Picture of Caleb on the side!

Chapter Three

Caleb

If I were to use three words to describe myself, it would be these: I hate parties. If I'd had a choice, I would have spent my Friday nights at home on the couch with a bag of chips, playing video games or watching TV.

Unfortunately, I didn't really have a choice.

Every week, unless I was deathly ill or had lost a limb, I had to go to a party. My parents described it as "protocol." Every time I complained, they reminded me that I was a 10+ Popular, thank you very much, and would it kill me to act like it every once in a while? They sent me off to parties with Carlie, who made sure that we were always seen kissing or holding hands; little things like that, because they made people talk.

And the more people talked, the more Popular we got.

Although attending parties boosted ones Rank, it was only by a fraction of a percent. Gossip was where all the points were at. You got people to talk about you consistently and for an extended period of time, and boom—instant Popularity. The school monitored our text messages, emails, and phone calls; every time someone's name was mentioned, it was added to their Rank, no matter what it was. Which meant that whatever people were saying about you didn't have to be good.

I knew that in Carlie's case, most of it wasn't. She didn't make herself very easy to like, and most of her Popularity was gained from being trashed, not admired. As for myself, I had no idea. I could only hope that my case wasn't the same as hers.

"Hey, babe, why don't I go get us something to drink?” I murmured into Carlie's ear. I was sitting next to her on one of the leather couches in Stevie's living room, pretending to listen as she chattered to her friends about nothing in particular. She paused in mid-sentence and turned back to look at me, a mischievous smile on her pretty face.

"Yeah, sure," she whispered back, winking. I was relieved; it was usually harder to get away from her during parties. Leaving Carlie still talking, I eased my way through the crowd of people, who hurried aside as I passed. Some hollered out my name, others grinned hesitantly, and others still simply watched me walk by in reverent silence. I kept a generic smile on my face, giving an occasional nod, but my mind was elsewhere.

There were only a couple of weeks until the Superiors came, after all. It was all Carlie could talk about; hell, it was all anyone could talk about. This time of year was always ridiculously important, when even people who had no chance of being Chosen were clamoring to be noticed. It was a period of ultimate desperation among my peers, and I was right at the pinnacle of it all. I was the guy that would be going to the Capitol, and everyone knew it.

Plenty of people would have killed to be in my place. But me—well, I'd developed somewhat of an aversion to being Chosen. For whatever reason, the Superiors had always seemed suspicious to me, and I wasn't sure I liked their system. They were commonly described as being perfect, but I found it hard to trust anything so flawless. But time and time again, I chalked those feelings up to pointless paranoia; after all, if everyone else put so much faith into the government, what could possibly be wrong with it?

I sighed inwardly as the loud music vibrated through my head. It was times like these that made me wish I could just be a Loser. It seemed so much easier to keep your head down than hold it high, to blend into a crowd rather that stand out in it. There would be no need to worry about Rank or appearance if you were a Loser, and there would be no obligation whatsoever to go to parties.

The only reason I was willing to bear this night's torture was because, for once, I actually had a reason to go. According to Stevie, Elizabeth Marshall was attending. She was Ranked at a five, and I knew her face, though I'd never spoken to her; she was part of the wannabe-Popular group of girls that sometimes hung around Carlie after school. She was rather annoying, not to mention a full-blown Follower. But it wasn't Elizabeth that I was interested in. Stevie had mentioned that Elizabeth was thinking of bringing her best friend, Delaney Escott, to the party. And she was the one I wanted.

Carlie had told me, on one of her frequent rants about the Losers in her classes, that Delaney was good with technology, particularly computers. So good, in fact, that Carlie despised her for the sole reason that someone with such a low Rank was better than her at something. But it wasn't only that. Delaney's dad worked for the government at a city level, and had an office in the city's federal building. Meaning there was a very high chance that Delaney would be able to do something like, say, hack into a government computer to find out more about the Superiors.

Not that I would ever ask her to do anything like that.

In the end, I found Elizabeth in the kitchen, where I had been going in the first place. She was pouring a thick, pink liquid into a glass of ice. I hoped she realized what it was. As soon as it was full, she began drinking it, while simultaneously trying to fill another cup with her free hand. I moved up beside her, choosing a can of soda at random.

"Need a little help?" I asked, watching Elizabeth struggle to pull out a new cup with her pinky. She glanced at me, looked away, and then turned back, her eyes widening. Her own cup fell from her hand and hit the counter, splattering liquid all over the granite.

"Caleb Payne," she whispered, slurring slightly. Then, a little louder, "You're Caleb Payne." I resisted the urge to glance around me and make sure nobody was watching our conversation. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to see me talking to this girl and report it back to Carlie.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied brightly, waving my hand like I was brushing the subject away. "I'm just getting a drink for Carlie, and—hey, aren't you Elizabeth Marshall?" She nodded wordlessly, her mouth agape. "Yeah, Carlie talks about you all the time!"

I was pretty sure that Carlie didn't even know that Elizabeth was part of her group of followers, but the lie had just the effect I was hoping for.

"R-r-really?"

"Yeah!" I flashed a smile. "Seems like she really likes you, which is rare, trust me." I laughed, and Elizabeth laughed with me, albeit nervously.

After a pause, I pointed at the empty cup in Elizabeth's hand. "Hey, do you want some help with that?"

"I—yeah, sure," she stuttered.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, you know," I said jokingly. "I don't bite."

"No—I know—I never thought that—of course you wouldn't—"

I burst out laughing, legitimately this time. Even though I knew she was a bit drunk, and therefore in a less coherent state of mind, Elizabeth's reaction was pretty funny. At the same time, though, it was rather annoying, the way she was so desperate for me to accept her.

"No worries, Elizabeth; I was just kidding." I slid the now-filled cup over to her, carefully avoiding the spill. She just stared at me.

Acting on a whim, I gestured to the drink in front of her. "So, were you planning on drinking that, or—"

"No, no, you can have it!" she interrupted quickly. I resisted the urge to slam my head against the counter. This girl was such a pushover, it was almost scary.

"I don't want it," I snapped, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "I'm just wondering if it's for you, or somebody else."

"Oh!" Elizabeth blinked rapidly, and I could see that she was struggling to remain focused. "It's for—for my friend Delaney."

Score.

I took advantage of the open opportunity and the girl's disorientation to get myself a way in. "Well, I could take this to her, if you want," I suggested, pointing at the drink. Elizabeth stared at it in confusion at first before nodding.

"If you don't mind," she slurred shyly.

"No, not at all," I replied, picking up the cup. "Do you know where your friend is?"

"Uh...last I saw her, she was—she was watching the dancers. She's wearing a purple shirt, and, um, sparkly shorts."

I smiled, quite pleased with myself for getting information out of her so easily. "I'll bring it to her right away. Nice talking to you." She grinned queasily. "I'll tell Carlie that you said hello."

And before she could respond, I stepped out of the kitchen, back into the pulsing music and the endless sea of people.

○●○●○●○

As soon as I reentered the crowd surrounding the dancers, people started talking to me.

"Hey, Caleb, how's it going?"

"What's up, man?"

I ignored them all, which really wasn't like me. But I didn't have time for conversation right then, especially with irritating Followers I didn't even know. I was pushing my way through the crowd, paying little attention to anything below my eye level, when someone suddenly stepped down on my foot. I stumbled back, unable to stop some of the drink from spilling out of its cup. A short, brunette girl with a familiar face was staring up at me apologetically, and I was just about to tell her off when I saw her shorts. They were sparkly.

"Excuse me, but are you Delaney Escott?"

"Yeah, that's me," she shouted over the music. She was wide-eyed. I recognized her immediately as the girl who had run into Carlie at the beginning of the party.

"Your friend Elizabeth gave me this drink to give to you!" I yelled. Delaney hardly looked at it, but just grabbed it from me and took a sip.

She looked a little nervous, but cracked a smile. "Thanks!" She took a few more sips, staring at me tentatively, as if she was expecting me to walk away at any moment. When I didn't, she pursed her lips. I saw my window of opportunity closing.

"Hey, so you're good with computers, right?" I asked.

She frowned. "Huh? I can't hear you!"

I edged my way out of the crowd, beckoning for her to follow. After a moment's hesitation, she did.

"I said, you're good with computers, right?"

"I guess." A pause. Then, "Look, no offense, but why are you talking to me? I'm not exactly the most Popular person, in case you haven't noticed."

"'Cause, well..." I sheepishly looked at the floor, trying to seem as anxious as possible. "See, I've got this huge project due for Tech. I'm not exactly the best with all that computer stuff. I've heard that you're really tech-savvy, so I was thinking that you might be able to give me a few pointers."

She looked completely taken aback. "Why me? Can you not find someone on your own social level to help you?"

"I could, but"—I shrugged—"I really don't want anyone to know that I need help. It'd kind of be a blow to my perfect rep, you know?"

The incredulous look on Delaney's face almost made me wince. Rather than make her feel sorry for me, saying those words made her think that I was a conceited jerk. My stomach twisted, because, for the first time, it seemed my charm wasn't working.

But, much to my surprise, Delaney nodded. "I guess that would be okay, then," she conceded. For a moment, I thought that the alcohol was affecting her, but her eyes were lucid. "If you're really serious about this, and this isn't some prank set up by Carlie."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why would Carlie—"

"Long story short, your girlfriend hates my guts."

I knew that that was true, but wasn't sure what to say, especially since, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Carlie and her friends standing up from the couches. At any moment they could turn around, and then I would be dead. We'd probably been talking for too long already.

"Just meet me in the library at school on Monday, okay?" I said hurriedly.

Delaney gave me a strange look. "Okay, I guess," she said slowly, raising her drink to her lips.

"Great, see you then!" I hurried away without waiting for a reply.

Carlie looked over her shoulder as I came up behind her and caught her around the waist.

"Here's your drink, babe," I said, kissing her for good measure. She took the can of soda from me, but didn't open it.

"What took you so long?" she asked, her voice laced with purposely unconcealed suspicion.

I smiled like I had nothing to hide. "Some moron spilled their drink, so I helped them clean it up." Rolling my eyes, I shook my head.

"Wow, how chivalrous," she purred. "You're so sweet." She turned to her friends. "Isn't he sweet?" They gave their affirmative responses in chorus.

"Not as sweet as you," I said, laughing and pulling her closer. "And by the way, Elizabeth Marshall told me to tell you hello."

Carlie knit her eyebrows, her pretty face confused, and gave me the exact answer I was expecting. "Who's Elizabeth Marshall?"

"Oh, just somebody who probably wishes she was you," I told her.

She smiled coyly and tilted her head so her lips were right next to my ear. "Doesn't everyone?"