Mrs. Whittaker,

It is with much regret that I am writing to you. As Chloe's physics teacher, I continue to grow increasingly concerned with her ability to complete assessments to a high standard, as is expected of her with her affinity for mathematics and science.

Chloe failed the topic four test after resitting it, and her most recent assessments have achieved average marks, if not a little worse. In the wake of her loss, I think it's best to set up a meeting so we can consider her options together. I fear that if this trend is to continue she will be letting her future down severely.

I'm concerned that she's found the wrong crowd, and as much as she is as an asset to this school, I'm beginning to ponder whether a fresh start might be a good option for her as an individual.

Please email be back when you can, I'll try calling again tomorrow.

Regards,

Ms Neal

"Chloe."

The words were murmured against my neck, his breath teasing the sensitivity of my skin, pulling goosebumps into position and making the tiny hairs stand up straight. I sighed and nuzzled closer, the warmth entrapping me in whatever dream had enthralled my mind.

"Chloe, your phone's ringing," he said again, this time rendering some response as I shifted, my mind slowly grappling the situation.

"Oh, shit," I said rather unflatteringly as I rubbed my face. I'd fallen asleep as we watched the footage. "Did I miss anything?"

William looked amused. He handed me my mobile which was vibrating. "Nothing interesting, it's only been twenty minutes or so. But you better answer this.

I squinted at him for a moment, still not completely awake, before realizing it was my mom's name flashing on the screen.

"Shit," I repeated before swiping across the screen just in time. I scooped the phone into my hand and shifted off of the bed, walking down the hall and out of earshot. "Hello?"

"Chloe," Mom said on the other end of the line, her voice sounding a little off. "Oh, Chloe, I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier, it's just—"

Her voice trailed off into a series of giggles—from what sounded like at least one other person too. I realized what was so off in her voice. She was drunk.

"Mom?"

"Sorry, sweetheart. I just needed to call and let you know I won't be coming home tonight, I've had a little bit too much to drink and I don't want to have to catch a cab home from your Grandparents."

She laughed again. I bit my lip. It was almost eleven.

"There's food in the fridge," she continued, her voice giddy and high. "Help yourself!"

"I already ordered pizza," I said, figuring there was no reason to add that I wasn't alone. If she wasn't coming home then she wouldn't need to know. That resonated another thought to my mind. "Where's Dad?"

She hesitated. "He has a seminar in New York tomorrow morning, he's flying out tonight. I thought I told you..."

"It's fine," I said quickly. I was so used to it that I couldn't bring myself to care. And it made the whole scenario of William staying over much less stressful. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," she said. "I love you, Chloe. Get an early sleep, okay? I don't want you missing another day of school."

"Of course, Mom," I said. Tomorrow was Friday. The week felt as if it was stretching on for eternity, and I wished it would just end. I yearned for the weekend, when I wouldn't have to face level one or worry about Jack for two whole days.

"Bye, honey."

"Bye."

I frowned. That meant that, save for William and I, my house would be empty tonight. At least that would make things easier, saving the awkwardness of explaining to my parents why a boy was staying the night.

And it would make viewing the remaining hours of footage undisturbed.

I walked slowly back up the hallway, pausing in the doorway to my bedroom. William was sitting on my bed, propped up against the cushions with the laptop on his lap. He looked a little tired and his hair was mussed, and in the casual cotton t-shirt and sweats he was wearing he didn't look nearly as polished as he usually did. I kind of liked it.

"Was that your parents?" he asked when he noticed my return. On the edge of my bed was an empty pizza box, and on my bedside table was a finished bottle of wine and two stained glasses. I set to work to clean the mess.

"One of them," I answered, wiping my hair out of my face. "My mom. She won't be home, and my father's on the way to New York right now, apparently."

"Does that happen often?" he asked lazily, his tone thick with the beginning of fatigue, and probably the odd touch of tipsiness from the few glasses of wine he'd consumed too.

"Sometimes," I answered. "Dad's pretty distant from Mom and I."

"I understand that," he said with the edge of bitterness. "But my mom's just as bad, really. Dad's close with us, but controlling. Mom just runs every single thing she says or does by him first. You can never get an opinion from her. It's infuriating."

"It sounds like it." I gave a meek smile. "The beauty of having parents obsessed with their jobs."

I took our rubbish as well as the empty bottle and glasses downstairs, feeling oddly content in the empty house. It was still bizarre that I was comfortable with William Bishop's presence, but at the same time, it felt natural that he was here.

Shaking my head at all that had changed, I returned to my bedroom again, turning off the lights and setting the alarm as I did so. This time, Will had shut the laptop and was waiting for me.

"I think we've had enough of that crap for tonight," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

He was probably right. Between drunken clips of the girls dancing and the group toasting to stupid sentiments, nothing of value had been found yet. But, we were only just starting to enter junior year, where things had really started getting dramatic for Arlington's most entertaining clique.

"Thank you," I said suddenly, my voice carrying awkwardly in the quiet of the house. "For watching with me. And for the pizza."

"You're welcome," he said, a trace of amusement flickering on his face before he averted his gaze back to my bedroom.

The abandoned letters tossed in the trash tugged painfully at my heart. Unwilling to deal with the heartbreaking feelings in that moment, I shoved off every thought of Mon from my mind. I did what I always did. I pretended everything was normal.

"Did you want to sleep... I mean we have a guest room," I said, fidgeting with the button to my plaid skirt. I was still in my school clothes.

"I don't mind," he said quickly, his gaze surveying the ceiling. The fact that he wasn't looking at me made the situation feel intimate, like each of us were trying to avoid the attraction that stemmed from lingering on each other's eyes a little too long.

I took an even breath. "Well, I know you slept in here last time but that just happened — I don't want to make you uncomfortable or to make a big deal or—"

"Chloe," he interrupted, his eyes finally circling back to mine, the corners of them crinkling with an almost playful smile. "I don't mind sleeping in your bed. But if you would rather I don't, just say so."

My mind went blank for a moment before my lips moved without thought. "Okay."

He saved us from empty silence by rising to his feet. "Well, I'm really tired. That wine got to my head."

"Mine too," I agreed, but I didn't feel tired. Maybe it was the small sleep I'd managed or the influx of emotions that afternoon, but I felt incredibly alert. I was acutely aware of his breathing, and the way his scent seemed to linger in the room, intoxicating my lungs and sending my senses haywire.

I looked to my clothes, and then to my closet, just as he did the same.

"I should get changed," I said.

"Me too," he agreed. "I mean, I won't sleep in this shirt. If that's okay. I don't want it wrinkled for tomorrow..."

The twinkle in his eye made my stomach twist, an odd sensation that made my breathing fall heavy. There were probably more reasons than that as to why he'd want his shirt off. Like wanting to make me lose control again.

"We could turn the light out?" I suggested.

"Good thinking," he said, amusement all over his features as he stretched, the muscles in his arms flexing.

I narrowed my eyes skeptically before flipping the light switch.

We were immediately plunged into complete darkness, which I was grateful for. I didn't know how I felt about revealing my body to him, or how it would react if I saw his bare chest. As if teasing me, my mind started conjuring images of what he would look like. A hard, contoured chest, a toned abdomen leading down to his gray sports sweats, sitting dangerously low on his hips...

With the lights out and my vision stolen I became sensitive to sound. The steady rise and fall of his breath. The sound of cotton against skin as he slid off his shirt. I screwed my eyes shut, even though it was already dark, and turned away from him, facing the wall.

I peeled off my stockings slowly. Carefully. Then I loosened my skirt and let it fall to the ground. I waited for a moment, for what I wasn't sure. Then I kicked it to the corner and unbuttoned my blouse. I was standing in my underwear when I felt him move closer. I could almost sense his heat from behind me.

His fingertips brushed my shoulders, so gently that if I wasn't already hyper-aware of his presence, I might not have noticed at all.

"Sorry," he said, his tone tight. "I didn't realize you were here. I was just trying to find the bed."

I went to laugh, to fill the silence, but no sound came out. Instead, I was filled with an intense sensation of butterflies. He backed off, I heard him take two steps away.

Suddenly, I had a new found confidence. Instead of reaching for my drawer and retrieving the old shirt and shorts I usually slept in, I swallowed and turned around. I didn't feel vulnerable in the plain black bra and panties I was wearing.

This time, I reached for him, my fingers finding his forearms, his skin burning beneath mine.

I wanted him to kiss me again. To take away my thoughts, the conflicting battle that was always warring in my mind.

His lips grazed mine, so softly and lightly. A question. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to deepen it. After a second, though, they left, his hesitation clear. He didn't speak. Instead, his fingers framed my face, smoothing the loose fragments of hair, tilting my chin.

I wasn't in the mood for patience. I let my hand find his stomach. Touch was our only form of communication with our vision taken and our words muted with a wild intoxication. I let my fingers trace over the grooves of his abs before rising over his chest and onto his shoulders, winding around to the back of his neck and pulling his lips down to collide with mine.

And like that, a spark of ferocity was ignited into a full blown explosion. The feeling of skin against skin, with nothing between us to dilute the chemistry, raw attraction in its most animalistic form.

In that moment I felt an adoration for William Bishop that I couldn't control. It was a captivating feeling that made me want to blurt it out, to tell him how much he meant to me, even if I didn't understand it myself.

His lips were fast and hungry against my own, and I pulled him even closer, so my body was pressed firmly against his. One of his hands clutched my shoulder blades, the other exploring my lower back, playing with the hem of my underwear...

And then we were on the bed, and I was on top of him, straddling his hips as I guided our kiss. He was the only person I'd ever kissed, but even though I was unsure, I felt an instinct within me that told me exactly what to do. It told me to let my tongue trace his lower lip and to let my kisses trail along his jaw until he let out a deep moan.

He rolled us around so he was on top of me, and my heart soared, beating so fast it was hammering in my ears. I wanted him. I wanted him closer, and I wanted him in every way possible.

"How far are you wanting to take this, Whittaker?" he murmured as my hands toyed with the waistband of his sweats. His breath came in pants, his tone thick.

"As far as we can," I answered without a second thought. I was so sure I wanted to. Something had changed the moment he'd entered my house tonight, the moment he was the one to put me together when I started to feel deranged. The one to take away my anxiety, the one to rescue me when I was drowning in a sea of corrupt people and terrible intentions.

And I was being honest. Sex didn't seem like a big deal to me. He'd taken my first kiss, but now I realized I was more than happy for him to have it. He could have it, it was all his.

"Maybe not tonight," he said, kissing my neck, just below my earlobe. "You've been drinking, and I know you're not in a good place right now."

Even though he spoke his words with confidence, I could sense that he wasn't completely willing to say them. I tried to ignore the feeling of rejection that sizzled beneath the surface. He was just trying to be a good guy. And in most forms of the word, he was. If he never got muddled up with level one and their secrets and lies, maybe I'd have crushed on him long ago.

It just took blackmail to see that.

"Why do you have to choose now to be a good guy, William," I teased, my mind still distracted by his body pressed to mine.

"Will," he said, a chuckle teasing his tone. "When will you ever listen to me?"

"Never," I said triumphantly, pulling him down by the base of his neck to kiss me again.

The following morning, I woke wrapped in a tangle of limbs, mine intertwined with Will's.

When I caught sight of my clock across the bed, I knew I'd already slept through my first two classes.

So with that, I decided I wasn't going to school at all. I dreaded the thought of going to begin with. I'd make up some excuse to my mother.

"Will," I murmured, turning to the boy whose arms I was wrapped in. His skin was hot, especially against my own.

He looked so handsome. I didn't know how someone could look regal when they were asleep, but he managed it elegantly, even with his messy hair and the pillow lines across his cheeks.

When he didn't stir, I decided to leave him, pulling my robe over my shoulders and going downstairs to shower. My body longed for the feeling of hot water against my back, and my mind was far too active to curl up back beside him in bed.

But, that didn't exactly go to plan when I saw my mom waiting for me. She was sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen with the bottle of empty wine in her hands, her eyes examining the label intently. My heart sank.

When I stepped off of the bottom stair, she looked up, her face telling me I was already in far too deep to talk my way out of.

"This wine was a gift from your dad," she said, her tone frighteningly calm.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know, I can replace it—"

"And don't even get me started on the fact that the car on the street is coincidentally the same as the Bishop boy's. And the fact that you should be at school right now."

"Mom," I said, willing her to somehow understand. "I didn't mean to miss school, I didn't sleep well—"

"Because that boy is in your bed?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, daring me to challenge her. "Nice try, Chloe. Tell him to leave."

My lips parted, but no words came out. I felt guilty, and awful, and I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. She had every right to be completely furious.

And she was. For days.

William was just as tense as I was as I walked him to the car. Thankfully, my mom had gone into her bedroom to avoid an awkward walk of shame. He'd still been drowsy, and lightly teasing me in the wake of my embarrassment. But he had an important weekend leading up to his return to Arlington, and I had a lot of footage to keep watching.

Between helping my mother around the house and listening to her lectures, I managed to watch ever second, some of it on triple speed, gathering little pieces. I was haunted by the memory of William's skin against my skin, and the way his warmth wrapped around me as I slept, but those weren't supposed to be important. Not when so much was at stake.

Even so, they continued to play on repeat, every thought of him prompting a goofy grin on my lips.

On Sunday night I reviewed the list of videos I'd deemed useful. It felt trivial compared to the secrets I knew, but it would be enough to ignite drama from the less significant levels of Arlington.

But, just as I was reveling in the small victory, the trip to Mike's worth at least something, my phone rang, William's name showing on the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answered, the smile quick to form on my lips.

"Chloe," he breathed, his tone carrying with it an urgency that immediately put me on edge, my smile dropping. "Listen, I need to warn you about something."

"What?" I said, my veins running ice cold.

"It's Jack," he said, his voice regretful. "He's told them everything."

AN: this is the last day to submit covers for the cover contest - with the next chapter posted will also be a part containing the top 10 and voting info. Thanks to everyone who's participated so far, I love you all! 

What do you think level one's reaction will be?

Ann 💕