and sometimes I would spend extended periods of time staring at the wall due to having nothing else to occupy my time.

I started the call, and shifted back until I was lying on the bed. “Perrie, darling. Long time, no talk.”

“It’s been two hours,” she pointed out, and I smiled. Because even though manipulative Queen Bees can lie their way through a dangerous situation and control a whole city, even we need best friends.

And that’s when the blonde bombshell, Perrie Donovan, entered my life. She had the vitality, slow smile, and mysterious look I’d been after. She was the smooth kind of girl that could flirt her way through dire situations and charm even the oldest of men with one swiftly placed wink and correct stance. I admired her a lot, and she was my main source of gossip.

“I know, but I’m in desperate need of a pick-me-up. What’s the latest goss, Per?”

She sighed. “Not much. Oh, but suddenly Chelsea Colbert is head cheerleader of the team. Why do I get the feeling you were a little part of that?”

I shrugged. “Because you wouldn’t be my best friend if you were stupid. But, seriously, nothing on the rumor carousel?”

“Well, there are a few things…”

            “Name them.”

“That Dave and Elijah are totally in love, Mrs. Grove is pregnant to a guy on the football team, and that the football team is doping up on steroids again.”

“Busy week for the meatheads,” I responded, scribbling her response down on a Post-It note for reference. You know, just in case… “So we’ve got drugs, adultery and sin. Juicy. What about you, huh? Any news?”

“Not really,” she answered. “Trying to stay out of the scandals myself.”

“Don’t get too caught up in anything bad,” I warned her, smiling. “I’d hate to have to blackmail you into being my slave.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said playfully. “I gotta go. Catch you later!”

“Bye!” I called, ending the call and staring at my wall with a pursed expression, studying the photos and crisscrossing yarn. “Hmm…” I said, inspecting each chapter of the little drama book titled Leighton Fields Scandals. “I think it’s time to raise a little hell.”