Everything Will be Alright

Chapter one

Chapter One

The small funeral home is filled with the smell of tears. White and blue flowers crowd the edges of the room, releasing a faint fruity scent. Rows of black benches lead up to a large velvet casket at the front. Mourners stiffly sit, awkwardly conversing beneath a sullen mood. The walls, beside the wooden floor planks, are deep brown.
“Audrey,” my mom calls gently. I sit upright, heart pounding. She gives me a small nod, urging me forward. I fidget with my hands. They run cold.
My eyes drift down to the floorboards and I trace the creases with my shoe. Then, slowly, I step toward the front to give my eulogy.
At first, I told my mom I didn't want to speak because I couldn't bring myself to write down words. All I'd managed to scribble were the words "I will miss you, Alex" on a tear-soaked piece of paper.
That was before. Now my eyes burn—not fresh tears just from the dryness of too much crying. Too much thinking. After all, what are you supposed to write for your 17 year old twin brother’s funeral? I’m glad I came out first? Beat you to birth but you beat me to death?
Clearly, I’m not good at this.
After contemplating, I wrote a short speech. When I timed it, it was less than a minute. This time, I expect nothing different.
As I stand in front of everyone with my eyes dry of tears, random people I've never met smile in an attempt to embrace my pain. I can’t help wondering why they pretend to feel the loss as deeply as I do. They didn’t know him well, so why so sorrowful?
I quickly brush it off and begin to speak.
“Alex was great,” I start, but as I look into the crowd, their sorry faces are all I see. That’s when the tears begin to build up in my eyes. Please, don’t cry Audrey, is all I can think. To avoid the tears, I straighten my face. “He made me laugh, smile, and sometimes…” I stop again and wipe my cheeks. I force a smile. “He was my best friend. He still is, and I hope he knows that wherever he is now. Tha-thank you.” As I finish, everyone silently cries and replies with sympathetic smiles.
As I walk back and settle in my seat, I can’t help thinking: Was thank you the way to go? I shrug it off as I watch my mom rise to give her eulogy.
She stands before everyone and begins to speak. “Alex, he was perfect. Everyone will truly miss an angel like him…” As she continues, I recognize chunks of the eulogy from what she said at her father's funeral three years ago. I nearly did the same thing, then didn't because the words weren't good enough for someone like Alex.
My mother ends her eulogy with the same line I wanted to end mine with: Fly High; everything will be alright, sweet Alex. That was Alex’s favorite thing to say, everything will be alright. He always said it to hide how bad things were before he died.
I hold back tears, I hold back tears, shuddering at the idea of mascara running down my face.
It's definitely odd that I'm not crying at my own brother's funeral, I have my reasons. For instance, I’m too busy thinking about my own. If it were my funeral, I would want everyone to be happy and celebrate the life I lived instead of mourning it. I would like chocolate fountains with strawberries, cheesecake, and other things that taste good with chocolate. Maybe even bouncy castles or photo booths with little sticks, dumb mustaches, or huge lips.
However, that's something Audrey would want, not Alex. Not to mention, he is allergic to strawberries and hates cheesecake.
As I sulk around after the eulogy, sitting on a bench, I unfortunately recognize one of the clumps of people. They just got here, clean faces and freshly ironed clothes.
All those familiar faces used to be way below me on the social ladder. Some of them were even my friends once.
Out of all of them one face looks the most deceiving: Isla. She leans in close to two of my old friends, Jenny and Stacey. like they’re best friends now.
My eyes peer around the room for a distraction; they land on a nearby clock. I’ve been sitting here for over twenty minutes and the funeral is about to end.
Quickly, I notice massive crowds of people walking towards the exit door. I stand up and walk over to them; they all come after me—like a herd of zombies.
I try not to talk or breathe because most are old ladies and older men whose cologne and perfume smells worse than the casket. So I hold my breath and smile until there’s no one left in the funeral home. No one except my old friend group.
First, they embrace my parents with a beautiful hug. Tight, awkward, and short. Faces forced into frowns.
Finally, after every griefless hug, the last person in the funeral home is Isla. I especially don’t want to hug her, still she forces her blissful arms around me. It feels warm; soon, that smile will fade away because I know she’s sad for other reasons.
Isla slowly lets go of me as she joins everyone else who’s already outside.
Before she leaves for the car, she kisses a portrait of my brother that sits outside the funeral home.
Seconds later, a soft thud—her car door closing.
Leaving me alone.

Comments for this chapter

• Ok, first of all, this is super great, and I think the tense and perspective choice fit really well. Varying sentence lengths are super powerful as well so great job! Specifically: "Before she leaves for the car, she kisses a portrait of my brother that sits outside the funeral home." --> ok, this makes me think she was his girlfriend or something lol, I feel like this is a bit messy with our description of Isla: Like, we say she's deceptive, then she seems to really care about the MC (staying with her and being the last person), then she kisses the portrait so we think maybe she also mourns him? Anyway, maybe reevaluate how she stands, but if you do that and you still like it then its still awesome, this is just nitpicky. "It feels warm; soon, that smile will fade away because I know she’s sad for other reasons." --> OMG this is so good, it builds questions and suspense and its so beautifully written!!!! "Out of all of them one face looks the most deceiving: Isla. She leans in close to two of my old friends, Jenny and Stacey. like they’re best friends now." --> Not sure if the capitilization was intentional or not. I got kind of confused because just a few sentences later you say she's the last one to leave (to go outside). Also, maybe give us a quick description of her: Since this is like a sad novel or whatever, we dont care about her actual hair color/eye color/etc., instead give us something to visualize her, e.g. "Her makeup was messed up from crying, the dark black mascara bleeding down (etc.)" OBVIOUSLY BETTER but you get the idea. That also gives us an idea if she cares about the funeral, and her feelings. "Not to mention, he is allergic to strawberries and hates cheesecake." --> This felt kind of out of place; maybe say "He hates -- hated -- cheescake, and was allergic to strawberries anyway" or something better than that obviously.

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

  Liked by 2

• Ooh such a cool opening chapter! I have suspicions the rest of it will be just as awesome... don't stop writing!

  Comment by lilrose on February 26, 2026

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Chapter two

Chapter Two
I slouch on the red couch in the living room, feeling like a corpse even though it's been 26 days since the funeral. The couch still smells new, like plastic and chemicals, and I hate it. I want our old couch back. The one with the frayed seams and the chocolate stains from my slumber parties. The one with the hole in the cushion where Dad always sat. The couch Alex sat on before he died.
Maybe it's morbid of me to want it back, but change is the worst part of life.
I dealt with change when I had to switch preschools—that was rough.
I dealt with change when I had to wear glasses in first grade—I never heard the end of it.
And I have to deal with it now.
This time it’s not as simple as changing preschools or wearing glasses. This time, it’s more life-changing.
I’ve lived in Charlottesville, Virginia my entire life, with a brother and a perfect family. I used to be the popular girl whom everyone adored. Not anymore. Now I’m here: I still live in Charlottesville, sure. I still have dead blond hair, sure. Friends? I don’t have that anymore. Their loss.
I was always kind to everyone. Really. So I don’t know why they left me like jeans that go out of style in less than two months.
As I continue to sit on the couch, my phone sits beside me with headphones laying atop it. Faint music leaks out of the speaker, thin enough that I almost miss it. Music used to be my whole world. Now it’s just something that exists near me.
I hesitate before reaching for the earbuds, then slide one in. A soft melody fills my ear as I pull my legs onto the couch.
The sound settles, spreading slow and warm, until my thoughts loosen and my body forgets to brace.
The couch dips.
I whip my head to the side—Alex is there, grinning.
“Hey Audrey,” he says.
I hesitantly smile as my eyebrows cross. I warily wave my hand through him only to see it on the other side. Is it normal for people to hallucinate family that recently passed away, or am I spiraling into lunacy after every day?
It’s the first time I’ve seen Alex like this, and I can’t get my expression back to normal. It stays stuck in the cross eyebrows and confused look.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. No answer.
“Hello? Do you need something, or—?” Again, no answer.
Instead, Alex’s eyes wander over to a nearby window. A white curtain covers half of it; the other half is open. I snap my fingers to get him to look at me. He jolts at the sound. “My apologies.”
Wow it sounds like Alex. So respectful, professional, and every word smart like he means to say it. It’s like he never left.
“You know if you stare long enough you may turn into a tree. Or worse: turn into a squirrel,” I say, erupting into laughter. It’s the first time I’ve laughed since Alex’s death. Maybe his hallucination is shifting my grief into delight.
Alex chuckles back. “You believe that?” I nod my head. “Is it analogous to the time I told you that the more gummy sharks you eat, you’ll soon become one?”
“Kinda. And it worked. I stopped eating them for nearly two months.” We both chuckle.
Alex stares at another tree in the distance.
I snap my fingers, my voice rising. The music dips lower without me thinking about it. “Seriously? You’re doing that thing again—zoning out like an eighty-year-old grandpa. You always do that and—” I stop.
Alex’s eyes droop. His outline thins, like something being erased too carefully. Then he’s gone. For a second, the space beside me stays dented. Empty.
The screech of a car’s wheels cuts through the quiet. I flinch and look toward the window, spotting a large green truck pulling up. I take the earbuds out and shut the music off. Neil Shah. My ex. Ugh.
I crouch behind the couch, hoping to make myself invisible. Maybe if I stay low, he won’t notice. Footsteps crunch on the porch. Knuckles rap against the door.
I walk to the door, already irritated and silently brace myself, expecting Neil’s smug grin. Instead, the door swings open, and I’m face-to-face with Isla.
She smiles brilliantly and waves, “Hi!” I wave back, it doesn’t feel right. It feels weird waving at the girl I was furious at during Alex’s funeral. And it feels weird that she’s coming back after nearly a month. “I want to make this quick, so don’t worry!” Isla exclaims.
A sudden wind blows Isla's long hair onto her face. Blech. She probably cried one tear and called what happened to Alex ‘a tragic story.’
“What?” My voice is dull and flat—I don’t want to be here. I’d much rather be in bed, stuffed animal in one hand and my phone in the other. And endless, mindless, zombie-like scrolling. What a dream.
“Sorry I haven’t come by lately. I’ve been a mess.” Isla forces a tense smile and laughs stiffly. “I never thought he would leave. He was always so happy, and—” She rubs her eyes. “Sorry, it’s hard for me.”
You think you’re so subtle? Well, I know the truth and I also know that you’re lying.
“And it’s not hard for me?” I reply, leaning against the doorframe. In the distance, I notice flickering street lights turn on too early and the sky shift into a grey hue even though it’s the hottest day of the month.
“It’s the hardest for you. Because I missed you those last few days of school, we—we all missed you.”
“Yeah, well when your twin brother dies, school isn’t really a priority."
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Honk. The noise draws my attention to the boy sitting in the driver's seat of the green truck. Neil Shah, my ex. Ugh. I’d forgotten about him for a second. I guess problems never really disappear.
Well maybe for a second. For instance, two weeks before Alex’s death, he left me. No warning, just a text over the phone that we need to break up. I should hate him. I do. I definitely do…so why do I miss him when I look at him?
“C’mon Isla, let’s go! This isn’t a carnival!" Stacey shouts from his car.
“Take your time, don’t worry!” Jenny screams afterwards.
They both were there at Alex’s funeral. My old best friends, who have since cut ties.
She turns her head towards him, giving a sharp glare. “Sorry, Audrey, I was driving around with Stacey, Jenny, Neil, and one of Neil’s friend’s and we wanted to stop by and see if you or your mom needed anything?”
I look at her with a scrunched-up nose. “You’re friends with all of them? Since when?”
“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s just—”
“I understand,” I say. “Thanks for stopping by, glad you can support me!” I don’t understand, I just want her out of my life and off my porch.
“Of course.” She backs up, still smiling. “Please tell your mom I’m sorry I didn’t see her.”
“Yeah, whatever, thanks.”
I slam the door, my face hardening into a glare. She acts like someone who cares when they’re really just a…killer. Maybe that’s harsh. Don’t care. Someone has to say it.
Eight days before Alex went missing, Isla broke it off with him. Alex told me the day they ended, I didn’t care all that much because I thought it’d be like Neil and I. They’d get back together and everything would be alright. Unfortunately, they didn’t get back together and he didn’t get happier. Things got worse. Because, before I knew it, he was gone.
I watch as Isla peacefully skips back and sits in Neil's car.
Buzz.
My pocket screams for me, bugging me.
Turns out it’s Isla texting me, seconds after she left:
I hope everything will be alright.
I’m here for you, always.
Always? Always? Yeah right.
She ended it with him. And she ended me. Does she really think that I can let it slide?
She says she’s here for me now. Where was she before? Those two weeks—Isla broke his heart. Maybe she said something, did something else, or harmed him more. Because no way would Alex just kill himself. And I won’t stop until I know what.
What really happened between them? I know she knows something.
And if no one else is asking questions, I will.
I will figure out what really happened to Alexander Elliot.
And soon, I won’t be the only one who knows—the toxicology results come back in 13 days.

Comments for this chapter

• Ok i didn't see this in chapter one: It feels weird waving at the girl I was furious at during Alex’s funeral.

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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• maybe show us in chapter one how she's furious. cause i didnt get it when i read it

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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Chapter three

Chapter Three
Yesterday after Isla’s and my encounter, my only desire is to flop into bed and watch my chandelier glisten.
However, the day after Alex’s death, I went insane. I threw away my chandelier, it reminded me of the lightbulb Alex claimed to see whenever he had an idea. I threw away my fan because Alex liked to yell into it and make funny noises. And I punched my light switch. Not because it reminds me of anything, but because I was purely mad.
I haven't been able to sleep. Between Alex dying, Isla's lies and deception, and being haunted by Alex's ghost, sleep is unfeasible. Tonight, more than ever I need to sleep. I need to awash in Alex’s death and figure out the truth. Sleep helps people do that.
So to make sure of that, I look for a book. I know, book sounds weird, especially out of my mouth. But, the two of us used to sit on my mother’s lap while she’d read fairy tales. Both of us were pressed against my mother while she’d flip through pages. Story after story.
I sprint to Alex’s room.
Once there, I shuffle through his bookshelves. There are books of almost every genre. Fantasy, murder, romance, and even science fiction. Yet, I can’t find the book I’m looking for.
I yank the books off the shelves and drop them onto the floor. One thuds more loudly than the others, drawing my attention. It's a heavy one and as I kneel over it, I realize this is the book I've been looking for. The big brown fairytale book.
I brush past the pages, my thumb pushing past each page. Suddenly, a bookmark falls out: hidden between its pages. I remember Alex was looking for it everywhere. I suppose he forgot he put it here.
And tied around the bookmark is a ribbon. Alex’s favorite ribbon. The perfect ribbon.
I take the ribbon out of the bookmark and tie it around my hair. This way I won’t lose it.
I look back at the bookmark and feel pressure behind my eyes and throat:

Alex’s Favorite Word List:
(Top twelve because my Favorite Number is twelve)
Pulchritudinous
Deplore
Ephemeral
Onomatopoeia (Because I enjoy saying it)
Rectitude
Amiable
Ruminate
Pernicious
Exacerbate
Blithesome
Inordinately
Adequate

I pinch the bookmark between my fingers. It’s like he’s still here with me.
I tuck the bookmark back into the pages, settle more comfortably onto the floor, and flip back to the beginning.
Chapter one: A Bridge to Friendship.

Beneath the vast dark gray bridge, lay chewed up gum and snot filled tissues, scattered between growing moss and flowing river. It was the only place the students at Wheelbarrow High could travel from school to home, and over the years the tradition had been accumulating.
The students only started a week before, but the swamp already looked worse than the dumpsters. Both the dumpsters and bridge had the crawling animals and the wandering flies, only the swamp had a big gross troll.
The troll’s family left more than a decade ago and he hadn’t seen anyone since then. He only ever had himself, which was the worst presence he could experience. That feeling of loneliness was bitter like the most unappetizing grape lollipop.
As the bells were ringing, so were the students. They were ringing and buzzing with chatter as the first week back to school ended. Every one of the freshmen were excited to not only go home but to pass by the swamp.
When the freshman passed by the swamp they mocked, jeered, and threw trash at the troll. They rudely judged him and acted out of an internal ugliness to someone who is ugly on the outside. So the troll began to cry beneath the chirping birds and tall trees.
Walking with all the rude children was Lucy. She nervously laughed at other kid’s jokes, and walked with them in unison. Lucy had only just started at Wheelbarrow High, she already felt little attention. She was never the person who could talk easily to others, and everyone else had their cliques, so no one made an effort to ease her shyness. A part of her always hoped more people could talk to her.
As the group of students continue to walk, Lucy falls back, as a high-pitched noise leaves her with crossed eyebrows. And after a minute or two, the sound began to sound like crying. Curiously, she leaned over the bridge, “Hello?” She asked, faintly.
“Hello.” A faint voice said, as the crying died out. The voice sounded scared, like he didn't want anyone to hear him cry. Lucy hung her body partway off the bridge.
She hesitated before speaking. “Is someone down there?” she asked, vaguely–something new for her. Lucy doesn’t usually act this way; she thought that if she showed the others she was brave enough to face the troll, they’d accept her
“Go away” the voice said, wailing. Of course, the scared voice belonged to the troll. He had never gotten used to humans and his parents’ absence made interaction seem hopeless. Still there was a small part of him that wanted her to speak again.
Lucy was determined for people to like her so she searched for a way that could lead her down to the troll. She noticed a small staircase laying beside a family of trees, it was along the edge of a rocky mountain that led into the bank. She creeped towards the staircase. Dried-up moss furred the old steps, matching the color of the troll.
As she came down, Lucy caught sight of the troll. He was much larger than she expected and fright filled every part of her. Instead of running she stood her ground because she thought of the students overhead. If she ran, she’d be the shy girl again. If she stayed…maybe she’d be something else.
As Lucy’s pearly whites continued to glisten beneath the sun and her smile continued to ring out—aimed at the voices above, the crowd that would finally see her—she took a bucket behind her hands, filled with trash, and hesitantly threw it onto the troll. Was it right, she thought. Yes it has to be, that’s how you make friends.
Laughter erupted from overhead as students continued to throw trash, praising Lucy for her malicious act.
The troll blinked twice at Lucy’s smile as laughter continued to explode from above. He still couldn’t comprehend it: how could something so warm turn out to be so cruel?
Little did Lucy know, a fake smile was the easy part, it was never going to make her a friend.

Comments for this chapter

• the cast of characters is perfect, love it so far

  Comment by rose on February 03, 2026

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• Really good so far, maybe rewrite the chapter one of the book (A bridge to friendship), make it sound more like whatever book it is, because I feel it sounds worse than this book is, and I didn't really understand what was going on.

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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Chapter Four

Chapter Four
I sit in the dining room, a calendar still turned to the month Alex died hangs on the wall. The kitchen light flickers like it’s never been fixed. It was Alex’s chore to fix it; he was scared the lightbulb would spark a fire.
35 days have gone by since Alex passed, and 28 days since the funeral. Somehow, this has been the slowest, most drawn-out month of my life. The long summer days, the quiet evenings, and my zero motivation to do anything have made time crawl.
If only days went by fast like my dates with Neil. Where we’d have fun and look nice every Saturday.
However, this month, I’ve had no reason to look nice. The way my hair knots into balls and sits on my shoulder like a bush and how my face looks like the before photo in most makeup routines.
To begin, my mom’s not home most of the time. She stays for dinner and breakfast. Every other hour of the day, she’s gone. So all I get is eggs, toast, and silent chatter in the morning. Cold chicken noodle soup and the occasional “how are you,” for dinner. That’s it. Better than Alex because here's how every breakfast with him went: He walked to the kitchen, poured cereal, and joked about the weather like always. “Sunny again…wonderful.” I always caught the slump of his shoulders, the slow drag of his feet. Something weighed him down that no one could see. He always tried to make everything a big deal.
They’re both a step up from my father for he’s simply vanished. Sitting in Virginia is the last place he wants to mourn. I tried checking his location to see where he was, but he turned it off. The last updated location is the airport—leaving me in total confusion.
Even worse? I fear that next week we may move somewhere else. My mom wants to stop reminiscing on memories and thinks moving is the best. But I believe it will do nothing because a new apartment in the same town, same city, same state, and same country, is simply the same. Alex drove on these same roads, bought food at the same grocery stores, and watched planes fly at the same airport. It’s not as different as my mom perceives.
And I have no one to blame except for Isla. It’s Isla’s fault Alex is dead, my dad left, and in a week or two, I’ll be stuck in a tiny apartment with neighbors who could audition for Golden Girls.
The worst is that she’s acting like she did nothing. Maybe it’s irrational of me. But that's all I got.
I don’t want revenge, I don’t want to hurt her. We’re past hurt. I want to know the truth. And the way to do it? Kindness.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I slightly turn it over to look at the notification. but before reading it, I delete the message and jet myself across the house, into the garage, with ideas running through my head.
Quickly, the light in my face leaves because when I get outside, there’s no car. I try to search for it: I look in my garage, my driveway, and out on the street. No luck.
Maybe I can find the keys and those’ll help me find the car? I search in drawers, cabinets, and shelves. No luck.
But perhaps my mom or dad is finally home? I scream their names, but only hear an empty echo. No luck.
I’m in a random corner of the garage I’ve never even stood in before. That’s when the feeling hits: defeated. I turn to go back inside—until my foot catches on a pedal. Bam. I fall onto the floor. Scraped elbow and bloody knee. I reach for my head and grab onto something to push me up.
When I’m finally on my feet, my eyes flutter open. And that’s when I notice the criminal: my old beaten bike. Its chain is broken and one wheel is slightly flat. I almost don't use the bike. Then again it’s not awful and it’s functional. Maybe…this is exactly what I need to get to Isla's house.
Sure, it’s a last resort. But right now, it’s the only option I’ve got.



* * *



The ride to Isla’s is hot and ugly. Cars pass and driver’s sneer. Kids on expensive electric scooters hold back their laughs. And worst of all, I nearly crash. That scraped elbow and bloody knee was about to become a lot worse, but I ignore it and continue to pedal.
Dust hangs in the air when sunlight hits it, like time standing still. The wind stirs it, carrying strands of my knotted hair across my face. My scraped knee throbs as I bend it—no wonder people give me pitiful stares and sneers; I look like a madwoman.
15 blocks later, I lean my bike against the white picket fence surrounding Isla's charming, white family home. Blue flowers crowd along the fence. I remember when Isla, Alex, and I were all in the second grade. The legendary virus of our year was rapidly spreading. Isla got it before me and Alex. I was livid. Isla doesn’t deserve anything that I don’t have. I tried so hard to get sick that Alex and I ended up hospitalized from the flu.
I glance back at the buds. They barely have any color and are smaller than the flowers you’d get on Valentines Day or Mother’s Day.
So I move on.
I walk down her pathway, one foot after the last. And 25 steps later, her door faces me.
After ringing the doorbell, footsteps immediately follow. My heart begins to beat faster, until I’m greeted by Isla’s kind grandfather. Her parents died when she was young, so she’s lived with her grandparents since. The thought lands heavier than I expect. I quickly shake it off.
Mr. Dubois has a big mustache; the typical French one, and his hair fills only a section of his head.
I stand awkwardly at the door while looking at him with a big smile. He smiles back an even greater one, and midget smile lines fill his face.
“Bonjour, Audrey!” His nose scrunches up. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”
“Is Isla here?” Her name sounds disgusting coming out of my mouth.
“Isla?” He hesitantly looks in the house and then back at me. “Oui, of course.” His voice breaks off as his muscles freeze. His mouth wants to move to say something but seeing me leaves him petrified.
It makes sense, Isla and I were never friends. I’ve known her since kindergarten and the attraction was very lopsided. While Isla would like and gravitate towards me, I was never the same.
When Alex and her started dating in eighth grade, the unreciprocated friendship never changed.
Mr. Dubois hesitates longer than polite before opening the door. I almost wonder if he’ll shut the door on me.
But as the door slightly swings open, I take one step into the house and feel the wood creak beneath my foot. I don’t take a second step because I feel something grab my wrist. Mr. Dubois.
“I have…small warning.” Oh no, what now? “Elle est…how do you say…mess?” I huff a laugh.
“Did you just say mess? Or is your English that bad?”
He chuckles. “Non, non, I did said mess. Elle est messy.” I laugh again. He's probably right. Isla is always messy and flawed. I don't expect today to be any different.
“Thank you,” I say. “I can handle her.”
“Ok…bonne chance!” Mr. Dubois releases his hand from my wrist. And with that, I race up Isla’s stairs.
When I reach her door, I knock three times. No answer. I knock one more time. No answer.
I roll my eyes and push through her door anyways. The room is dark and I immediately feel something sharp press beneath my footsteps. I flip the lightswitch and notice Isla scrolling on her phone in bed.
“Audrey?” Isla asks, her voice faltering. Her cheeks are a bright nervous red, like she’s hiding something.
“Did you not hear me knocking?” I ask, taking a step forward.
For a second, I think about leaving. About letting this be the last time I step into her room. It would be easier. Cleaner. Yet…I don’t.
She quickly pushes herself off her bed. “Sorry I’ve been—” she shakes her head and forces a smile. “Do you need something?” She takes a few steps forward until she faces me.
I smile stiffly, as I push past her, allowing myself deeper in her room. “Not much, I just…I wanted to talk.”
“Um, sure! Whatever you need.” Isla exclaims as she begins to pick up a couple of bowls and cups and stacks them onto one another.
“I wanted to say—” I pause before continuing. I’m frightened I’ll say the incorrect words because for this to work only the best words can work. “I’m sorry,” I say, through gritted teeth. I’m not sorry. But Isla won’t be convinced I want to be her friend unless I act kind, respectful, and mature.
“You’re sorry?” Isla fumbles with her words, stunned. I am too. “There’s no reason to be sorry.”
“I know, but honestly…maybe I seemed rude sometimes. Not on purpose, though. That’s just how I talked.” I was never rude. Just admitting things I don't like to get on Isla's good side.
I remember Isla, Alex, and I getting froyo after school—never ice cream, Isla hates ice cream. My license was the first one out of us three, so I drove them everywhere. School, froyo, home—every day, every ride. They’d talk, and I’d make comments.
You guys are so dumb. Seriously, no wonder you have no friends. How can someone like planes that much? Isla, you’re a loser for hanging out with him.
It wasn’t mean. It was just... me. Besides, they laughed. Usually.
Isla’s face softens. “But…why are you apologizing now? Especially after everything that’s happened.” She fidgets with her hands and her charm bracelet. She probably thinks that'll cover up her flaws. Supposed perfection.
“I thought it might ease the pain or something,” I say, hoping it does the trick. “And I am truly sorry.” lie. But so is she. Her and those overly-neat hands.
Isla smiles sweetly. Her feet creep over to me as my face slips into a discomforting grin. “You remind me of…” She swallows hard. “You remind me of my—um—grandma. Sweet, honest, and kind.” Isla’s footsteps finally stop right before me and her hands wrap around me. They grab around my waist and I don’t pull away. “And, I was never mad at you for how you treated us. Being honest is what I like about her—I mean, you.” Isla’s face digs into my shoulder. “And, Alex? I miss him too. Even if I don’t admit it. I do.” Her soft and messy hair rubs against my bare shoulders. My heart aches, I desire anything else.
We continue to hold one another in an awkward hug as I feel her stiff posture beneath my hands. I would push her off if I could but for some reason the hug reminds me of before.
Last Christmas, same as every year, we hosted a party. Alex hates them—the noise, the mess, and the lights. But every year, we still host it.
Neil and I were laughing at something stupid, probably one of his jokes that only made sense to us. I remember the way he leaned into me, like we were the only two people in the room.
And then Isla showed up. Red bow. Red dress. Red shoes. Always the theme. Always the effort.
Unfortunately, I was the one to greet her. Which meant, I was the one to hug her. She held me like she is now. Trapped, held tightly, and awkwardness lingering. I usually try my best to ignore her, social standards and all, and that day was no different.
As I bring myself back to the present, I continue to hold Isla. My arms and legs are tense, but that’s when something behind her shoulder catches my eye. On her desk sits a small pill bottle—antidepressants. I squint to read the name. Alexander Elliot. The date? Two weeks before Alex went missing. The bottle looks almost full.
But certainly I’m overthinking it. What would the chances be? Finding clear-cut evidence exactly where I want to find it?
I slowly peel her off me, just enough to look her in the eyes. “Is something wrong?” Isla quickly asks.
I replay the image of the pills but quickly brush it off. “Nothing. It’s just…I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m there for you, I hope you know that.”
“For sure. And maybe we could hang out sometime too,” I say, instantly regretting it, but I need her to trust me. I need to stay close. Closer than ever. Hide my true emotions, act friendly, and force something out of her.
Isla raises her brows. “Hang out?” She grins. “Yeah, I would like that. I’ll text you when.”
I fold my lips into a smile. “Cool.” My eyes peer at the floor, avoiding eye contact. “I gotta go.” I point downstairs at the door, my voice flat and dry. “Nice chat.” I race out of Isla's room as fast as my feet can take me, nearly tripping on her staircase.
When I reach her front door, I look behind me to make sure no one is there. However, those hopes are swept away when Isla creeps down the stairs to watch me jolt out of her house.
She’s smiling with all 32 of her pearly whites glistening beneath the light. I don’t understand how her lips haven’t fallen off yet because there isn’t a moment she’s not smiling. Sorta disgusting.
As I kick my bike's kickstand, the image of pills continues to linger in my head. That’s when it hits me.
Am I overthinking this? Yes, I am overthinking it. I'm grieving, I'm crazy, and I'm hallucinating. But still the idea that Isla could've done something to Alex feels strong. Maybe Isla really did steal them. The world goes still. Did Isla possibly…take them? Is this why his temporary sadness never went away? Isla must’ve taken them!
I hate her. I loathe her. I always have.
However, I must remember that I have to be her friend, so I smile back. I smile so hard that my lips nearly fall off, too; My perfect and light pink little lips. Little does know, that pill capsule meant something. She had it for a reason. Does she think I’m just gonna forget and let it go like nothing?
I jump on my bike, as a whoosh of wind flies past me. Then, Alex appears next to me. “So what does that mean? What are you going to do?” Alex disappears as a soft sigh escapes.
“I’m gonna find out the truth, do whatever it takes. I know she had something to do with your death, and I’ll find out what.”
I pause, look up at Isla and wave goodbye.
Isla drove Alex to suicide? It’s more than just a breakup and more than just stealing my life. The breakup was a coverup. And everyone will find out the truth soon.

Comments for this chapter

• a bit confused how she reached the conclusion Isla is responsible for her brother's death.

  Comment by rose on February 03, 2026

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• ^^^^^ Also how can she have "taken them"???

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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Chapter Five

Chapter Five
After seeing Isla, the rest of the day drags on like any other. All I can think about was what happened. The pills? Is she a murderer? Is she a liar? What really happened? Is this paranoia or am I not paranoid enough?
Suddenly, my eyes begin to sag and my mouth can’t stop a yawn from escaping—I collapse into bed.
I reach over for my phone and open my messages. I had been avoiding them all day, but the notification has been at the back of my mind next to Isla. I don’t want to go to bed thinking about it, so I force it open.
My eyes go wide when I notice the text.
Hey Bug, my dad texts.
It’s one of many texts:
I miss you.
I’m sorry.
I hope everything is ok.
I’m still there for you, wherever. I hope you know that.
And the rest are similar to that. I guess I’d been so caught up in the Isla situation that I didn't notice my dad’s texts.
I waste no time in replying. I text, dad? Why are you texting? Where are you?
Dad: I’m sorry, Bug. I wanted to tell you. It was hard.
Me: Dad, where are you?
Dad: Costa Rica. I’m sorry.
As his sympathetic messages continue to spill out, millions of questions swirl in my head and. I don’t think twice before blocking him. Remove all possible ways of contact from my phone. Then, I throw my phone across the bed.
No goodbye. Just… gone. Like Alex, I guess. But I don’t want to cry. Crying always makes it feel more real.
I glance over to my side, and pick up the Big brown book of fairytales hoping its pages can explain more than reality ever could.
My finger starts thumbing through the pages once and then again, until my thumbnail gets caught in a page. I flip the book to the page and begin to feel pressure behind my eyes again. The prickle of tears start forming, but I rub the water away.
The buildup of emotions escalates above family drama, Isla drama, and Alex as I hold the bookmark again. I stare at each word as memories of Alex repeating them begin to consume me. I glance at the bottom of the notecard where Alex's perfect penmanship signs it: Alexander Elliot.
I place the bookmark into the first few pages of the book as I press up against three stacked pillows. Then I begin reading.
Chapter two: The Beauty of a Queen.

In a small village in Denmark, there sat a castle. The castle was covered with lonely bricks and deep green vines. Each vine had white roses with crisp brown petals curling from the edges. Soon the roses would blanket the grass just like the crunchy leaves. And the castle would be lonely without them.
The inside wasn't any less lonely.
All thirty rooms were draped in brown and white curtains. Each color was as dull as the hollow hallways. Between the brown walls, lived two princesses: Serenity and Isabel.
Isabel had long golden hair and ocean-like eyes, while Serenity had hair as dark as night and eyes darker than chocolate. Both were outwardly beautiful; Serenity never felt that way.
One evening, as Serenity watched her sister try on the endless array of ball gowns, she couldn’t manage a single smile. She remembered when they played dress-up together. They ran through the hallways like best friends.
Over the next three years, Isabel threw herself into good deeds—helping animals, organizing food drives, performing on stages. Her efforts proved she was worthy of the crown, even though she was the youngest. Their parents had been considering this choice for a long time. Isabel’s kindness sealed their decision: the crown would be hers. And today, that decision became reality. It was the crowning Serenity had dreamed of for herself, the one she used to imagine at night. The moment Isabel began attracting all the attention, Serenity felt herself fading away.
So as her sister tried on ball gowns, Serenity clapped softly as Isabel twirled, her lips curled into a polite smile. Behind that smile, her thoughts gnawed: it should be me wearing that crown. It should be me twirling in grand ballgowns. It should be me…
Maybe not with evil intention, but because she thought that was best.
As Serenity continued with fake applause, she had an idea: If I cannot match her light, then I will learn to hide my shadow until it’s time to strike.
Just below the large castle, there was a massive laboratory where Serenity would concoct a potion for her sister.
So, Serenity jumped into action. She gathered all the ingredients in secret to brew a potion. It took a couple of weeks to curate the potion and several failed attempts—tests on flowers, animals, and mirror—the potion was perfect.
As Serenity held the potion in her hand, she walked over to Isabel’s room—with a wide grin. Soon shall I be lovely. Soon shall I be flawless. Soon shall I be the most important. But not because it’s wrong, but because she deserves it.
For you, dearest sister,” Serenity said, her voice warm and steady though her heart was sharp with bitterness. To Isabel, it sounded like kindness. To Serenity, it was a mask.
“Me?” Isabel asked, with crossed eyebrows. Serenity nodded. “What do I owe this pleasure?”
“Thou is soon to be queen, and you are most deserving.”
“Oh,” Isabel said, placing a hand on her heart. “I never imagined such a deed from you.”
“Indeed,” Serenity said under her breath as Isabel grabbed the potion from her hand.
“Serenity, thou are the most wondrous sister one could ask for! I love you so!” Isabel said, as she gently chugged it and placed the bottle onto her table. “Oh heavens,” Isabel said, coughing. “It’s splendid!”
Serenity’s face softens for a moment. Is this truly the right thing? Is this truly what she deserves? Serenity thought this was the right thing, but perhaps she was—
Serenity shook her head out of the state and grinned in spite. “How delightful!” Serenity exclaimed back.
However, seconds later Isabel began coughing and was unable to walk in a straight line. One leg went weak, then the other. Her knees locked, and she fell to the floor with a crash. Fog rose around her like a huge grey puff. The entire room was unrecognizable in the fog.
Suddenly, the blur of fog disappeared and out came an Isabel with beast-like features and matted hair. While Serenity stood beside her with glowing features and long hair.
Isabel frowned at her sister. “What happened?"
“I’m sorry dear sister, it appears like a fault in the drink!”
“That shall yield ok. I know you never meant for harm.” Isabel smiled. “For my heart still remains full, beauty shall never ruin the crowning!” Even poisoned, her heart could not turn cruel.
Serenity smiled. “Of course!” Beneath her pearly whites was hatred.
Serenity had mastered smiles, words, and masks—no mask could hide an empty heart. Pretending to care had not made her strong, only hollow.
Over the next few weeks, the dreams that serenity had of being on the throne were crushed. People loved Isabel for who she was and never for what she looked like. And for that, Serenity would never deserve a spot on the throne.

Comments for this chapter

• so invested already, the writing is so descriptive

  Comment by rose on February 03, 2026

  Liked by 1

• It took a couple of weeks to curate the potion and !!!!!!!!!after!!!!!!!!! several failed attempts—tests on flowers, animals, and mirror—the potion was perfect. Grammar lol but super good so far.

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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Chapter Six

Chapter Six
I sit on the floor of my room, the air too still—like the house itself is holding its breath and my popcorn ceiling; bumpy, dimpled, and dry wall. It feels like the ceiling holds secrets, flaunting them above the rest of the world. Like my mom.
I found out where my mom's been disappearing to. Last night, she was gone again—and left a note on the fridge that read:
I’m at Rick's. See you tomorrow.
Well, it's tomorrow now. And my mom is still not home. Surprised? No, not really.
I don't talk much about Rick, and most people don’t even know he exists. Unfortunately, he does. He’s not the only one who is unfortunate. So is Isla. Stolen pills, breakups without context, and fake kindness as if she actually means it. What do those secrets mean? What really happened to Alex?
Suddenly, I feel a cold drift, covering my skin in goosebumps. I tug at my fancy, doughy, and white comforters, pulling them towards my waistline. My body restlessly moves side-to-side as my hair rubs against a silky pillow among millions.
In my right hand I hold a small, pink teddy bear, with a heart as a nose. Ironically it’s Alex’s least favorite color and my 13th birthday gift from him.
It reminds me of the time I got Alex a model airplane that same year. In a small brown box, tied with ribbon. The same one that ties back my split ended blond hair: It’s blue and long. The little planes on the bottom of the ribbon, the frayed ends. It’s—
I stop and bring myself back to the present, with something else occupying my thoughts: I hope things will still be fine in the new house.
Which sounds weird to say. New house sounds like words in a foreign language.
I only reminisce on this sort of nonsense because I’m trying to think of how to actually hang out with Isla. I need to get close enough to discover something more. A secret? Something hidden? Anything that will lead me closer to the truth.
Fun baking sessions are too intimate. Just her and I in one room together? She probably thinks she's perfect when it comes to baking too. Absolutely not.
Perhaps, Isla can offer something:
Hey Isla, I text.
Before I hit send, I reread the message over and over. I might be overthinking it but what if…
No. Nope. Not today. I hit send then throw my phone across the floor as I ‘patiently’ wait for 15 minutes.
Heyy, Isla texts back.
Me: Sooo, how's it going?
Isla: lowk summer is boring.
Me: I get that
Me: maybe we could hang?
Isla: Sure.
Me: Any ideas?
Isla: Hmmm.
I’m down for anything, I text.
Isla: How bout I give ideas and you pick one!
Me: Sure.
Isla: KK. What about the pool?
Me: no.
Isla: Mall?
Me: No.
Isla: Amusement park?
Me: Amusement park?
Isla: yesss.
Isla: I’ll get two tickets now.
Me: perf.
Not perf. So not perf. In fact this is so not perf that I might end it here.
The amusement park didn't even come across for me. Then again, the amusement park is chill, casual, public, and fun. It’s a place to relax and also to shake something out of Isla. Because as I stated before: She is freaking hiding something!
I walk to grab my bike.
Before I do, I think I see Alex sitting by himself.
He’s by the window, staring out like something might happen if he waits long enough. He used to do that last winter—hoping snow would turn into summer. He was sick of winter. I tell myself it’s because of the snowmen.
We used to build them every year.
Two winters ago, we started like always—rolled the first ball, packed the snow—but then Neil called. I answered without thinking. I told Alex to stop moping. I called him a sad wimp. I left him mid-sentence.
He finished the snowman alone.
When I came back later, it stood crooked in the yard, lopsided and melting.
We never built one again.
I blink, and the window is empty.


* * *


The bike ride to Isla’s house is thirty minutes long. It feels like I’m drowning in the heat. The sun spilling all its rays down to me, makes everything so much worse. I guess I’m the same as Alex, yearning for winter to come in the hottest moments.
When I'm in front of Isla’s house, I kick my kickstand and balance my bike on the slanted concrete. I didn’t wear a helmet because looks are more important than safety. It’s embarrassing enough that I’m on a bike. I can’t make it worse with a helmet.
As I slowly walk towards her house, I eye the nice house up-and-down. The two-story house with a picket fence always reminds me of a woman on the cover of a magazine. She has tall trees and clear skies waving above. Her pathway is a beautiful grey and—
And then I see them—
The flowers have grown. Pale blue and tight.
Surrounding the flowers are small golden blurs, zooming from one place towards the next. The bees are just like us—chasing perfection they’ll never catch. It reminds me of when Alex and I were younger. At our first house, every day, there was always a constant buzzing in the attic. It wasn’t until four months passed that we realized a massive swarm of bees had taken Occupancy. We had to leave. Move out. I replay that sometimes—one of the worst moments of my life.
I roll my eyes and quickly walk past the bees, the traumatic moment replying in my head.
As I stand in front of Isla’s door, white paint dusts my knuckles as I gently knock.
My leg shakes and I squeeze my hands together.
“Audrey!” Mrs Dubois exclaims, interrupting my thoughts. She grins from ear to ear—like Isla’s.
I imagine her parents were like that. I never met them and Isla never talked about them, so they remain a mystery. All I know is when Isla was five, her parents got into a car crash and Isla was the only one who survived. Her grandparents graciously took her in and they’ve been together ever since. Isla and I are similar in that way. But it’s Isla. What she went for is uncannily daunting but…no. I quickly brush it off.
“Is Isla ready?” I ask. God, I sound desperate.
Mrs. Dubois nods as she leans over and points inside the house. “Yes, dear. She’s putting her shoes on but her car is parked outside. Go ahead and sit, she’ll come out in a few.”
I walk over to her car and slam the door shut.
After a minute or two, the car door opens and shuts with a quiet click. And Isla sits.
“I’m excited, are you?” Isla asks, turning on the ignition.
The sun starts to shine brighter as Isla’s question hangs in the air. Somehow the ferris wheel is spinning faster and the park feels busier than usual. “Yeah,” I reply with a shaky chuckle.
“What?” Isla asks, suggesting my hesitation is uncomfortable.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I murmur.
Her eyes soften. “Is something else wrong? Because, you can talk to me.”
“It’s nothing.” I say, quickly. Obviously a lie. What am I supposed to say? What happened when Alex went missing? Why did you have his pills? What did you do to him? Asking won’t answer. Because there’s still more to uncover. There’s always more.
“I’m sorry. I can tell you’re hurting. I’ll leave you be,” Isla replies, as if it does anything.
Finally we reach the amusement park. Trees tower the rides with small green leaves covering the branches.
There are people in every corner. Teen girls posting selfies and tagging people they don’t like, boys one-uping one another on each ride, and cute old couples watching over their grandchildren in the kiddy section.
There are roller coasters 50 times my size, a ferris wheel larger than the pictures, and popcorn and soda stains randomly splotching the rocky ground.
“C’mon let’s actually go on a ride,” Isla says, dragging me.
“Yeah, for sure!” God, I sound so stupid. In another world I would kill myself for the way I talk.
Isla grabs my hand and drags me to a long line of people. She talks to me like we’re best friends who are obsessed with one another.
The line goes by faster than I want and before I know it, we’re being strapped in.
I stop moving for a second as I feel the ride shake up the curve.
I rapidly breathe. Trees graze past my eyes, the tops of buildings become easier to see, and a flock of birds fly past us, seeming closer than they should be.
Is this it?
And we drop. Along with it, my stomach and what I hope isn’t my breakfast.
My body tenses up like I’m being electrocuted and my hair flips upside down because of the twists and turns. A scream escapes like I’ve just been liberated. Sometimes I forget how much I love these rides.

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Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven
Isla and I briskly complete our rides, the wind still riding in our cheeks.
I brush down my messy and tangled hair with my fingers—forcing knots into lifeless hair.
The two of us wander the cobblestone grounds, while stumbling over the creases between each stone. We continue to walk until a quiet bench catches our eyes.
“Wanna sit?” I suggest.
“Of course,” Isla replies, as we both perch on the bench.
Clouds graze the sky and blown leaves brush my ankles. Chattered conversations wash out my own thoughts, leaving me with stuff to think about:
One guy passes by me, he’s with his mom. They start talking about him getting a girlfriend. His mom wants him out of their house because he’s messy. And a gamer. Poor mom, she got the worst of both worlds.
Next, I hear two little girls talking about Sephora and how they’re going there tomorrow to buy makeup. They look young and certainly don’t need the retinol, concealer, and mascara. I didn't even know those words until the 8th grade.
And then there’s Isla. She talks about flowers.
She switches to flowers like nothing happened and Alex isn’t dead and we’re not really friends. Apparently talking about toxic petals is easier than talking about problems. I let her do it.
I don’t interrupt. If this is how she copes, I want to see how far she’ll go.
“Y’know the most dangerous flower in Virginia is the Mountain Laurel. It’s also known as Kalmia Latifolia.” She laughs silently and dimly. God, she could make a lecture out of a leaf. “They’re gorgeous, I’ll give them that, but incredibly toxic. When gramps took me on a hike to the mountains, he told me about them. He was a botanist growing up, so it’s in his nature to know everything about flowers. On that hike, the funniest part was when—”
“You wanna know something?” I interrupt. “The reason why I hate amusement parks?”
“You hate them? Then why’d you say yes? Doing something you hate is never worth it for—”
I cut her off. “I know you would love it, so I thought it would be kind.” Did that just do the trick?
“I’m really sorry Audrey, if I had known, then I would’ve—”
“Do you ever think about his death?” Her words brush over me like a teacher lecturing when I’m on three hours of sleep.
She furrows her brows. “Like how he died?”
“Yeah, like do you ever think it was more than just a suicide?” Or do you think about how you killed him? She just needs to say it. Say you did it. Just say it.
She chokes back her words and lets out a shaky breath. “No Audrey. I don’t.” She uncomfortably leans in to look at me. “Do you?”
“Well, I’ve wondered something. A lot actually.”
A sharp wince pulled at the corners of her mouth as she pulls at a loose thread on her sweater. What? What is it?
I let out a shaky breath and scoot an inch closer. “What if it wasn’t a suicide. And someone…did something?”
She looks away, into the distance. Almost like it’s calling her. Then sighs and glances back at me. “I have to confess something.” My heart races. Is this what I think it is? “I feel like I killed him sometimes." Did she just say what I think she said? Did she mean it like I think she did?
I adjust myself a little and swallow hard. “You…what?”
“Like I didn't do enough.” My heart comes back to my chest. “I could’ve been there more when he needed it. Held his hand when he was scared, laughed more when he needed some joy, and listened to all of his problems.” She pauses for a second. “Have you ever seen it?”
I really hope what she’s saying has a point. “Seen…” I drag with my words hoping she’ll finish my sentence. “Seen what?”
“The bridge.” Her words land like ice. “He died on it. Have you ever visited it? Seen it? Something.”
I shake my head. “No. Haven't brought myself to it. What about you?” Ask questions, get answers. Then ask more questions and get real answers.
“Same, it’s really hard. I honestly never want to visit it, but…” She looks into the distance, her hands fidgeting with the clustered charm bracelet on her hand. She glances back at me. “You wanna know what I did the week Alex went missing?” Isla asks.
“What?”
“I changed my wallpaper to his face. It used to be my favorite flower of all time.” She chuckles. “Meconopsis or Himalayan blue flower, whatever. I changed it to his face and hoped that would bring him back. It’s stupid, I know…”
“Bring him back?” I really hope all of her rambling has some sort of point.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, of course.” I don’t know what she means. Could it have been a clue? Or am I still paranoid?
“I hate talking about that kind of stuff. Let’s talk about something else.” Isla situates herself more comfortably. “About Flowers.” I wince. “Flowers are so beautiful and fascinating. The smallest flower is the rice-sized Wolffia and the largest is the Rafflesia arnoldii, and—” Isla’s voice begins to fade away, as my thoughts start to crescendo.
How much of what Isla said was the truth? How much of it was a lie? Is she just telling me what I want to hear or is it the truth?
A soft jingling of keys echoes in the distance as Alex appears before me. “Truth or lie? Lie or truth? Quite a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into, huh?” He’s wearing his going-out overalls. White striped overalls with a rainbow shirt under. “Who knows what she’s planning next.”
“Isla!” I exclaim.
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
“I just remembered I have to go. Stuff, moving, y’know how it is.”
“Oh, yeah, duh, sure.” She slowly gets up from the bench. "I'll drive us home,” she says, dangling her keys in front of me.
When Isla and I reach her car, I plop down against the cold leather seats. Even though it’s summer, parking lots in Charlottesville always feel sad and gloomy—much like me, sometimes. The trees are the only spark of life anywhere in Virginia.
As Isla begins to drive off, I let my gaze get lost in the window, watch the scenery blur by, and tall shops blend with one another.
Isla’s questionable music taste blares in the car, I don’t care.
In fact that whole car ride, quiet and all, I don’t care. I don’t say or do anything.
I shut up my thoughts, let myself get lost in the music, and watch the landscape fade past me. Maybe the lies will make more sense that way. And maybe it’ll ease the fact that Isla did something. I don’t know what it is yet—I know it’s something.

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Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight
It's been six days since Isla and I opened up to each other at the amusement park—six days since the secrets, the truths, and the lies. Was she lying? I don't know. But I do know I can't trust her.
Isla stole Alex's pills, which may have drove him to suicide? She is a killer, isn’t she? Well, my mind keeps telling me to believe that. Maybe she wanted to get rid of him because he was a burden. Maybe breaking up wasn't enough. Or perhaps she's just evil. There are boundless possibilities, but all the signs point to her.
That's not even the craziest part because we're moving. I've mentioned it a few times but it's officially official now. And it's not tomorrow. Not next week. But just so happens to be today:
I lift the last box of toiletries as we stand in front of our new apartment complex.
“Well, this is it, Pumpkin,” my mom says. “I sorta like it. It’s cute and small.”
My mom and I stand in the crowded parking lot. A four-story apartment complex towers over us. Our apartment is at the top; I can see the swaying curtains and the empty windowsill garden begging to be filled.
In the distance, I notice the rows of identical houses and buildings across the street. The hum of traffic mixes with the faint smell of barbecue. It should feel like home. But it doesn’t.
My mom told me the house reminds us too much of Alex, so she wanted to leave as quickly as she could. A month later was the quickest it could happen, I don't know.
When we walk into the apartment, I wriggle my toes in the frayed carpet and lean against a chipped windowsill. The first thing my mom unpacks is an empty vase. It contains the ghost of red roses. My dad was always a sucker for the red ones.
It reached a point where my mom thought all the red roses belonged to her. Every single red rose was meant for my dad to give to my mom. She’d never buy roses for anyone else—maybe to someone she loved so much, I’ve never asked.
But, since my dad left, things have never been the same.
My mom throws the blinds open, allowing the sunlight to replace the curtains covered in roses. The curtains reveal a tree covering an overflowing trash can. Nearby, a bench shields a sidewalk filled with cracks. “Hey, Audrey?” my mom asks, diverting my attention. “Could you head to the store for me?”
“The store? Sure, why don’t I just live there while I’m at it.” My mom turns around to face me. She’s wearing her favorite black cardigan which she claims to hide her stomach's sunburn. Her hair is in a bun—already falling out because of her bob-cut.
“I just need a few things. I had to throw away a lot of food: either expired, Alex’s, and dad’s favorite, which I don’t like, or they were unhealthy.” She chuckles and unpacks a few plates from a box. “Y’know I’m thinking of dieting.”
I roll my eyes. “What about me? I could’ve eaten it. Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I don’t.” She’s getting on my last nerve. Why does my mom have to be so incredibly problematic?
She huffs a laugh. “Then you diet too,” she sarcastically says.
“Seriously, Mom? Do you think you’re funny or are you trying to piss me off?” I ask with a sharp sigh.
She chuckles. “Alright, fine, I was joking. Just head to the store for me. Please Bug?”
The word bug echoes in the apartment.
My dad used to call me Ladybug because every ladybug in the world is unique and special. I was the one thing that was special and unique to him.
So while Alex was Pilot due to his love of planes, I was bug.
“Sure, I’ll go to the store, I guess. Lucky me.” I have no idea why I agree, maybe because I want to get out of the apartment.
Her face melts into a smile. “I’m gonna unload some more boxes while you’re there. Thanks, bug.”
And there it is again. Thanks, Mom. For being the best.
When I reach the store, Charlottesville smells faintly of salt from a nearby river. I trudge past, noting the missing letters on the street sign. Billboards hanging on the store walls are filled with posters: missing dog, support small businesses, and ads for young babysitters. Rows of carts line up near the billboards. Some have leftover receipts and others have loose plastic bags. I grab one and walk towards the pasta aisle.
My mom wrote me a list of foods. Not only is she going on a diet, but she’s also vegan, vegetarian, and refuses to eat GMO foods. She acts like something might kill her.
I glance through the pastas until my hand stops on one. “Protein pasta?” I ask out loud. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I for one enjoy protein pasta,” a voice comments.
I quickly jerk my head in the direction. “Randy? Is that you?” God, not Randy.
“Yes, indeed.”
I haven’t mentioned Randy before; now is as good a time as any to introduce him.
Randy and Alex were best friends. Alex didn’t have many friends; he had one.
Randy knew Alex before everything went wrong. Before Isla. Before the pills.
With the two of them, it was always Randy and Alex. Alex and Randy. They were inseparable.
And me? I was there—I was the extra. On family trips, vacations, and wherever Randy tagged along, I was invisible.
The only time they felt normal was when they were together. At school, people tried their best to ignore them, making them feel like losers.
I pushed them down sometimes, like they didn’t matter. Like they were nothing. Maybe I felt bad about it. Or maybe not. Whatever. It’s over now.
I bring myself back to the present.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Randy.
“Isn’t it quite obvious?” he points to himself from head to toe. He’s in uniform. Green polo shirt, black pants, and black shoes. “I got a job here.” His hair is barely brushed and his eyes have bigger bags than the grocery bags at the store.
“Cool…I guess.”
“Quite,” he pauses for a second while stocking a few pastas. Then he looks back at me. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”
“Yeah…has life been as painfully nerdy as usual?”
“I got this NASA internship,” Randy says. “I began nearly a week ago.”
My eyes enlarged. “NASA? Seriously? They must’ve been desperate.” Randy’s life moved on, just like everyone else’s. What was traumatic for me was small-town gossip for them.
He grins. “Clearly, because they accepted me. Imagine that. But no, it’s sorta stimulating.”
“Space? Stimulating?” I ask.
“Yeah…rockets, stars, and planets. It’s awesome.”
I glance at the end of the aisle, the shelves are filled with spices and oils in the same rack. There's a light from a few aisles down that won't stop flickering. I look at Randy again. “What do you have to do?” I ask. I don’t know why I ask. Maybe this is the first interesting exchange I’ve had in a while.
“The usual…visiting Mars, feeding aliens, and—” My mouth drops to the floor. “I’m joking,” he corrects. “We train, conduct research, and develop new technologies. The best part? It’s forty hours per week. Inordinately intense.”
My eyebrows raise to my hairline. “Only you would call it the best part.”
“That’s not the only thing because my parents' restaurant has also been well. I wanted to work there at first but it feels like my whole life already so I wanted something that wasn’t restaurant-y. Then again, none of it carries meaning: not the titles, the pretending, the noise. You do. And I still couldn’t bring myself to confront you at the funeral or even visit. I’m sorry.”
I brush it off. “It’s fine. Everyone bailed. You’re not special.” I don’t care about acting nice because I don't care what Randy thinks of me. I never have. Maybe that’s the problem.
“Fair. But regardless, how have you been?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Do I look like I’m thriving?” I point from my head to my toes. “Use your NASA brain. It’s rough.” Not only is Alex’s death rough, but Isla is too. Isla’s lies, the things she’s hiding, and the things she’s stolen. I can’t tell him all that. Can I?
“Sometimes we never know what’s going on in people's brains. Don’t blame it on yourself,” he says.
I shake it off. “It's ok.”
“At least you have friends to comfort you and family, correct?’
I shake my head. “No, dad, no brother,” I scoff, “obviously. And…basically no mom, no friends, and…oh yeah, no Neil.”
His eyes widened. “Neil? How deplorable! You loved one another, as do I with pumpkin pie.”
I bow my head slightly. “Yeah, we did. Oh, but you know who I do have?” I let the question hang between us. “Isla?” I snort.
“Isla? Really?” I tilt my head in agreement. “Huh? Who would’ve imagined?”
I softly laugh. “Yeah, trust me, it’s as pathetic as it sounds. And it’s not real.”
“Seriously? Tell me more. I do enjoy a good gossip once in a while. Plus—” he glances around the store. “I go on break at twelve. Why not make it now?”
I crack a knuckle. “It’s not…no, never mind.”
He exhales in laughter. “That’s criminal. You can’t start a confession and not finish it.”
I utter a weary sound. “I can’t tell you. You’ll tell Isla.”
He grins. “Trust me, I’m not invested in that narrative. Just the gossip.”
“Well…” I walk closer to him so I can look up into his eyes. I can’t help wondering: why am I still standing here? I could grab the pasta and leave. I should.
A woman at the end of the aisle drops a can on the ground. My stomach lurches. The can’s clatter persisted until the women reaches to grab it.
My gaze returns to Randy. “You wanna know the truth?” I ask anyway. “Fine. She killed Alex.” Did I seriously just say that? I don't know why I just said that. Randy's not my friend. I don't know Randy.
His eyes snap open like I just slapped him. The words hang between us. I want to pull them back. I can’t.
For a second, his hand goes to his mouth. Then—too quickly—he lowers it and forces a laugh. “H-how d-do you know? What do you know?”
“Well, she stole Alex’s pill capsule. He needed those and—” I wipe my nose. “Maybe that’s why he killed himself. I have some…assumptions on why. They’re just not strong enough. Not yet.” Why do I tell him this? Maybe because I want someone else to carry the weight with me. Or possibly because I’m tired of holding it all alone.
He presses his palm flat over his chest, almost like steadying himself. “So… it’s based on a hunch?”
“You could say that.”
“You don’t know that,” he says quickly. Too quickly.
“I said I don’t know yet,” I snap.
He nods, but his eyes don’t match. “Let’s…not jump to conclusions. That would be as nutty as a fruitcake.”
He blinks—slowly—as my eyes begin to light up. “Ooh, maybe you could help. Weren’t you and Isla friends?” I ask. I almost ask him to help me. I don’t. That would make this real. Not yet…
He makes a nodding motion. “We were…” Randy smiles, like he has it saved in his brain somewhere. “She cries at dog food commercials, feeds the homeless every Saturday, and tries all the Costco samples because she feels bad.” He laughs again. “So we’re friends, yes, just not close enough.”
“Darn. But I dunno maybe you guys could get closer? Can’t you just… I don’t know… annoy her until she tells you something?”
He swallows hard. “Maybe. After all, I’m good at getting people to listen to me.”
I chortle. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
I look back at the pastas. The shelf is stocked with pastas: spaghetti, rigatoni, angel hair, lasagna, fettuccini. It reminds me of a memory from before:
On Alex's and my birthday dinner, it was just the two of us and our parents. I screamed that day: I want to be with my friends! Not you guys! Not dumb and stupid, Alex! I said that, I did. Maybe it was rude. But it was obviously a joke. At least, that’s what I told myself.
After, Alex and I stopped arguing thanks to fettuccini pasta and a medium strawberry lemonade.
And for dessert? Chocolate cake.
I bring myself back to the present as the memory slowly fades away.
Seconds later, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I glance over and notice Randy still standing there—tapping me.
“You would dote on this one,” Randy says, grabbing a pasta. Paccheri protein pasta.
“Dote on?” I ask.
“Love. Adore. Fawn over. Language is fun.”
A loud chattering family walks past our aisle. Their voices nearly fill the entire aisle and I begin to feel as small as the spices and oils on the rack beside me. “Great, thanks.” I pull Randy in for an awkward hug. Mostly so he’ll shut up.
Randy quickly lets go of me and gives me a smile. “I truly hope you get better. I’m here for you now. I promise.”
“Yeah, sure, put it in a card next time.”
“I’m serious, I am here for you.”
“Swear on a rocket ship?” I ask, putting a pinky finger out.
He gestures a nod. “As diabolical as that is, yes. I swear on a rocket ship.”
Randy walks away as I continue to stand in the aisle. I throw the recommended protein pasta into my cart. And leave for the next.

Comments for this chapter

• the description of randy is solid!

  Comment by rose on February 05, 2026

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Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine
The first night in the new house is harder than it should be.
The mattress is the same, it feels harder. The two fans we brought are the same; the room feels hotter.
I can't sleep. Twisting, turning, and shifting in comforters that are the same make me feel like an insomniac.
To make matters worse, my mom picked the smallest apartment complex in town. She told me that it looks like a fun place to run. Bunnies, tall trees, clean pathways. I’m sure we could get that in other areas, too, but I’m not paying. And to be honest, I merely wanted to get out of the house, regardless of where; any place is better than there.
“Audrey!” my mom calls. “Audrey!” she calls again. She walks into my room and sits on the small bed. “I have news.” She looks serious, like for once it matters. “The first part of the toxicology results came in earlier. Qualitative or something.”
My eyes go wide. I forgot that it was today. “Wait, today? And I’m just finding out? Fantastic!”
“I know, I should’ve said something.” Yeah, you think? God, sometimes I doubt she has a brain.
I sit on the edge of my seat earnestly begging. “Well…what happened? What did they say?”
“The report says he wasn’t taking his pills regularly. They only found trace amounts in his system. The doctors think it's metabolic variance—” Metabolic variance. The words mean nothing to me. They sound like an excuse someone invented to stop asking questions “—something about how his body processed them faster. But we’ll get the official stuff with the quantitative results when—”
The room blurs. Metabolic variance. I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds like an excuse. He took his pills every night. He left them here. Why would he leave them here? Why would he trust her?
“Bullshit,” I whisper, the word small at first, then louder. “That’s bullshit.”
“Audrey Elizabeth Elliot! No cursing in this house.”
“Except this isn’t a house. Not even a home. And it'll never be as long as Alex is dead, dad is gone, and I have to sleep in a room where I can hear you snoring exactly one door down.”
My mom eventually leaves. Something about my cursing triggered her. Bad. Naughty. All sorts of things. Should I care? Should I even feel guilty after hearing my mom? After hearing that I was right. Alex was deprived of his pills. If he wasn’t taking his pills, that doesn’t mean Isla took them. It just means someone did.
I turn on my bedside lamp as I reach over and grab the big brown book of fairytales.
As I plop the book on my lap, my nails scrape against the coarse cover. I reach for the pages feeling the felt-like paper beneath my fingers.
I skip through the book until the right page comes into view. The right page has a bookmark barely hanging out.
I flatten the book as I burrow my back into the pillows. I nestle deeper into my bed with a small smirk at the book.
I can’t stand listening to my thoughts anymore. Hopefully this can make me feel better:
Chapter three: An Enchanting Consequence.

Large trees just beginning to blossom towered over small people in their houses. The trees left traces of flowers: yellow, pink, orange, and blue which powdered roofs like sprinkles. Next to some tall houses lay bright green grass, freshly trimmed beside white picket fences. Not a single grass was out of place, and not a single fence had colors other than white. Almost every home was perfect, except one.
This house has trees that are still haunted by winter, dead flowers traumatized by fall, and grass that isn't perfectly trimmed. And she's never had the luxury of tasting sunshine or hearing the chirping birds. Her life wasn’t as beautiful as a yellow flower blooming or as luscious as bright green grass. And she went by the 'enchantress' because she’d never tasted sunshine and never enjoyed it when others tasted it. Either she cursed them or hurt them because she was pained internally.
But before the enchantress received her name, she wasn't like this. She had a normal life. She walked through parks while eating popcorn, rode roller coasters with her family, and went to the movies every weekend. Until the incident happened and the enchantress lost her daughter and husband.
After that, the enchantress did anything to hurt people who had flawless lives. But after years of torturing others, she received the worst punishment she could receive: an immortal life.

One beautiful spring morning, as flowers were falling onto rooftops and grass was growing bright green, the enchantress woke up. She was celebrating her 436th birthday. Usually, she felt sad on her birthday, when she glanced at photos, dreamt of walks to the park, and ate popcorn alone, and this year was no different. After all, the incident happened exactly 400 years ago. Not only was this another year celebrated but also a reminder of the day she lost her daughter and husband.
So, to ease that pain, she wanted to check something off her evil agenda, per usual.
As she strolled the streets, she noticed a family. She cast a spell on them to make their noses huge—her daughter always loved big noses. But after the spell, the dust from the spell turned her hair pink.
Next, she noticed a pair of siblings. She transformed the pair of siblings into a pair of red shoes. Her husband loved a pair of red sneakers. But, after the spell, her skin starts to turn red.
The rest of the day, the enchantress continues to get the consequences of her actions. Pink hair, red skin, bumpy nose, and more.
The last thing she found was a little girl and her father. Slowly, the enchantress conjured up her spell until her stomach tied up into knots. She believed that this would relieve her pain, but a part of her felt uneasy. Still, she took both her hands and began to speak the words to her enchantment. Slowly, the daughter and father grew a beak, yellow fur, and soon, they were both small yellow ducks.
The enchantress imagined her daughter's voice echoing in the wind: "Ducks are the happiest animals," her daughter said as she tossed popcorn into the ponds—a memory the enchantress thought she'd forgotten.
And right after, the enchantress, herself, transformed into a duck.

Comments for this chapter

• me; the room feels hotter. Maybe "they feel slower"???? Ok aain the fairy tale i didn't get; also maybe mention the enchantress in a different way, versus: And she's never had the luxury of tasting sunshine or hearing the chirping birds. Her life wasn’t as beautiful as a yellow flower bloomin ^I thought it was grass at first lol

  Comment by raob9 on February 04, 2026

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• i love the story about the enchantress because it brings us back to isla and audrey at the amusement park so its mirroring audrey in this really ncie and subtle way

  Comment by rose on February 05, 2026

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• i love the story about the enchantress because it brings us back to isla and audrey at the amusement park so its mirroring audrey in this really ncie and subtle way

  Comment by rose on February 05, 2026

  Liked by 0

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Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten
The past few days have felt normal. I’ve been eating good food, watching good shows, and my mom is home. For once, she’s not out with Rick.
My mom never did explain what was going on between the two. I ask her, she never answers, or she starts talking about something else.
As far as I know, they hang out, see one another at work, stay up late on the phone, and always stay at one another’s houses.
However, I hate talking about it, so now’s not the time. What I should be talking about is Isla. Those toxicology results proved everything. Isla did something more sinister to Alex than originally assumed. Metabolic variance, my ass. But just wait until the quantitative results come, that’ll prove everything.
I don’t realize how often I’ve been checking my phone until it buzzes and I jump.
I look down, confused. Isla.
Ding.
Isla: Heyy Audreyyy
My stomach flips. She hadn’t said she’d text today. Or this morning. Or at all, really. For a second, I just stare at her name on my screen, like it might disappear if I don’t move.
Seriously. The timing.
I could ignore it. I should ignore it. But I don’t. If I don’t respond, the plan falls apart before it even starts.
Isla: What do you think of the mall?
I start typing before I can stop myself. I hate it. It reminds me of the times my friends and I would all go and spend our parents’ money. I never want to—
I stop.
The words sit there, blinking at me, stupid and honest. I delete the whole thing without thinking twice.
I type again.
If it’s with you, it’ll be fun!
I send it before I can change my mind. Sounds like a 2nd grade teacher sending a message to her class.
Isla: YAY!
Isla: I LOVE the mall
I type again, with gritted teeth, Yup. Me too.
I tell myself there’s a reason I said yes.
Maybe I’ll see something. Maybe she’ll confess. I’ll use that confession to land her in jail. Justice. Served.
Or maybe I just don’t want to be alone. Perhaps it’s a sign that I’ll get a piece of me back while finding out how I lost myself to Isla in the first place.
Suddenly, my phone slips from my hand and a soft melody begins to play.
My head slowly sways to the tunes as my toes wriggle in a frayed carpet. I begin to let the beat keep me steady.
“Do you want to land her in jail? Or you want to uncover the truth,” Alex asks, appearing beside me.
He’s in pajamas today with hair all ruffled up. We’re both on the couch, but he’s in his favorite spot—the rule breaker position. Legs over the backrest, head hanging off the edge, hair brushing the floor like they’re trying to defy every unspoken rule of being normal. It’s careless. Absurd.
I slowly crack my knuckles, staring into the distance. “That girl's nonsense will come to an end.”
“You’re fibbing your way to the truth. Lying about comradery, intentions, just to unravel the truth. Almost ironic. Why do you suppose lying is the only way to fathom the truth?” I shrug, looking away from him. “Audrey,” Alex’s voice rings out again, forcing me to face him. “This isn’t about her anymore, it’s about you.”
He doesn’t get it. I’m not lying, and this isn’t about me. I’m investigating for him. “I don’t need your judgment,” I snap. “This is for you. Don’t lecture me because this just so happens to be one of my many kind attributes.”
He offers a soft smile and glances out the window. “Did you know planes can soar for hours on one engine?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Now’s not the time to show off your trivia expertise.”
My phone buzzes. I wave Alex away, he doesn’t matter—
“You think I never mattered?” Alex asks, hurt. “Did you feel that same way when I got lice?” he asks. “Remember when that happened? I was ten.”
His words sit in the air for a second. A glance at a woodpecker peck at a trunk just outside a nearby window. “Did you feel that same way when I got lice? Remember when that happened when I was ten years old?” Alex asks.
“Ha. Yeah,” I say, before I can stop myself. I press my lips together, but the smile still slips through.
“Mom told you not to tell anyone,” Alex says. “She said when I came back without hair, you had to stay quiet. Remember that?” I shrug and don’t look at him. “But you told everyone anyway,” he continues. “For years, that’s all I was. Don’t go near him. He’s contagious. You thought I was weird before? Look at him now.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I remember.” I pause, then add, lighter than I should, “It was just a joke. People seriously need to lighten up.”
Alex’s expression twists—not angry. Worse. Tired. “A delightful, messed-up, sinful joke,” he says quietly. “I should’ve learned not to—”
He doesn’t finish. He fades instead, thinning out until he’s gone, like his hair had been back then. Just gone.
My phone buzzes. The moment snaps in half—some dumb Instagram notification. Something about soft girls and healing energy. Whatever. It reminds me. I need to get ready to hang out with Isla
I tie my hair into a ponytail, tugging Alex’s ribbon into place. Blue planes. His favorite. I remember him gripping it on our thirteenth birthday, refusing to let go. The thought stings. No time.
I shove the ribbon into my braid and turn to my closet. I throw on a skirt and the same shirt from earlier—the exact outfit I wore the day Neil called me perfect. The first and last time anyone ever said that to me.
I’d been in the hallway, tripping over my own shoe. Neil laughed and caught me. You’re a mess. But perfect.
I replayed that line for weeks, like it meant something. Like maybe I wasn’t just a mess—maybe I was his kind of mess.
A honk snaps me back.
Outside, Isla’s cream-colored car gleams like always—pristine, controlled, perfect. Just like her. Or maybe it’s just the car.
Still, I step forward. Because I have questions. And I think Isla might finally be the one who can give me answers.

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Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven
As Isla and I drive off, I feel the breeze hit me. I wish it could feel like a pleasant and beautiful breeze—it doesn’t.
“So, what’s your favorite store?” Isla asks, turning the radio down.
I jolt my head over to her. Isla’s wearing a sweater that clings to her body. She has a light blue jean skirt that’s clearly a size too big—desperately big. “Store?” I ask. Does she seriously have to ask me questions? Being here is hard enough.
Yeah, your favorite store…I mean, I know you used to go to the mall all the time, so you must have a favorite.”
I snort. “Ice cream, I guess. I’ve always liked ice cream.”
The car tires come to a stop on the road. She could’ve driven past the yellow. I guess she's just being cautious. “Did you say—um—ice cream?”
“Yeah…why? Is something wrong?”
Isla fleetingly grimaces. “Sorry, I just hate ice cream. We can go anywhere except there.”
Hate ice cream? How do you even hate ice cream? “That’s fine,” I say, but my chest feels tight.
The mall towers over us when we arrive, and the sun peeks through the ceiling windows. Kids wander past us with coffee in one hand—even though it’s three—and thick bags of clothing in the other. She’s quiet today, silence grows between us like vines that never disappear even after cutting.
So, I try to lighten it. “If Alex’s death wasn’t a suicide, who do you think would’ve done it?”
She stares. “Audrey? Are you kidding? I’m not answering that.”
“It’s just a question.”
To be fair, it is a tad crazy. But those are questions that receive the best answers.
Isla’s lips press into a tight line. “I see where you’re coming from, but I can’t answer that.”
Later, while she’s returning a shirt at a boutique, I almost say something about the pills.
The words sit on my tongue, heavy and wrong. “When I was in your room, I kept thinking about how—” She looks at me. “Never mind.” I could’ve finished the question. I didn’t.
Not yet.
By the fifth store, hunger gnaws at me.
“Bobby’s Burgers?” I ask. Bobby’s Burgers has been a thing since I was born in Virginia. Bobby and his wife started it as a means to make healthier, delicious, and completely homemade burgers. Even his ketchup is homemade.
“Perf,” she says, already walking.
Meanwhile, I search for a table:
The food court is chaotic—toddlers whining, bags littering tables, and parents arguing about adult problems. I spot one free booth, but Randy beats me to it, dropping his tray with a smirk.
“Randy,” I mutter. “You steal chairs now? Pathetic.” Of course it’s Randy. Why is it always Randy?
“Survival of the fittest,” he says, gesturing for me to sit anyway. “C’mon.”
I slide myself into the small booth. Hopefully, Isla doesn’t mind.
“That shirt looks familiar. Didn’t Alex have it too? Are you guys still pretending to be twins?” I ask, attempting to create conversation. Not only is Randy wearing an almost-Alex shirt today but it has his usual pocket protector. His smart glasses slightly fall onto the bridge of his nose with its usual girly curve at the end.
He lifts it up with two fingers. “This is the same as Alex’s. Plaid Ralph Lauren Polo shirt. Limited edition too. And unfortunately that twin ploy ended a long time ago.”
“Awesome!” I anxiously look around, waiting for Isla to come.
“Are you here with Isla?” he asks, suggesting my anxiety is distressing. “Even if it’s fake?” He quietly adds.
“Shhh,” I look behind me. “Not so loud.”
He motions dismissively a silent my bad in the air between us. “Sorry, sorry.”
I chuckle. “It’s ok.”
There’s people in every corner of the mall. Families, teenage girls, and grandparents with large bags and food bags. Ketchup stains cover the top of many tables—reminindg me of Isla’s love for the color red. A few empty brown bags are sporadically placed reminding me of Isla’s daily packed lunch. She hates regular lunchboxes and prefers brown bags. Apparently they’re easier to decorate.
I glance at Randy again. “Y’know, you would like Isla. A lot actually. You both love boring stuff.”
He folds his arms. “Isla has potential…I’ll give her that. I don’t cry at dog food commercials, I skip them every time.”
I scrunch my nose. “Dog food? What? Have the aliens finally gotten to you?”
He rolls his eyes and throws a fry into his mouth. “The chemistry’s off. Not much more to it.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I pause for a second until my eyes begin to light up. “Ooh, remember what I said at the grocery store? About trying to get close?”
“Yeah, bits and pieces. Why?”
“Maybe you can help me?” I don’t know why I bring it up again; maybe I’m so desperate that I’ll bring it up during the most random moments. “Maybe you can hang out or something. Isla trusts you more than she trusts me. I bet—”
Suddenly, a silent shriek blares from behind us. We glance around and notice Isla:
“Randy?” Isla’s voice echoes from behind. The moment her voice hits the air, Randy flinches like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Her hair is curled, per usual and her blush is the same as this morning. She probably thinks that makes her perfect
“Isla!” I exclaim. She ruins everything. I was close to finding out more from Randy…
“What are you doing here?” Isla asks.
Randy grins. “Great to see you again. Maybe we could hang out sometime?” At least he can do one thing right.
I show him a thumbs-up.
“Sure,” Isla says, strained. “But we should go. Grandma needs help.” Does she? Is something happening between Isla and Randy that prevents them from being in the same room together?
“Bye, Randy.” She waves, carrying bags of food rapidly towards the exit doors.
Or did she need to leave because she’s hiding a body at her house that she forgot to remove? Or am I still just paranoid?
On the walk back to her car, Isla eats quickly, eager to leave. Silence presses down on us. I nearly trip over a pothole filled with rainwater and step on wads of gum glued to the asphalt. Still, my mind keeps circling Randy and Isla. Together, they felt… wrong. Isla felt wrong. She seemed uncomfortable in Randy’s presence—why? And what else did Randy know? Does he know something, or just have good instincts?
When we slide into her car, I force myself to look around, to focus on anything else. That’s when I see it—a pin glinting on the seat.
At first, I think it’s trash—foil, maybe, or a coin. I lean closer anyway.
It’s a pin. Small. Gold. The kind that hooks into fabric and stays there.
I pick it up before I can talk myself out of it.
My fingers tingle.
I don’t need to flip it over to know. I still do.
Alex’s.
What the hell?
Isla swerves to the side for a second. “What are you doing with that?” She grabs it from my hand and places it to her left, where I can’t hold it.
“The real question is what are you doing with it?” I ask.
“Audrey, you can’t just take things that aren’t yours.”
“Well, it’s not yours either. It’s Alex’s.” My posture sharpens like a pencil. “Let me ask again. What are you–”
“It was a gift," Isla says too quickly to seem real. “I promise. A gift.”
My jaw ticks. Isla thinks I believe her? Alex would never offer this as a gift. He was hesitant for me to even touch it.
I don’t want her to know that I’m onto her. So I pretend to believe her. “Ok. I believe you.” What she doesn’t know is how this changes everything.
“Good,” she replies. “That’s good.”
I turn back toward the window, my reflection staring right through me.
I don’t know what the pin means yet. I just know it doesn’t belong here. And neither does the story she gave me.

Comments for this chapter

• more description about isla's emotions around randy would be nice - how she looked and acted, if she seemed rushed or maybe scared?

  Comment by rose on February 10, 2026

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Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve
The hum of traffic feels louder now than ever, and the sky looks one shade duller than usual.
As I walk across the sidewalk, weeds break through every crack—trying to break free. Bugs crawl over cracks, hide in spaces, and run away from my size seven Adidas.
When I look up from the sidewalk, old brick buildings fade into a dull red—the same red it’s always been. There’s a police station—filled with officers who pretend like they care, but don't. A missing person's sign, a runaway dog poster, and a robbery poster have hung on the bulletin board for months. I could learn a thing or two about not caring, then I wouldn't be so consumed with Isla and what I think is the truth. Like Alex was with ERAU. Alex used triple-check formulas and rewrote everything until he’d have to leave for school. He almost looked depressed with how much energy he spent on it.
I throw my bag onto the police front counter. It’s been one day since the mall, and from the moment I woke up, I raced here as soon as possible: I didn’t sleep. By morning, the pin felt louder than my thoughts. I knew that the pin meant something but after staring at it, I finally realized: When Alex and I were seven, my parents took us to ERAU for this lame plane tour. Only 12 ten-year-olds were picked, along with their families. A famous engineer personally gifted pins to each of those kids. Plated in 24 karat gold. If sold today, it could be worth nearly twenty to who knows how much. Isla knew that.
I stare ahead at the counter in front of me again. Although two people are waiting before me, I cut in front of them. “You need to investigate this! There is a murderer on the loose!” Maybe not a murderer but a ‘person who might’ve done something bad’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
“Ma’am, there’s a line; please go to the end of it.”
“No, you have no idea, you need to catch her. She did something to my brother! Your bank robberies, parking tickets, and arresting J-walkers can wait.”
An officer walks out of her room and looks at me. Officer Saunders. “Are you Audrey Elliot?” She asks. It’s a small town, so that’s probably the only reason Officer Saunders knows my name.
“Yes, I am. You have to help me. None of these people are and—”
“Please calm down, yes, I’ll help. Follow me.”
“Thank you! Finally, someone can do their job.”
I follow the officer into her office, walking past certificates, black and white paintings, and plaques. Mrs. Saunder’s office has more plaques and certificates than the rest of the station. Hope bubbles up inside me but is immediately shot down when she doesn’t sit. “Wait, why aren’t you sitting?”
“What seems to be the problem, Audrey?”
She’s still not sitting, but I reluctantly answer. “Well, It’s Isla. She killed my brother.” She gives me a stern look. “Ok, maybe not killed but something bad.”
She sighs and looks like a bird with broken wings. “Do you have concrete evidence?”
“Yes, I do. Isla took my brother’s pills, his pin, and he didn’t have enough pills in his body—it was Isla!”
She exhales slowly, her slump in the slightest. “And do you have photographic evidence of this? Or something more tangible?”
“Um, do I need to? Because this seems like pretty concrete evidence.”
“Ms. Elliot. The case of Alexander Elliot was closed. The autopsy was shown; there was no sign of struggle, foul play, and all his organs were fine. We examined his brain and—nothing. There were simply metabolism issues regarding the pills. I’m incredibly sorry for your loss, but there’s nothing we can do.”
I zone out every other word and latch onto one word: autopsy.
I remember the day they came back with the autopsy results. We just found out Alex was dead and didn't know how much worse it could've gotten. There was always a feeling before the autopsy results that it could’ve been a suicide. But we tried to convince ourselves otherwise. The moment they declared it as a suicide was the worst moment of my entire life.
This lady is still trying to convince me that what I thought before was real. In reality, I know the truth: this is not a suicide.
My nostrils begin to fume. “Are you joking?”
“Look, Audrey, like I said, I’m so sorry for your loss. The most I can do is offer counseling, perhaps, or—”
“No!” I retort. “I don’t need counseling, help, or anything! I can figure this out without your help.”
“Audrey, I strongly advise against that. As I told you, nothing happened. I don’t want you getting in trouble or hurt.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I don’t know what got over me.”
I leave with a scowling face. Looks like it’s still up to me to find out the truth. Whatever it takes. Whatever I need to do, just to make sure everything will be alright and I can finally stop falling apart.


* * *


I start walking down the street. Sunlight presses through the clouds, persistent, like it’s following me. My heartbeat beats loudly in my ears—too loud, too fast.
A bangle bracelet jangles against my wrist. It twists over itself, charms clinking with every step, metal on metal, like it’s reminding me I’m still here.
My phone buzzes once—then goes dark. Less than ten percent had been a lie. I turn it over in my palm, press the side button again. Nothing.
So I keep walking. No direction. Just forward.
A few kilometers later, a strip mall comes into view. One of the signs flickers weakly, half-burnt neon stuttering above an empty storefront. The windows beside it are boarded up, wood warped and pale. Right next door, a restaurant glows—warm, yellow light spilling through the windows. String lights hang inside, still on, like they’re defying the daylight.
I slow at the door, nearly tripping over my own feet.
Someone steps out. A brown paper bag. A familiar logo.
Then I see his face.
“Randy?” I say.
He’s holding the bag in one hand, his phone in the other. For a second, I forget how long it’s been since I last thought about his parents’ restaurant.
"Audrey? what are you—"
"Well I was down at the police station.”
Randy grips his bag even tighter as his eyebrows draw together. “Don't tell me you were—"
“Telling them? I told you I would. They deserve to know.” My tense face slightly eases. “What about you? Are you doing what you said you would?”
Randy uncomfortably touches his neck. “She’s…not how you remember her.”
“So you’ll keep doing it?” I narrow my eyes watching Randy shrug his shoulders. “That’s not an answer.”
He exhales through his nose. “She’s just…different.”
Flowers in a nearby flower pot nodded happily, mocking my irritation. “You sound like you care,” I say.
That gets him. “I don’t,” he snaps too fast.
“Randy,” I say. “It’s been, what, a week? And suddenly you and Isla are like this?” I gesture between us. “That doesn’t just happen.” His jaw tightens. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
For a second, I think he might actually say it. I know there’s nothing between them. There can’t be. But it’s Randy. He can’t handle any bit of confrontation even if it’s fake.
“I said I’d do it,” he says. “And I am.”
“That wasn’t—”
“I’m hanging out with her,” he cuts in. “I’m keeping her busy. I’m doing exactly what you want. Isn’t that the whole point?” He’s not angry. He’s scared.
I crack a grin. “So you’ll keep going?”
A beat. Then:
“Yeah. I will.”

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• so does randy think isla was responsible for it?

  Comment by rose on February 10, 2026

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Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen
The next day arrives slowly like most things in life. Halloween, Christmas, and parties that I eagerly anticipate for.
But it’s here now.
I continue to drive on the road: a familiar line of businesses grazes past my window. At a bakery, the scent of cinnamon rolls and freshly squeezed orange juice fills the world even though mine ended weeks ago.
A restaurant brushes past my eyes. Randy briefly mentioned before but he and his family own a restaurant. It always seemed like their whole world. I wonder how they ever had time for Randy.
Behind the glass of boutiques and clothing stores, mannequins grin in the latest summer dress. Their grins are part of a world I’m not in.
The stores, shops, road signs, street names, and restaurants all remind me of before:
Every lunch, Stacey and I used to blueprint our days—outfits, tables, parties. We called it “strategy.” Golden Grill, Sizzle & Sear, Crave Culture. We curated everything. Funny how “strategy” now sounds a lot like “manipulation.”
It made sense. Stacey grew up in pageants—rigid posture, photo-ready teeth, curled hair, tanned skin, and a polished ruthlessness. Jenny was always the quiet one in the back. Neil hovered like a loyal puppy. Every lunch was the same. Routine turned into ritual.
When I finally reach Isla's house, I don’t step out of the car. I sit, leg trembling, thoughts swirling.
Isla doesn’t know I’m here. She doesn’t know I brought a gift. A reminder popped up on my phone this morning. A friendly gesture, I guess. And since no one else is coming, my gift won’t have to compete.
Ever since I bought the gift I've been asking myself why I keep showing up. Why do I keep acting like a friend when a friend is the farthest from the truth. Maybe If I stop showing up, I will lose my place. And if I lose my place, I lose the truth.
I take the first step out of the car, my hair blowing onto my face. I sputter it out like expired gum. Then glance back at her house:
There are large signs, bigger than my head. And each sign spells out Happy Birthday Isla. Wow.
As I walk past it, something else catches the corner of my eye—
Slightly larger than before, the flowers’ open wider. More blue and less gray. I rub my pointer finger and thumb on one of the petals; they’re velvety, like a fancy dress I shouldn’t have access to. It reminds me of when I just turned 13 and my mom just bought me a rich, red, and velvety dress. But Alex was finishing his volcanic science experiment which exploded all over my dress. I never cried more than that day. Suddenly, the two petals break between my fingers. They rip and scar.
I take a step away from the flowers until bees continuously zoom around. One bee in particular begins to chase me up till the door. They’re just like us, surrounding, perfection as if we all have it. I blow on him. Quickly, he zooms away.
I race up to Isla’s door.
As I stand before her door, I look around in hesitation. Then my fists hit the door: thump, thump, and—there she is.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she echoes, smiling in that way she does—bright enough to either light a room or scorch it. She’s wearing a pink top and a skirt. In certain lighting she could pass as perfect, but… no.
“Happy birthday!” I hand her the blue gift bag. I flash a brilliant smile that makes me want to gag. She beams and pulls me inside. We rush upstairs like little kids carrying secrets.
On her bed, I fiddle with the blanket while a yellow balloon watches me with its plastic grin.
“Are you sure your grandparents aren’t planning anything?” I ask.
“They know I hate birthdays,” she says, glancing at the floor before meeting my eyes again. “Plus, even if they were, you’d be fine with it, right?”
“Depends. If they were to plan something, as long as my old friends aren’t there, I’d be fine.”
She winces. “Yeah, good thing they didn’t plan anything.” She looks down at her charm bracelet, fidgeting with it like she’s hiding in plain sight.
My chest tightens. Is she lying? Did her grandparents plan something?
I swallow. “I’ve always wanted to ask about your bracelet. I love it.” The lie slips out easily. I just need to move the conversation somewhere safer.
“Yeah, it’s great, but I lost one of the yellow charms a while back. Sorta sad…” She keeps fidgeting, and the silence stretches. The charm. The yellow. The way her fingers won’t stop moving. Does that mean something? God, I need to stop.
“So…do you wanna watch a movie?” I ask, forcing a smile. “I need something to distract me.”
She laughs, though it sounds nervous. “Sure.” Isla grabs her laptop, tossing it onto the bed. It’s spotless—of course it is. White cover, white keyboard, everything pristine, like her.
She opens it slowly, types her password, and my stomach drops. It’s my birthday. “Why is your password—”
“My password?” she laughs nervously. “It’s Alex’s birthday.” She folds her lips into a smile and looks away. I do the same.
But my mind doesn’t let go. If it really was Alex’s, why did it look so familiar? Why did she look so guilty?
She twirls a piece of hair around her finger, then looks up. “Do you ever miss him enough to do something you regret? I mean, I did some bad stuff after we broke up and I question if it was for the right reasons,” Isla says softly. Is she talking about what I think she is? “But anyway. You don’t need to hear that. It’s hard enough for you.”
She scrolls through movie titles, too quickly, too deliberately. “Is this good?” she asks, but I don’t even see the screen. I just nod. The silence stretches again. I can feel it now—the tension, the hidden thing she’s not saying. Something’s off.
Then she presses play.
Isla and I continue watching The Notebook for about an hour. I occasionally comment on it, but she never responds.
“Isla!” A voice screams. Both of us glance at Isla’s door, brows crossed. “Isla!” the voice screams again.
We both look at one another. “Does she need something or…what’s going on?” I ask.
Isla looks at me with narrow eyes. “I’m sorry Audrey,” she says.
Isla stands up, pulling me off the bed with her hands. My eyebrows arch. “What are you talking about?”
“I should've told you, I felt bad.” What is she talking about? This doesn’t feel like it’s about Alex anymore. Is it something else?
We stand before her closed door. “About what.”
She sighs in exasperation. “You’ll see.”
We walk down the dark hallway. Everything sounds far away, like I’m underwater.
Then—
“Surprise!”
Lights explode on. My whole body jerks. Streamers drip from the ceiling. Balloons everywhere. Her name plastered across the wall.
Isla is already at the bottom of the stairs. A wave of validation washes over me. So, It was my paranoia. And also…it wasn’t. Regardless of the fact, she’s awful. A glittery disaster with perfect timing.
My old friends hug her one by one. Isla glows in the center, forgetting I exist.
Her grandmother carries out a two-layer cake with seventeen candles. Their flames dance in the air, confident and untouched. Flames that belong to a world where everything is still okay.

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Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen
I remember my fifth birthday party. My parents rented out an event hall.
My only wish that year was to have a birthday to myself. No Alex. No Randy. And no Isla. Apparently that was the only wish they wouldn't make come true. I got a pony ride, new headphones, the 80-pack markers, and a sparkly pink pen set. But I was so angry that I had to share it with Alex that I threw it all away.
Now? I really wish that I celebrated that birthday with him.
I’m still at the top of the stairs. I don’t join in. I usually love to sing happy birthday because if i sing loud enough I can make it more about me than the birthday girl. But now, I’d rather make myself as invisible as possible.
The rest of the room only likes Isla because she’s nice. Before, they all hated her.
People act differently around me now. Like grief is contagious. They whisper when I walk by, avoiding my eyes. Whatever. I don’t need them.
Back then, everyone loved me. Or maybe they loved the way I made everything look easy.
“Blow them out!” someone yells.
Isla giggles, beaming. Her smile is perfect and dazzling. I hate admitting it. She blows out the candles. The flames flicker out like they’re relieved.
She said she hated birthdays. Was that a lie too?
“I’ll cut the cake while you open presents in the backyard!” her grandma exclaims.
More cheering.
I creep down the stairs one step at a time. Everyone rushes outside, but the whispers still find me: What is she doing here? Isla probably felt bad.
Yeah. Sometimes I feel bad for myself too.
“Audrey!” Mrs. Dubois calls once the others spill into the backyard. “I’m so glad you’re here. Isla already knew about most of the party, because I’m a blabbermouth—at least some of it could still be a surprise, and—”
“Wait.” I stop. “She knew?”
Mrs. Dubois hesitates. Just for a second. Long enough. “Well—yes,” she says, with a small, apologetic laugh. “Not everything. But you know how these things go.”
She’s already steering me toward the back door. “Go on. They’re waiting.”
The backyard opens up all at once—chairs lined neatly, a pergola strung with lights, trees pressing in beyond the fence. A table buried under gifts. Balloons. Streamers. Too much.
I barely register it.
Mrs. Dubois’s words echo louder than the music.
Isla knew. She knew I’d hate this. So why didn’t she say anything?
I stare ahead at a random tree. Why don't I just leave now? I got what I wanted. I stayed. I saw. Now what?
But leaving will mean she won. Staying means I get to see. There's still more truth. I don't know what but that's why staying is the right answer. So, I stay.
“Is this your gift, Audrey?” Isla calls. I snap back. Everyone’s watching.
I point a stiff finger at myself. “Me?” I know it’s my gift but if I act stupid maybe she’ll throw it away and ignore it. “No, it’s the president. He wanted to surprise you for your sweet seventeen.”
Isla chuckles, smiling resplendently. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She slowly pulls out the flower. “Oh my gosh!” Isla silently squeals, squeezing the pot to her chest. “How’d you know I adore these?” It was a last minute purchase I got yesterday before coming. I was debating whether I should even purchase a gift. But that would look too suspicious.
“It’s obvious,” I say. My voice is too calm. My hands clench anyway.
Her wallpaper, her room, the backyard—all of it. She lied about the party. And somehow, she has my friends, my attention, my entire day.
Isla giggles. “I do love them. Probably more than I should.”
Someone’s voice cuts in. Familiar, but I can’t place it.
“They’re just… pretty,” Isla says, too quickly.
“Pretty?” I echo. “Roses are pretty. These… what’s different?”
She bites her lip. “I don’t know. They just…matter.” She glances around. A wide toothy grin lays on her face as her eyes dart around in discomfort. “Enough about this—let’s party!”
Everyone cheers. The moment feels weird, but maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe.


* * *


Music blares. People scatter.
A tap hits my shoulder. Please don’t be someone I know. Maybe a leaf grazing past my shoulder. A streamer falling from overhead.
“Hey Audrey,” the voice says.
My face goes red as my stomach churns. Jenny?
I slowly swivel around and smile at Jenny’s face.
Surprisingly, for once her boyfriend isn’t surgically attached to her, which means we can have a normal conversation.
My forehead creases. “Hey Jenny.” I wince as I slowly swivel to meet her eyes. I force my trembling hand in my pocket before she notices.
I’ve mentioned her too many times, but never introduced her like she truly serves. Most of her friends call her Jen. I’ve always preferred Jenny. The two of us never hung out after school alone. Most of our outside-of-school get-togethers were large group ones. We were merely people who’d wave in the halls and exchange gossip during lunch.
She half smiles, and reaches for her fingernails like a dog just teething. “Can we talk? Because I want to say—I’m sorry about your brother. You lost him so unexpectedly and I feel bad for you. When I, um…my parents got divorced, I was a mess, and no one was there for me. The last thing I want is for that—”
“And why do you suddenly care about me?” I ask, cutting her off. “Cause this heart-felt guilt trip is super nice and all but terribly timed.”
“I…Audrey I’ve always admired you, and I can’t keep pretending that you’re just someone we used to be friends with.” She picks off a nail and throws it out on the grass.
“You wanna play the sympathy card? Because you admire me? Cute. Did that come with a receipt?”
“And because you’re never pretending. I don’t know how you do it. When everything has gone bad, you still manage to be you, and—” She takes a deep breath, before speaking next. “I want us to be friends again.”
I scoff a laugh. pretending? I'm always pretending. Right now I'm pretending that Isla is a friend when she’s done terrible things. And now I'm pretending that Jenny is actually telling the truth. “Well, things have changed.”
“But they haven’t! You don’t look broken and you’re standing here telling me exactly what I need to hear.” She forces a weak chuckle. “Please. I need someone right now, and I miss my friend.”
I glance to my far right and lay my eyes on Isla. She’s twirling like some disabled ballerina. “Why don't you be friends with Isla?”
“She doesn’t understand. You get it, Audrey. What it’s like to be messed up and still keep going.”
Keep going? She hasn't seen the nights where I cry like some loser. Or sit alone every night because all my friends have left. But maybe this is just a phase.
“Oh so now you want to be friends? How original.” I say.
Jenny’s chest deflates like her words will take something out of her. “I wanted to before, I guess I never had the chance to. We were all scared. You changed, we didn’t know what to do. Seeing you like that meant it was real. I think we were cowards. I should’ve come by. ”
My voice is flat. “You should leave me alone.”
This time, Jenny doesn’t reach for me when I turn around. She stands there, her face like she’s looking at a ghost.
I don’t care.
I can’t care.
The only thing I can focus on is my plan. I didn’t expect any of this to hurt as much as it does. My old friends feel real again.
My fingers reach for the ribbon I’d tied that morning. Nothing.
I freeze. I check again, slower this time, like the second try might fix it.
It’s gone.
My heart stutters, then speeds up, embarrassed—like I’ve been caught misplacing something that mattered too much. I scan the yard, the faces, the noise, the gifts scattered across tables.
Maybe it fell out. Maybe I left it upstairs.
My eyes land on Isla. She’s laughing, perfectly at ease.
A thought slips in—quiet, unwelcome.
No. I shake it off. I’m doing that thing again.
Still, my hand stays clenched at my side, like it’s holding onto something that isn’t there anymore.

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Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen
It’s been eleven days since Isla’s surprise birthday party. I’m not sure if I can even call it that. I keep telling myself she planned it. That she took the ribbon. Maybe she wants my life.
I’m sprawled across the bed my mom and I share. One leg is barely hanging off the edge as I hold my phone in my hand.
I was just about to text Randy to check in on him. Has he kept up with the plan and hung out with Isla? Or did he just agree so I could shut up?
Me: Hey. you and Isla hanging out?
Thirty minutes later, he replies:
Randy: Yeah. a couple times.
Me: what’d you guys do?
A pause. Then:
Randy: coffee. games. normal stuff.
Me: anything…off?
Randy: she likes flowers lol. not exactly state secrets. Sorry.
I stare at the screen, rereading it. It’s the same—flat, pointless details. Coffee. Games. Flowers. Nothing useful.
I cup my face between my hands and chuck my phone onto the other side of the bed.
My eyes are fixed into the bed and the smell of fresh new comforters envelopes me. Lavender and ocean breeze room spray. The window is open, an earthy smell faintly infusing the air around me.
I’ve always enjoyed Virginia: humidity, the earthiness, and the abundance of small businesses in Charlottesville.
It feels perfect. Too perfect. Maybe like Neil and I were. We were perfect till we weren't. Dates in a dark booth, morning coffee runs, and lunch dates every Sunday. It was all ideal until it wasn't.
I grab the edges of my pillow, covering my ears and mouth, letting out an exasperated groan. Maybe I'll feel better after it.
Perhaps Alex will be alive, my parents will be home, and Isla will be nothing except a nightmare.
But the screaming did nothing. Now my throat just aches.
Eventually, I drift off. And I dream about ladybugs. The words echo in my head: Bug, bug, ladybug. Bug, bug, ladybug.
After what feels like an hour, a pair of hands start shaking my shoulders. My eyes flutter open. "Mom?" My voice is groggy and my throat is dry. I put a hand up and make her stop. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you Pumpkin.”
I groan and slowly sit up in my bed.
Finally, I can get a good look at her: First I notice her makeup and how it definitely doesn’t match her skin tone. Then, I notice her shirt. The first two buttons are unbuttoned while the rest of the shirt looks freshly ironed. It’s a bright red color which matches the color of her lipstick.
Below her lipstick, my eyes peer down at her skirt. It’s a nice pencil skirt that falls just below the knees. Although she hates white, she’s probably wearing it because of Rick.
I’ve known Rick since before my mom and dad split up. She and Rick were good friends—very good friends. He’d come over for dinners, brunches, even hikes. I was usually upstairs while they talked in the living room, going on about the usual: taxes, politics, the weather, stuff like that.
My dad liked him too.
That’s why I never thought it would turn into something more.
I look at my mom’s outfit again. So fancy and poise. “Mom, really? What is this? A Victoria’s Secret fashion show?”
She scratches her head and chuckles uncomfortably. “Sorry pumpkin, I was wondering…Do you wanna come to dinner with me? It'd be a nice distraction, like old times.”
“With who else?” I already know the answer, I want her to say it. I want her to realize what a terrible idea it is.
“Always assuming there’s someone else. Why do you have to be this way?" I give her a look and she huffs a laugh. “Ok, maybe—” I don’t let her finish speaking.
“Let me guess…Rick?” She stiffly smiles. “What about dad?” I ask. “Did you forget he exists?”
“Pumpkin, everything will be alright! There’s going to be great food and Rick lives in a nice house.” She laughs softly—light and airy. “Always such a worrier.”
Even though I don’t want to go, I’m hungry. And I’ll do anything for some food. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll change.”
“Great!” My mom claps her hands like I’m a toddler eating for the first time. “Get ready, pumpkin. We leave in ten!” She hums a tune when she leaves.
When we’re finally in the car, peaceful music plays in the background. As I continue to dance to the music, Alex pops up in the back.
“So, Rick, huh?” Alex asks.
I scoff. “Yup, he’s the best.” I quietly utter.
He smiles. “I concur.”
“Do you suppose she loves him more than dad?” Alex asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.
“No,” I sneer. How could she? It hasn’t even been a month since my dad left.
“What was that?” My mom turns the radio down and flips up her mirror, like I have all her attention.
I shake my head, as Alex slowly disappears, “Nothing.”
“Y’know Audrey, sometimes I miss him too.” My face lights up for a second. Is she seriously going to talk about Alex right now? Is she seriously going to be a mom right now? “I miss your other teddy bear. Before the pink one. Yellow or something?”
“Are you serious? You wanna talk about a teddy bear?” I should’ve known.
“Yeah, I just passed by a billboard for a toy shop, so it reminded me.”
Silence falls. I thought for a second she was going to start talking about Alex. I should know better. I guess that’s just who my mom is.


* * *


“We’re here,” my mom says.
My eyes flutter open. It’s only been five minutes? Holy shit. This dinner is gonna feel like hours.
My mom and I step out of the car unhurriedly, standing in front of Rick’s house.
As I stand in front of the tall house, my jaw drops—awestruck. Right now, I’m looking at the ideal house: red bricks cover the place from top to bottom, green bushes line up the windows, and trees barely tower over the roof. The grass is manicured and tidy like a carpet—as perfect as Isla would like to be. Long pillars surround his door like a castle and I’m the queen. Except I’ll never be the queen.
As we walk up his concrete path, flowers generously fill the yard like our old home.
However, the flowers quickly fade away as I’m faced with a dull white door and a beating heart.
I feel my mom nudge me with her boney elbow. “Ring the doorbell,” she says, sternly.
I shake my head. “No, you ring it.” I insist to my mom.
“Pumpkin…ring it.”
“No, mom—”
Ding. My mom rings the doorbell as we both straighten our backs. I paint on a smile, feigning happiness. “Hi Rick!” my mom exclaims.
Rick has dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes. “Suzy!” Rick exclaims, embracing my mom. They wrap their arms around each other's backs, chests pressing together. I kick a few loose stones on the sidewalk into a small shrub, they’re useless like how I feel when my mom and Rick look into one another's eyes.
After a few seconds, they let go, and Rick smiles at me. “You look just as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Beautiful blue eyes and blond hair,” Rick says.
Gulp.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Come in,” he says, opening the door widely.
I walk in and admire the inside: The floor is a deep brown wood and the walls are a clean beige. The room is decorated like a cabin with photos of snowy mountains and white foxes.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “I have food ready in the kitchen.”
“Sweetheart, before we do anything else, let's eat first,” my mom calls.
I nod my head as we walk to the kitchen with the uncomfortable feeling of my mom and Rick.
I don’t understand how she moved on so easily. She’s trying to act like nothing bad has happened and we’re still living in a children’s cartoon.
“Audrey,” my mom exclaims, as we grab plates from the overhead cabinets. Try to act happier. You seem sad.
Although it’s fake, I simulate a smile.
She can be such a—“Did you know that Rick used to be a comedian?”
“Well not officially,” Rick awkwardly laughs. “It was more of a side thing.”
I bleakly smile. “No, I didn't know.” And I don’t care. Rick could be the president of the United States, and it won’t make me any more excited. Maybe that’s because it doesn’t sit right with me that my mom moved on from being a mother—an actual mother, to being Rick’s little toy that she’s gonna play with later.
The three of us sit down on Rick’s long log table. It fits four, so while my mom and Rick are on one side, I’m left on the other. Rice, beans, and chicken for dinner. The chicken looks well-cooked but the beans look like withered leaves.
As my mom and Rick talk, I fiddle with my rice, my leg shaking. I’m usually not so picky with food but Rick made it, so my pickiness is understandable. I reach over to my water cup and chug it. From top to bottom. “Audrey, Pumpkin,” My mom gestures for me to slow down as I drop some water on myself. “Don’t drink too fast. You’re gonna choke.” I look at her and pour myself some more from a jug on the table. “Or just pee your pants,” My mom chuckles, as I finish another cup.
I hear Rick’s laugh echo loudly in the house. I peer over at him. He’s laughing with his mouth wide open: without shame.
“Audrey?” Rick calls. “Yes?” I ask.
“I have a joke for you.” He begins to chuckle before speaking. “What do cows do on date night?” I shrug my shoulders, taking another bite of rice. “They go to the MOO-VIES,” he says, erupting in laughter.
My mom also starts to laugh as loud as him. “That’s a funny one Rick,” my mom says, placing a hand on Rick's. We both know damn well that joke was as bad as the chicken. And this dinner feels like Rick may as well propose with how hard he’s trying.
“Mom, may I go to the restroom?” I ask.
“Yes, you may,” she says, with a smile. “But, I told you Audrey. That water was going to be too much.” And so is Rick, but I didn’t feel the need to say that, huh?
“Sorry mom,” I reply, quickly walking to the restroom.
When I reach the delightfully decorated restroom, I gently close the doors. Snowy foxes and bears cover the cream walls. The toilet seat and rugs are all a light grey. My hands cling onto the marble sink and I stare into the mirror. No products fill the shelves, just fake plants, and empty picture frames.
I continue to stare at my desolate face: my eyebags look like I drew on dark circles and my hair looks like I purposely brushed it the opposite way. “What am I even doing?” I ask, looking at the ugly image in the mirror. “What am I doing here? What am I doing with my life? And why do I literally look like shit?”
My head begins to play music. I try closing my eyes and focusing on anything else. The rhythm ticks behind my eyes as the melody sounds like a fragile candle about to be put-out.
As I slowly flutter my eyes open, they focus on the mirror with the faint image of Alex beginning to appear.
He looks calm and casual. The way he stands behind me feels real. “Are you not fond of him?”
“No, I love him. I’m just on the verge of tears because he makes me so happy” I say.
“Not what I was referring to…”
I turn my head to face him. “Oh? Are you talking about Rick?”
“Yes, Audrey: Rick.” His name sounds like poison in the air. And it’s not that anything is wrong with him, just that…he’s not my dad.
I sigh with irritation, as Rick’s face continuously rings in my head. “Well to be frank: I’m not,” I exclaim, as my grip on the mirror begins to get tighter.
“I think he’s funny.”
“Well, of course you do.” Alex thinks everyone is funny. He even thinks the dead raccoon in our backyard was funny. Something about its ‘masked bandit’ face made him snicker every time.
“Audrey, so taut—lighten up.” He’s supposed to be nice, helpful, and comforting, not annoying. My grip tightens. “If you would like I could retell a raccoon story?” My grip nearly breaks the sink with how tight it gets. “Why so angry? Is something the matter?”
“WELL MAYBE CAUSE—” The words fade away before they leave my mouth. Alex vanishes afterwards.
The music in my head starts fading away. The thumping beats echo into the darkness.
Thud. Thud. knuckles press against the tall wooden door.
I open the door and notice my mom. Is she here to act like a mother? Shit, who knew?
“Audrey, Rick and I are going to drop you home, then come back here. Ok, honey?” Well there goes that idea…screw you mom.
As I get dropped home, I watch the streetlights buzz like my thoughts that can never silence. The sky is dark like the ideas that swirl in my head. When I finally reach home, I wave goodbye. It’s a quick wave. No emotion involved, no smile, and no talking. My thoughts feel like a messed up smoothie who can only manage minimal movements.
“Ooh, Audrey, I have one last joke.” Rick calls, as I turn to walk away.
I scrunch up my face like I just smelled a lemon. The words silently escape my mouth, “dang it.”
But I turn around, nod my head, and awkwardly smile.
“What kind of tree fits in your hand?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“A PALM tree,” he says, bursting into laughter.
I lightly chuckle. “Thanks Rick.”
“Sleep. I’ll see you soon Audrey.”
“Bye Pumpkin,” My mom says, as they drive away.
I wave goodbye again and race back into the house.
After that, the rest of the night is terrible.
My mom is off with her new boyfriend, Rick, doing god knows what and I’m stuck at home. Not only that; I’m binge watching TV cartoons and shoving old ice cream into my mouth. Watching cats chase dogs doesn’t make me feel better like it used to. The same goes for eating mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Everything will be alright, is a lie.
A huge, fat, sloppy, lie.

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Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen
It’s been three days since that more than miserable interaction with my mom and Rick. She came home two days ago: exactly 26 hours after I was dropped home after Rick’s house. Only god knows the things they did together.
As I sprawl on my bed, I stare out my window:
It’s exactly nine PM and the stars appear hollow like someone purposely dug out their center just to make them stop shining. The empty parking lot of my apartment complex feels more empty today than usual. Perhaps it’s the fact that my mother went out for a grocery run four hours ago and still hasn't returned. Is that how the asphalt feels when the streetlights are off for too long?
I glance farther into the night. It reminds me of the late nights Alex stayed up preparing for his ERAU application. Stress as visible as the moon and dark circles darker than the night sky.
An abrupt knocking interrupts my thoughts as a warm smile peeks through my door. “Hello Pumpkin. Getting ready for bed?”
“Yeah, just looking outside before I do. Maybe I can pretend life doesn’t suck for like two seconds.”
“Yeah nighttime is always my favorite time of day to do so.” My mom continues to stand in the doorway rolling on her heels like she wants me to ask ‘what’s wrong’ or ‘what happened?’
“Ok…what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Well it’s good news. Or…” she grabs her cellphone and makes a face. “Good-ish.” oh no. What does good-ish mean? Am I getting a puppy who's going to die in 15 days? Is Alex alive again? “The doctor called me. And thankfully it’s good news.” So not good-ish? Or is this a lie to cover up news that is as horrible as getting wisdom teeth removed. “Not only was it the second call but also the mailed reports of his toxicology results.”
My stomach drops, as I sit upright in my bed. “He said—and I quote—‘levels were low due to rapid metabolism. These findings are consistent with medication compliance.’” For once, I don’t need a translator.
“So they think that’s what killed him?”
“No, Pumpkin.” She hesitates. “It just…pushed him to do it. Or maybe it’s just nothing.”
She finally steps closer and sits at the edge of my bed, rubbing my shoulder in that way she always does when she wants to seem like she’s helping.
Her hand feels mechanical as she keeps her eyes on the wall.
The results might seem like nothing, but they’re everything. Alex’s metabolism—wrong. It was Isla. She did something to them. The results are as wrong as the number my mom calls her “weight.” I don’t know why this feels like confirmation. It just does.
“It was Isla,” I whisper. “This proves it. Or…something”
“Everything okay, Pumpkin?” my mom asks softly, already half-standing. Her hand slips away before I can answer.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Everything’s great. Finally, I can see it all much more clearly now.” I smile—relieved, not because I’m okay, but because maybe I know more of the truth.

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Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen
I stand outside, looking at the sun overhead. The trees below, clouds as fluffy as cotton candy, and apartments made of bricks and shingles. It makes me sad to look ahead.
Happy families are just beginning life in flats. Old people are retiring and enjoying long walks. And newborn babies are taking their first few steps.
Here, I can smell the trash cans every time I step outside and smoke from a local Puff palace.
A low piano melody loops, from a close-by radio. My head sways to the gentle tune and that’s when Alex appears next to me—standing proudly. “Don’t act so desolate, sister.”
I swallow hard, tracking down the obnoxious radio—its soft piano still looping. “Why wouldn’t I be sad? Not only is this apartment shit but those toxicology final results are proof.”
“Proof that you're delusional…overreacting?”
I shake my head. “Underreacting. Because I need to do something about it.”
“Well when I’m sad or overreacting, I would declare all the states in alphabetical order and recite nearly 100 digits of pi.”
When I finally find the obnoxious radio, my head begins to boil. “I’m not overreacting! Stop dismissing my feelings!” I exclaim and shut the radio off. Alex fades away, the melody drifting with him, fragile and unfinished. Even as he disappears, he slowly recites all the states—alphabetically.
Buzz—my phone
Hey, so I’m doing this summer Thanksgiving thing at my house, Isla texts.
You should come!
Dress up and treat it like it’s actual Thanksgiving.
This sounds like something a perfect family would do because I’ve never heard of a Thanksgiving dinner in July. Perfect families love trying new things, regardless of how dumb they sound.
For instance, my family and I used to do W Wednesdays, where everything we ate had to start with a W.
I miss when things were that simple. When all I had to worry about was picking between waffles or wontons. Not people or pain.
But perhaps going to Isla’s dumb dinner could be a good thing.
The only problem? I don’t wanna ask the wrong questions, wear something too casual, or eat like I’m a dog who hasn’t eaten anything in years.
Which is why I’m definitely not bringing my mom.
My phone screams again.
Isla texts me, also bring your mom.
I glare at the text and grab my phone to tell my mom. “Fine. You win Isla, whatever,” I mutter to myself.
My mom replies immediately in elation.


* * *


A couple of hours later, my mother and I walk towards Isla’s charming home. A meconopsis in one hand and food in another.
And then I see the flowers.
Not soft or sweet. The petals curl inward like a smirk—the same kind Stacey gave when she “accidentally” left me out of everything.
I rub the petals. They feel fake, almost oily, not comforting. Nothing like what we used to have at home. My fingers press too hard. One petal tears—a dry little snap.
Bees whir past my face. They dive at anything bright and pretty, even when it’s rotting underneath. I jog toward the door, wanting distance.
When my mom and I finally reach the door, I hesitate. All the ways today could go wrong swirl in my head. All the secrets and lies that could get exposed.
I grab my mom’s hand before she knocks. “What if—”
“Can I knock Pumpkin?” I exhale a heavy sigh and gesture for her to knock.
She knocks once. No answer. She knocks again. And for a second I have a glimmer of hope that maybe I can go home. Unfortunately, after a second, a voice responds:
“Hello!” Mrs. Dubois exclaims, gesturing for us to enter.
My mom leaves to untie her lace-up boots while I hand the flower to Mrs Dubois.
She throws her hands around me, pulling me in for a hug. “Thank you, dear, what a pretty blue flower! These are Isla’s favorite, y’know.”
I gently push her off of me while smiling brilliantly. “Trust me, I know.”
Then I leave for the table. Nobody else is there…
It’s just Mr Dubois, Mrs Dubois, Isla, and my mom.
Thanksgiving dinner party? More like the Elliots are invited to the Dubois’s house.
“Don’t worry, Audrey, the others are on their way,” Isla’s grandma says, addressing my confusion.
“Others?” I ask.
“Yes, Randy still has to come.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Really? Randy?” Why the hell would Randy come? Is he that eager to help with my plan?
“Didn’t know you guys were that close. Thought it was just hangout sessions and stuff.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Coffee dates, bowling, and pancake palace. We’ve gotten a lot closer.”
“That’s awesome. I’m…” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “I’m happy for you.” Blech. But this is for my plan.
She frowns. “I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you to listen to. I’m just trying to move on.”
“I understand. It’s high time we all move on.”
As everyone begins to settle, my eyes immediately dart to the food. Mashed potatoes, beans, gravy, pie, and everything else you'd see on a Thanksgiving table.
shove a spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth, trying to focus on something, anything. Isla picks at her corn, each kernel carefully considered, as if timing matters.
Mrs. and Mr. Dubois sit across from me. Their plates look untouched—or maybe they’ve finished already, I can’t tell. Everything’s normal. Too normal.
My mom pokes at her corn, then freezes mid-bite, her fork hovering. A quiet tick of the clock. No one says anything.
The room smells like gravy and roasted chicken, warm and harmless—but my stomach twists. Something’s about to snap. I can feel it.
“I’ve always wondered how you two became friends—so random.” Mrs Dubois says while placing a bean in her mouth. “Not complaining, just strange.”
“I couldn't agree more, Lindsey,” my mom says. “Again, not complaining because it’s nice to have Isla back in our lives.”
“I am glad we can do things similar to this. With some differences, of course, Audrey is here now,” Mr Dubois says.
“And we’re obviously missing a few people.” My mom uneasily chuckles as she glumly glances at her food.
“Mom,” I call her name. She looks up, and I disappointedly shake my head. You can’t say that stuff, I mouth. She mouths a sorry; we both know she’s not sorry.
Suddenly, the doorbell goes off—Ding.
All our heads jolt over to the noise. Oh no, is this Randy?
“Don’t worry, ma chère, I’ll get it,” Mr Dubois says.
When he opens the door, he’s greeted by Randy. Mrs. Dubois, more than most, seems extremely excited to see him. “Randy!” Mrs Dubois exclaims as Randy stands in the doorway.
“I’m pleased to see you, Mrs. Dubois.” He pulls her in for a small side hug.
“You as well, Randy! Looking nice today.” Randy's wearing a black button up and his black smart lenses. For once his shirt is untucked and his hair isn't slicked back like the mall and after the police-station encounter. He has beige trousers on with too many pockets to count.
They both walk towards the table. “Thank you, Mrs. Dubois. This is my favorite sweater vest.”
“Amazing to hear. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The second Randy sits down and Randy starts eating, Mrs Dubois already starts with her questions: “So Randy, you and Isla?”
Randy chokes on his food. “Isla and I?” He asks. “Yeah, we’re doing well.”
“I’m happy you can still visit after the…how you say…accident,” Mr. Dubois comments.
“Yeah,” Randy says, a little too fast.
“Still, visit?” I ask. “What do you mean?” A picture frame hangs above the far side of the table. A rustic house in a pastel sunset, but the frame leans just enough to make the house look like it’s tipping. Below it, a flower vase sits on the counter. The blooms droop at odd angles, petals curling in places they shouldn’t.
Isla shifts beside me. “He means—when Alex came over, Randy usually tagged along.”
Mr. Dubois frowns. “Is that what I meant?”
Mrs. Dubois tilts her head. “I thought—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Isla says quickly. “It was always the three of us.”
The table goes quiet. The chirp of crickets can be heard from the backyard. A far away coyote howls with an absence of a response. Mr. Dubois shrugs. “Either way.”
I frown, a knot forming in my stomach. Something about that felt…off. But maybe I’m just reading too much into it. Still, why does Isla sound so defensive?
“Have you guys gone on any dates?” Mrs. Dubois asks.
“A few,” Isla says. I can picture the awkward dates where Randy spews random space jokes and Isla smiles understand very little.
“That’s great!”
“Y’know, Randy, I think it’s awesome that you’re so kind to Isla. You clearly don’t have secrets,” my mom says.
Randy’s leg starts shaking under the table. “Thank you, Mrs. Elliot,” he says quickly. “Really.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Dubois adds. “Like the other day—when you picked Isla up for coffee. Such a gentleman.” Randy’s fork pauses midair. “And that perfume thing!” She laughs. “You were honest with her. I love that about you.”
His grip tightens, as it clatters against his plate. “We don’t need to keep talking about this,” he mutters.
“Oh sweetheart,” Mrs. Dubois says. “We’re just teasing.”
“No,” Randy says. Sharper now. “Stop.”
The table goes quiet as I drop a green bean on my lap.
“Randy?” Isla asks.
He stands abruptly, chair legs screeching. “I can’t—this is all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Dubois asks.
He swallows. Looks at me then looks away. “It’s not real. Any of it.”
“Randy,” I whisper. “Don’t.”
“I lied,” he says. “About everything.”
“I don’t feel well,” Mr. Dubois murmurs, pressing a hand to his chest.
“Not now Grandpa.” Isla stands. “Randy, what are you saying?”
He exhales shakily. “Audrey told me…she thought you killed Alex.”
The room freezes.
“Is that true?” Isla asks, her voice barely steady.
“Please,” I say. “Randy—”
“She scared me,” he blurts. “She kept saying something was wrong. That something bad would happen. And I—I believed her.” He looks at Isla. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of it.”
Isla’s face reddens. “Are you kidding, Audrey?” Isla interrupts, darting her head towards me.
My voice wavers as my eyes do their best to remain on the table. “Isla, please, understand. You broke up with him a week before and then stole my life, and the evidence, and—”
“Are you crazy? What are you even talking about?” Isla asks.
“Seriously…don’t feel good,” Mr Dubois comments again.
Mrs. Dubois stands up. “Not now, sweetheart,” she says, hushing him. She looks at me. “Audrey, you should’ve talked to Isla. She would’ve told you it was all a mistake.”
How do I tell them that even if I asked Isla, I would never believe her. That I know she would lie straight to my face. “I knew she did something.”
They both freeze.
Isla’s face twists. “So you pretended to be my friend? You think I killed him? After everything?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “But you have to understand—”
“Save it,” she snaps, eyes glossy. “You don’t care about me. You never did.”
As everyone continues talking, their voices begin to clash. It doesn't give me a moment to speak. I can’t even settle on my own thoughts. “Isla—I know what I did was wrong, but I—”
Then there it is—Thud.
The shrill voices begin to slowly die out as everyone's gaze turns to the edge of the table. The ringing in my ears spikes as the shouting drifts towards something else: Isla’s grandpa.
“Someone call 911!” A voice screams.
I can’t move and I can’t speak.

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Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen
The hospital walls are a basic white. There are occasional splashes of blue that make the place feel more depressing. Random photos and pictures hang on the wall: memes meant to make your day better, instructions on how to wash your hands or deal with a cold. It’s all so… sterile. Too clean to feel human.
I glance over at Isla. Her eyes are darkened with her lips tight—a pouty line.
I scoot closer to Isla and smile at her. I apologized a few times in the car. Maybe she didn't hear me? Maybe she chose not to respond?
The same happens now. Isla doesn’t look back.
I hesitantly open my mouth. “You should know that—”
“If you’re going to try and make me feel better—don’t, now’s not the time.” Leave me alone—that’s the vibe I get. So, I do.
The lady at her front desk told us to wait. And that soon we’ll find out more. I don’t know what more we need to find out. Because it’s either one thing or the other. He’s either coming home with Isla or not.
After Alex was declared missing, my family and I went crazy trying to find him. Still, he was nowhere to be found.
A few days later, we got the door-to-door interaction that no one wanted. We found him. We are treating this as an unattended death. We do not have evidence of foul play at this time, but we need to wait for the autopsy. Alex was dead. April 30th—already the worst day of my life. His body had been found in the river, under a bridge. It was immediately treated as a suspicious death, but the police assured us an autopsy would clarify what happened. Preliminary findings suggested drowning, but we had to wait for the full results to know for sure. And everything showed the same thing:
Dead.
He was dead.
Gone.
He was gone.
I hope that’s not the case with Mr. Dubois because that would be terrible. I know how Isla would feel because I felt the same way.
I glance around the hospital room. The waiting room is mostly full. There are anxious parents and friends on hospital chairs.
However, there’s also excited dads who have little ones on the way. There are happy mothers because their children are almost off chemo. If only I could be here for something exciting. Then again, when do good things ever happen for me?
As the silence lingers, a faint low-fi melody hums from the hospital speakers. I glance to my right—Isla. Her leg is shaking and her mascara is smudged at the bottom of her eyes.
“Look, Isla…I know I said I wouldn’t talk or anything, but I’m sorry. I am.” Sorry—it wasn’t for her. It was for me.
“Why did you think it was me?”
“Why did I think what?” I heard her the first time, it’s not what I expected her to say.
She sighs, her chest moving up then down. “Why did you think I killed Alex?” Is she seriously asking this? She should know why.
“Um—”
“And are you really sorry? You’ve been messing with my emotions. Pretending to be my friend…”
Isla’s voice cuts through me. Sharp, accusing. Every word digs in.
I open my mouth. “Ok…well, I didn’t ask for the life story subscription.” My face softens. “But seriously, I’m—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she screams.
A receptionist shushes us. “Please, ladies. Quiet down.”
Randy looks at Isla and I. “I realize that—” Randy stops talking before he can continue. “Never mind.”
Isla looks at him as he quickly looks away. “Randy, don't go there. You blamed me too.
“Isla, that’s not what I was gonna say.” Randy pauses, looking down at his feet. His eyes fixate on toes wriggling in his shoes. “Maybe we just—”
“Stop acting so innocent! You blamed me. You’re not blame-less.”
“I never said I was. Just—”
I slam my fist to my leg, as my voice raises, “Stop Randy! Take accountability, you—”
“Enough, Audrey!” Isla screams, interrupting me. “As for you Randy…who knows how much you helped Audrey” She glances around the room and talks barely over a whisper. “Maybe…you told her stuff.”
“Whoa, hold on. I never told Audrey anything.”
“Was there something to be told?” I ask. Are they hiding something again? Is there something they’re not telling me? No, no, no. Audrey stop.
“Nothing,” Isla says, shushing me—talking over Randy.
“Look, Isla I’m seriously sorry, please believe me, I—”
“I’m sorry too because this time it doesn’t cut it.” What does she mean by this?
“Why can't you understand? Losing Alex was the worst thing ever, and—”
“You know you seem to use Alex as an excuse for everything.” She shakes her head. “I lost Alex, your mom lost Alex, and everyone else did too. Yet they still manage to stay nice.”
Um, excuse me? Alex is not an excuse.
“No!” I exclaim. “Alex was my brother.”
Her eyes bulge. “I know and I loved him too, y'know. And I—” She rubs her eyes, wiping the smudged mascara away. “I loved you.” She pauses, recollecting herself. “Before you used to hate me and now you’re acting like us being best friends is normal.” She folds her arms.
Isla makes a good point. I should’ve known that trying to be friends with her is more suspicious than I’d like. And at some point Isla would catch on and realize my lies.
“Then again, nothing you’ve done is normal,” Isla says. “It’s not me…he…he hated himself. And you—never cared about anyone but herself." Her eyes narrow into slits and the rest of her face red. She leans back into her seat and folds her arms.
And me? I don’t fight back. Because that’s when I realize—my grief made me ruin Isla. And Isla’s grief is making her act the way that she is.
Screw you, grief.
Occasionally I peek over at her face and every time I do, I feel that tug in my chest. Dumb. Stupid. I push it down, remind myself it’s not about her.

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Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen
The next day comes quicker than I thought. Although it feels slow, it comes by like a good night’s sleep. Or perhaps in better terms, it comes like a nightmare.
It was nightmarish to watch Isla fall asleep in Randy’s arms while Mrs. Dubois walked around agitatedly. And it was nightmarish to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the hospital.
No matter how good the food is, it doesn't go down well in a hospital. It could be meatloaf, coated in gold, but still, will never go down well.
At least my mom stayed the whole time. She didn't talk much, in fact she seemed more mad if anything.
Mrs Dubois, Isla, Randy, my mom, and I continue to eat dinner in the depressing waiting room.
Thud. We hear footsteps. Heavy and loud.
All of us perk up as a doctor walks into the room:
“Hello everyone,” he says. His voice is gentle, like he’s practiced it. “Could I—I.” His voice breaks for a second. “Could I speak with the family privately?”
Isla and Mrs. Dubois abruptly stand up from where they are seated and look at the doctor in desperation. I can tell that every possible prayer is running through their heads.
They both uneasily nod, as they follow the doctor. “This way,” the doctor points at a door. It’s black and scary. They should've made it pink and airy, so bad news goes down easier. Or hopefully this time, it’s good.
The door swings shut and clicks, softly.
After that, the lights start to flicker. Randy’s spoon clinks in his pudding cup a few times, annoying. That’s not the only thing annoying: Doctors talking, kids yelling, parents sweating, it’s all too much.
After 45 minutes pass, they come out. It feels like hours pass and it feels like days go by as the door swings open.
Isla comes out a mess. Tears are running down her face and her body is trembling. Her grandma stands beside her, calm. I can tell she’s sick to her stomach, fighting every urge not to throw up and hysterically cry.
Isla sits down in a chair and cups her face in her hands. Mrs. Dubois stands before us: I can finally get a good look at her face. Her eyes are dry and it looks like she hasn’t eaten in hours. Her face is pale as she swallows hard. Her voice is quiet, mumbly. She looks in the distance and then back at us. “He didn’t make it.” A single tear drops from her eye; she wipes it away and sits down.
I sit there for a minute, processing, because I know I heard that wrong. Maybe Isla’s grandma forgot a word or two. Maybe she meant to say that Isla's grandpa didn't make desert. Maybe Isla’s grandpa didn’t make sense—It’s possible he has dementia. Because he can’t possibly be dead.
There is no way.
I glance over at Isla whose face is pale and her gaze is fixed on nothing.
Randy stands next to her, holding her tightly.
I get up and walk over to her. I don’t hug her or anything. I just stand there but I can still smell her rose perfume, the tide on her clothes, and wet tears. I let go and place a hand on her shoulder. “Isla.”
She’s shaking, her voice wavering. “Grandpa was healthy.” She’s acting like she’s hearing it for the first time.
I was the same. Anytime someone consoled me, I acted like it was the first time hearing Alex was dead. I still can’t process it at times.
He was healthy.” She says it again, like he’ll come back alive, healthier this time. “He was normal. We were normal. He told me he would always be there for me, even when Alex died. I loved him…” Isla’s voice cracks.
“Hey…everything will be alright. I’m here for you.”
Isla clamps her jaw shut as she swivels her eyes to meet mine. “And you—” She nearly screams at me—I see it in her face. Quickly, her face softens. “Audrey, I don’t want to yell.” She pauses and stares into a light above, attempting to process her thoughts. She pushes back tears and heavily exhales a few times. “Not now. Please leave me alone.”
“I know, it’s just…”
“No, no, no. I don’t want to hear it. You ruined everything.” What the hell is she talking about?
“Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize I had the power to ruin lives. Should I add that to my resume?”
“Look, you’re one of the best people I know but, are you serious right now?”
Best people? Ok, now I’m really confused. I may have done some questionable things, I never ruined Isla’s life. “I’m confused. I don’t understand how I ruined your life.”
“Y’know, I liked Randy. You ruined it between us.”
“Excuse me, how?”
“You got him to investigate me. It fractured our relationship in a way. Do you understand how wrong that is?”
“Ok, firstly, I don’t understand how many times I have to tell you, but I did not ask him to investigate you, it was all him.”
“And you pretended to be my friend. I wasted so much time with you. You let me spill all those secrets and let me get close to you for nothing.”
“I told you that I’m sorry. And I mean it.”
“Yeah, I don’t believe it. You say you’re sorry, who's to stop you from continuing the second you find more of what you think is ‘evidence’.” She’s not wrong.
“Let’s talk outside.” Isla rolls her eyes, following close behind. I notice Randy follows close, of course.
“I’m sorry,” I say, with a glum face, when we reach outside. “And I don’t know how many times I have to say it, I truly am sorry.” And I mean it. because not only is my guilt swallowing me but it's also because I feel bad.
“Ok, even if you are sorry, I just can’t do this anymore.” No, no. This cannot be happening.
My eyebrows furrow. “Do what? I don’t understand.”
Isla’s eyes start to tear up again. “We can’t be friends. With grandpa, you, Randy, and everything. Maybe it’s all too much. But I can’t be friends with you.”
The world tilts, just a little. “No…” I hold back my tears. “I didn't mean to hurt you this much. I didn't mean to hurt you at all, I just wanted the truth. Please Isla, listen to me.” Isla having the chance of leaving reminds me of how my friends left me. The last thing I want is to be isolated all over again.
“Audrey,” she says, flatly. “You listen to me. And I’m saying this because I love you.” She takes a deep breath and exhales out like what she’s gonna say will shake my world. “Here it goes…For once, realize that not everything can go your way. You’re not as perfect, as flawless, and amazing as you once were. You’re just a…” she pauses again and swallows some of her words. “Just a…monster.” The truth hits me in small punches.
She backs up a couple steps and waves goodbye. Randy puts his arm around her shoulder as she acts like it’s the last time we’ll see one another. Then she looks up into Randy’s eyes. “I’m sorry Randy,” she starts. “I shouldn’t have believed Audrey.”
Her hair sways in the air as she begins walking away.
For one second she looks back at me—then quickly looks ahead. She’s acting like this might be the end with a possibility that it’s not.

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Chapter 20

Part Two
The Blooming

Chapter Twenty
I’m officially at rock bottom. I have no one and nothing.
One month has passed. Now, it’s the first day of school. I thought the world would stop spinning after that night at the hospital. Clearly, it hasn’t. My mom hasn’t talked to me since that night.
She yelled once—Seriously Audrey? When are you going to realize that your actions have consequences? And don’t you dare use Alex as an excuse again! God, you make me so mad, that—
She stopped after that. I think she was about to punish me then she didn’t: Just be smarter next time, I’m going to bed.
That’s the last real interaction we’ve had. Now it’s back to forced smiles and undercooked eggs in the morning. She looks at me like she wants to talk, but my mom’s not good with confrontation or dealing with problems.
When school started not too long ago, it was worse than I could’ve predicted. No sad glares or sympathetic smiles, nothing. I already hated school before. And you'd think Alex would too based on how much he studied but he loved it:
Every day after school, he sat on the floor of his room, textbooks stacked like tiny towers around him. “I don’t… I don’t know how I’m going to finish all this,” he would mutter to himself. “But no, no, I’ll be fine,” he’d say. “Just a little tired, that’s all. But I can do it.”
I skipped third period today, just to walk around the hallways. The hallways in school smell like stale pizza and disinfectant. There’s a crowd of lockers to my right and a staircase to my left. During passing period I can hear every locker slam with a sharp clang and shoes squeak against the staircase. Between the stairs and lockers, there’s a tall trophy case.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone’s ever noticed how empty the halls are when everyone’s in class. It’s the only time the school actually feels quiet enough for me to think, and the only time it’s easier than sitting in a room pretending to care about anything. But maybe that’s a good thing because silence doesn’t judge me, doesn’t whisper about me in the halls, doesn’t pretend to care.
I stare ahead of me at the trophy case. There are cheer trophies, basketball, and volleyball—the usual. Other sports like swimming, diving, and track—the things no one cares about.
However, the most trophies belong to something else.
Many people find it odd that our school takes so much pride in stupid homecoming—that’s how it’s always been done.
Sure, we have a couple cheer championships and maybe a couple in basketball; our activity wall mainly consists of homecoming royalty.
I have three notorious spots on that wall where my name and photo is. I always thought senior year would be the same, now I don’t want it to be that way. When I was younger, I dreamed that I would be on the stage. People cheering, capturing photos, on top of the world. Now? Things are just…well, different.
I reach in my pocket for my headphone case and turn on soft music. My leg taps against the floor to the music, as Alex slowly appears before me. “Well maybe if you’re on the ballot things won’t be that different,” Alex whispers. He stands behind me staring into the case.
Whenever Alex ponders or stares at something, he doesn’t stand with his arms folded. He doesn’t have a hand where he caresses an imaginary beard. He stands like a flamingo. One leg pointed pressed against the inside of his leg—above his knee. How does he manage to balance? I have no idea.
Other than his odd-flamingo pose, he looks the same today. Except this time he’s wearing a half-zip, jeans, and his white vans. His hair is shaggy as usual and he’s wearing his same harry-potter glasses. Alex always fan-boyed over the series and when he was in the first grade and had to get glasses (Just like me), he chose the Harry Potter ones—round with thin black frames.
“You heard me? Perhaps check and see then life can feel normal again.”
“You think?”
“I remember how much you used to obsess over being homecoming queen. So being back on it could feel normal.”
I pull up the homecoming royalty website. The principal paid a computer geek to make a website where people can vote. And usually we vote on this stuff a week before. Then one week later, we see the queen and king dance, sparkly crowns placed on heads, and applause from a bunch of people you don't know. Nerds, geeks, jocks, and band kids—they all cheer. They all come. It was always what brought our school together.
To even make it onto the ballot, is a popularity contest. People nominate you and if you get enough nominations you get on the ballot. And then once on the ballot people vote for you. And only when the homecoming dance happens do you find out if you won or not.
I scroll on the website, and that’s when I see it—
My eyes widen at the names: Isla, Jenny, and myself for the girls' royalty.
I know Alex said it would feel normal but why does it feel weird to be on here? Maybe some people nominated out of habit? Maybe some people wanted drama? Perhaps people still like me or the idea of me? Who knows.
I glare at the rest of the names, which are even worse. I thought my name being there was weird enough. But Isla? Seriously?
I knew she was popular now, but homecoming popular? That’s new.
I try to scroll away, but my finger hesitates—like my phone’s mocking me. Whatever. It’s just a list. It doesn’t mean anything.
Still, for a second, it feels like the universe is reminding me of something I’ve spent a month trying to forget. The yelling. The accident. Her voice.
I shake my head. No point remembering. No point remembering any of it.
I forcibly press my finger to the point I almost break my phone. Then I scroll to the next name. Jenny’s name.
I’m not as surprised. She was on the roster every year I was, the only difference, we are no longer friends.
My eyes glare over to the boy’s royalty section—it isn’t any better. That list consists of Neil and Randy.
Neil. That doesn’t surprise me. Everytime I take a spot there, so does Neil.
The person who does surprise me is Randy. He was never even on the radar before.
There’s always someone there as a joke. Freshman year, someone put Alex. He cried for so long and begged the principal to take him off. And after hours of crying and begging they did. Hopefully it’s the same for Randy and they’ll take him off. Honestly it’s embarrassing for our school that he's here.
“Vote,” Alex whispers into my ear.
“Me? Vote? Yeah, I don’t think so. I was curious to see. Now that my name is on here. I can’t vote.”
Alex huffs a laugh. “You can and you shall.”
“Why though. Why does it matter so much?”
He smiles. “It’ll help you feel more normal.”
I raise a brow “More normal?”
“Here, let me put it this way: Looking at who's on royalty is never enough. Voting was always what excited you the most. You remember the way you’d scream every time your name was on the homecoming ballot. And the same for prom. It was a way to prove to yourself that you matter. That being nice to people you dislike and starting rumors just to get ahead, was worth it. It was really important to you. And I want you to get that part of you back. Little by little.” He smiles.
That’s when I begin to picture it. My name is called. The crown placed crooked on my head. People standing because they have to clap. For a second, it feels good. Too good.
I hesitate. “Oh—um—ok…who do I vote for then?” Alex shrugs one shoulder, lazy and tired. “Seriously?” I laugh bitterly out of irritation. “Okay, thanks, ghost boy.”
“Me too,” Alex says, as he disappears beneath the light.
I chuck my headphone out in frustration—glancing at the list of names again. They blur and spin too fast—like everything does lately. It feels like life or death because if I vote I’m a player in this game again. If I don't vote…I’m the character no one likes or knows exists.
Not only that, if I chose one person over the other, I’ll regret it. I’ll regret seeing them receive the glory of having a crown, while I’m forced to applaud from beside.
I groan a bitter sigh, and pick Randy and Jenny.
It’s the only option that makes sense to me, and I hate that it does.
I submit the form. For some reason normal doesn’t feel as good as I hoped—just familiar.
I grab the headphone from my pocket and plop it in again—giving them a second chance. I softly smile as the music soothes me. Quickly Alex appears beside me. “You know what you should do?” Alex asks, standing like a flamingo again, leaning against the trophy case.
I roll my eyes. “What? I thought you were gone? You seriously have to stop doing that. Appearing and reappearing." He shows up when he knows I need him…or when he thinks I do. Like I’m some fragile little thing he has to hover over. Annoying as hell, but…I guess it means he actually cares. Ugh.
“You should buy a luxurious dress to make your friends jealous,” Alex says.
My face softens. “My old friends had expensive taste, huh?” I ask, stiffly smiling. “I mean I could buy a dress. It was always fun to go shopping.”
I glance up at the ceiling, as the memories start to flood back.
Those stupid dress memories. The memories where we’d run around trying short and extravagant dresses. The memories where we’d jump out of the dressing room and everyone would cheer and clap even if the dress was ugly. The memories where Neil would wear his matching tie and surprise me with flowers. The flowers always matched the dress.
I glance back at Alex. “Thanks, idiot,” I mumble, reaching to punch him.
My hand goes right through the air, as my headphone falls out of my ear. I shove them in my backpack in exasperation as the hallway hums with silence again
The bell rings.
A crowd of students hurries in the hall. I push through them and follow the crowd up the stairs, still thinking about the ballot. Vote. Not vote.
When I get to the top of the staircase, I suddenly feel someone hit my shoulder. “My gosh!”
“We really need to stop meeting like this.” My chest tightens as I slowly meet his eyes.
“Ne-Neil?” I ask. Staring into his brown eyes I’m supposed to stay mad. But I’m not. And I hate that.
Neil waves and pulls me in for a hug. He’s warm. Warmer than when we dated. Something feels different. “He-hey! How’s it going?” Neil hesitantly asks.
I furrow my brows, as we let go of one another. “I’m well. What are you doin' here?"
"Well I always have third period up here," he says, pointing towards a classroom just at the top of the stairs.
"Great!" Neil looks around, uncomfortably. I do the same, in doing so, I notice that there are no friends pulling him away or girls begging for him to come back—just him. I glance back at him and smile. “Where are your friends?” I ask. "I mean, don't they always have third period Spanish with you?"
He swallows hard, humming in agreement. That wasn’t a yes or no question, buddy. He puts his hands in his pockets and rolls on his heels. He looks around the school. I try to follow his eyes. They land on a poster: vote for homecoming royalty now! And below is a QR code for the website. He looks back at me. “Homecoming?” he asks, pointing at the poster.
“Yeah…” I trail off. “I saw that you were there on the ballot.”
“I am.” He looks around the school again, still uncomfortable.
“Well, are you and Isla still friends?” I ask, retrieving the memory of them together when I first lost Alex and Isla came to visit.
“Are you and Isla still friends?”
I shrug. “I mean look at me. What do you think? I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine.”
“When have you ever been one?” His lips perk up a smile. “But it was great seeing you, I should head back—to be with my—friends.”
“Yeah, no, that—” He cuts me off and waves goodbye. He didn't say, friends, confidently. Almost like they aren’t real.
Or perhaps I miss him so much that I’m good at gaslighting myself into thinking a lie.
I still think it’s gross that I miss him. And I think it’s gross how he's acting like everything is fine. He’s not the only one: everyone keeps trying so hard to look fine, like it’s a competition. Maybe that’s what being perfect really means—pretending you don’t feel anything at all.

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Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one
A few hours after the school bell rings, I’m the first one in the parking lot who leaves. I somehow avoid the long line of parents picking up freshman and sophomores.
Then I arrive at a small boutique—the same one I’ve been going to since freshman year. I decided to take Alex’s advice after all. Dress shopping might just be the cure for whatever sad shit I’m feeling.
Before I step into the store, I drive past Miller’s Florist—its window was full of fake daisies fading in the sun. The diner next door still has a flickering neon “OPEN” sign even though they shut down weeks ago.
As I step in the boutique, the door chime goes off, and more memories flood into my head. It feels strange being back. Like walking into a memory you didn’t ask to relive.
I drift through the store, waiting for something to catch my eye.
Quickly, my gaze locks on a small gold rack in the corner, crowded with bright, colorful clothes. The colors blur past my eyes like they used to—reds, greens, blues. For a second, it almost feels like old times. Almost.
Ring. The front door chimes. I duck behind the rack, silently cursing my bad timing.
The boutique usually has a few stragglers—today is eerily quiet—until I hear loud voices and the terrible trio appears: Jenny, Isla, and Stacey.
Jenny and Isla we know. Stacey, I haven’t mentioned her to the point she’s also hated. Stacey was my best friend. She understood me. She knew what it took to be popular. So when she left me after Alex, that stung the most. Not as much as when Neil left, it still stung.
The three girls don't stop, instead, they walk closer to me. “I like that one! It’s giving everyone will love me,” Stacey exclaims, pointing to the rack I was just at.
Fuck. I need to move.
I crawl to a dressing room right behind me. There’s a nice curtain over it, so I don’t have to worry about being seen. Thank gosh for that.
I slowly open the curtain, a little wide, so they can’t see me—I hope.
“You remember the first time we came here, Jen?” Stacey asks, shuffling through clothes on the rack.
Jenny smirks. “You and Audrey wanted to come, so we did. I wasn’t a fan, but I still came though.”
Silence falls, just for a second. “Isla have you ever been here?” Stacey asks. “Based on your previous dresses I would guess no…but there are some fashion disasters here so I never know.”
Isla shakes her head. “No, I was always scared.” I finally get a good glimpse of Isla: her hair is mostly striaght—half up half down. She’s wearing green, her best color and blue jeans, a smart choice. God, she looks…not perfect. I was not going to say that.
Stacey arches a brow. “Scared?”
“Yeah, I was worried that I’d pick out a dress one of you was wearing. Then you’d make fun of me.” We probably would have.
Jenny and Stacey stop, and look at each other. Stacey starts laughing. “Well, good thing we’re friends and we can make sure we all wear something different.” They continue shuffling, the metal scraping against metal, making my ears ache. “Hey Jen.” Jenny pauses and looks at Stacey. “Yeah?”
“Without Audrey, Isla doesn’t have to worry about being judged. Audrey’s not the same anymore.”
“I mean I sorta feel…I dunno—bad,” Isla says, fidgeting with her charm bracelet. The one with the missing yellow charm and the one that comforts her every time she plays with it.
Stacey stops again, and looks at Isla, holding back a laugh. “Bad?” she places a comforting hand on Isla’s shoulder and smiles. “Oh sweetheart…” She removes her hand, eyes fixed on the rack again. “Don’t feel bad. She ruined the relationship between you and Randy. Speaking of, are you back together with him Randy?”
“Yeah we are.” She smiles, a little glimmer in her eyes lights up. “I’m so glad we are. Now I have to decide whether we’re matching with red or blue.” Red or blue? Oh no those were the two colors I was thinking about. And the last thing I want is to match with Isla freaking Dubois.
Especially not red. I pray that she says anything except red.
“You should do red,” Jenny says, with a smile. “It’ll look good on you.”
There goes that dream.
A small smile escapes from Isla’s mouth. “You think so?” Jenny nods her head.
Stacey waves them to be quiet. “Yeah, whatever—Red, blue, pink—It’s all the same. It only matters what I wear,” Stacey gloats. “Cause if I don’t look good, I swear I’m going home.” They all stop talking and continue shuffling through clothes. “What do you think Audrey is wearing?” Stacey asks.
“Does it matter?” Jenny asks. “Cause don’t we hate her?”
“We don’t hate her,” Isla replies. Both of them look at her, eyebrows crossed. “I mean…I guess?”
“Yes, we do hate her—right?” Jenny asks. I think Jenny is so sad about the divorce that she doesn't actually know if she hates me or not. She just wants Stacey to like her. Or maybe I just want everyone to like me. Probably that.
“Of course we do because between you and I, her brother only became important when he died.”
The room falls silent, except for the noise of shuffling.
The air in my lungs slowly disperses. Stacey has to be joking. She’s acting like I only cared so I could get points for some stupid pageant show.
Isla stops shuffling for a second. “I thought that his death meant change…I wish she could’ve changed…”
Jenny stops shuffling as well. “I mean… Audrey was always nice. Stacey and I knew who she really was. Mean. She’d spill secrets she promised to keep, gossip behind people’s backs. And Alex, Randy, even you—she treated you all like crap sometimes. She thought we didn’t notice. We noticed the most. We only stuck around because, at the end of the day, she could be nice to us. Funny. Powerful. A decent friend. After Alex went missing…she disappeared. All the mean stuff came out, and everything good about her wasn’t really good anymore. And, I mean, we didn’t know how to handle the death either, so…we left.”
For a second I can’t tell if my anger or my guilt is louder. Their voices scrape at every place I’ve been avoiding inside myself, and the worst part is—I can’t immediately call it all a lie.
Stacey scoffs. “And for that, she deserves nothing.” My heart falls to the floor like a chair kicked out from under me. “Never has. Never will.”
“Don't say that,” Isla's voice exclaims. My head tilts, just a little. Am I still hallucinating? Or did Isla seriously just stand up for me? “And don’t be so rude,” Isla adds.
“Hey!” Stacey shouts. “Trust me, she deserves everything that came to her.” A smile flickers across her face, like venom from a snake. “And sometimes, I’m kinda glad this happened to her. Reality check-up, I guess. Not all of us are winners.” Why is she like this?
Isla drops a hanger on the floor and looks at Stacey, her face red. “Stacey, I hate to disagree, she’s nicer than you think.” Ok, this has to be a prank.
“Isla, you’re sweet, she messed with your life. You know it. I mean how are you ever going to trust someone after what Audrey did to you.”
Isla swallows hard. “Yeah she did and that hurt.” She rubs her eyes, wiping away tears. “Especially since it was for the wrong reasons.” She let out a breathy chuckle. “Except, maybe—”
“I was thinking green,” Stacey interrupts, holding a dark green dress up to Jenny.
I shift my weight, being careful not to twitch the dressing room curtain.
“Adorable!” Jenny exclaims, with a smile. “Especially since you like it!”
“Oh, I hate it. You’d look like a clown in that. But Jake might like it—if you care about him that much.” God, Stacey is the worst. Not only to me but to Jenny too. Remind me how she has friends?
Jenny shakes her head. “No, Jake would hate it. Especially since you hate it, his opinion doesn't matter.”
“Yeah, same,” Stacey says, putting it back. “Honestly, I don’t even like this store. Let’s dip.”
The three girls continue to talk until I can’t hear them anymore. Which lasts longer than it should because they are loud.
The soft boutique music starts to get louder. I sigh heavily. “It’s ok, don’t worry,” Alex says.
“No, it’s not,” I say, flatly. “Life isn’t as sunny and happy as preschool said it would be.”
“Hey, everything will be alright.”
I don’t believe that. I’ve heard it so many times and it never seems to be alright. Alex is just a loser trying to convince me into some bullshit.
Total bullshit.
And the music dims—the soft boutique hum swallowed by my spiraling thoughts.

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• i love this scene

  Comment by rose on February 25, 2026

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Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two
After the boutique trip today, I’ve been in complete shambles. I’m not sure what to think anymore. I’m not sure what to do.
But every time I feel like life is trying to break me—I read the fairytale book.
I glance over to my side table and shuffle through the drawer. Claw clips, hair ties, pencil, and…I feel my giant book of fairytales. My fingers curl around the spine throwing it onto the bed with a loud thud.
The book feels stiff with a rough texture across it. Alex used a joke about how all books should be covered in fuzz instead. If you were to fall asleep with the book, at least it would be as soft as a pillow. Then again reading in bed isn’t as efficient—is it?
I begin to feel pressure behind my eyes again. I hate that feeling. Tears forcing their way down when the last thing you want to do is cry.
I shake away the sadness as a smile blooms across my face.
The large book lays in my lap, my fingers flipping through the pages until it stops at the next chapter:
Chapter four: A Smile for Gold.

The small Irish country stirred under the pale morning sun. The moon was done playing, and it was the sun’s turn to awake the animals and light the town.
Beneath the smiling smile was a large marketplace. It was nestled between town homes, lined with tiny shops brimmed with candies wrapped like jewels, warm breads that breathed out sweet steam, and trinkets that chimed softly as if whispering old stories.
Snuggled between each crooked town home, the marketplace was painted with bright colors—seafoam green, bold reds, sunny yellows.
In every corner a hint of life was stirring—running dogs, rustling leaves, and shopkeepers lifting their shutters with the same care one might give to opening a treasure chest. The whole town seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the day’s magic to begin.
Amongst the shops was a new couple: Seamus and Aoife. The two walked across the cobblestone grounds on their first date.
Seamus had a plan to do anything in order to get Aoife to love him and eventually inherit her father’s fortune. For his only yearning was the fortune that followed the girl.
Aoife lived in the largest house, guarded the most colossal safe, and enjoyed a life of in the largest house, guarded the most colossal safe, and enjoyed a life of quiet luxury. Seamus wanted that and knew that Aoife was the easiest girl to trick. Everyone in town knew that, when Aoife was born, a hedge-witch whispered a blessing too sharp to be kind. Aoife would live fragilely by all who met her—small hands, quiet voice, a body that tired easily. Little did they know, her mind was untouched. Those who mistook her weakness for foolishness would reveal themselves without meaning to.
As they walked, Seamus noticed his first opportunity:
Aiofe was struggling to hold open a large wooden door. As a result, he held the heavy oak door open for Aoife, bowing slightly. However, when an older man reached for it behind her, Seamus let the door swing shut. Aoife noticed in disappointment.
Later, in a small cafe, when Aoife was shivering, due to her small size, Seamus offered her his seat by the fire. A limping woman hovered nearby, but Seamus looked away. For a second, a glimmer of sympathy flashed before his eyes. Maybe, helping the woman could be the right thing? He quickly brushed the feeling off as the faint image of gold and money replaced the sad feeling in his mind.
After a bread delivery to the couple, he slid the last piece of bread toward Aoife. She wasn’t hungry, but he wanted the gesture to seem kind.
A homeless and starving child was nearby, but Seamus scowled and pulled the basket back. Aoife noticed from the background—silently and judgefully.
Chocolates, chairs, doors, and more—throughout the day, Seamus’s “kindness” always required a witness, always left someone behind.
Aoife watched, quietly noting every selfish choice.
“What do ya think, love?” Seamus asked, expectantly. “Second date?” The only image in Seamus’s mind was the gold, the money, and the luxury. He didn't care about Aoife and certainly not about the people he hurt to get what he wanted.
She shook her head, her eyes sharp. All day, she’d watched him pretend to care, always at someone else’s expense. Today, she would end it. A small, deliberate slap landed across his cheek. “Stop acting the maggot! You think ya are grand?” Seamus’s grin faltered. “We mustn’t see one another any more,” she said—without hesitation.
Aoife turned and walked away, leaving him alone. And in that silence, Seamus realized: the money he tried to win by exploiting weakness had nothing left for him.

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Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three
I wake up with the sun hitting hard at 3:30 in the afternoon. Children laugh in the apartment parking lot, as they do on any Saturday afternoon. Their life is perfect: no death, no problems, and no issues. I remember when I used to be like that. Maybe I could still be that way. Maybe.
Among all the noises, the loudest? My phone—screaming for attention.
I groan, reaching for it. You have a memory from one year ago today.
Suddenly, a photo of Neil and I pops up on my screen.
I’m not sure how to react except look at the photo like it’ll bring him back. Like maybe looking at it hard enough I can hear his mom screams.
Come back Beta! Don’t run away with that white girl.
Why are you going out on these…dates? You should be studying. Sure, sure, throw your entire future away.
I throw my phone across my bed and stare into an open window across my bed. It rained all of last night, so everything appears to have grown longer and faster than predicted.
But that doesn’t help me forget Neil. But that doesn’t help me forget Neil—our dates, our firsts, our lasts, all of it. And I can’t forget to mention the way his mom and dad would scream at us.
His dad would usually yell over the phone or text aggressive messages.
You should be studying for that Biology test. How will you ever be a doctor??
Your mother and I have worked too hard to get to this country. It’s unacceptable that you’re throwing it away for some girl.
He always avoided them. It never made them go away, but it was what felt right.
I hate that I miss him. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let him in my mind like this.
I push myself from my bed, attempting to shove Neil towards the back of my head. The image of his greasy black hair and brown skin sticks in my brain like glue.
Maybe I can stretch my problems away. I allow my hands to stretch to the ceiling. I go on my tippee toes and I lower back down to the ground when I feel properly stretched. However, stretching doesn’t make any problems go away either.
I take a deep breath and pop in a headphone, forcing Neil to be nothing but a memory
The soft music seeps into my brain, as Alex casually appears from behind me.
“So forget about him,” Alex comments.
I slowly walk over to my bathroom and complete the usual morning routine: take out my retainer, brush my teeth, contacts, and then start on makeup. Alex perches on the sink counter beside me as if he owns the place.
“I would forget, but tonight's homecoming. And it was always with him.”
“I suppose.” He pauses, and swings his legs back-and-forth. “At least you have a dress.”
My hand with my blush-brush stops in the air, as I swivel around to face my dress. A red dress nicely stands. My lips fall into a brilliant smile. And on the floor is a bouquet of flowers. Roses.
"That dress is Pulchritudinous. Is it from last year?"
"Yeah, it was one of the only things Mom let me keep.” I grin from ear to ear. “She wanted to sell it. I told her we couldn’t.” I glance back at the mirror and dip my brush into blush again. “After fighting, she let me keep it. Now it's a vintage masterpiece. "
"Yes, it's delightful, Audrey."
"Yeah, the dress is nice…" I trail off. “Not on me though. Vintage masterpieces don't look good on me. I’m no Jessica Rabbit."
"Mrs. Rabbit is overrated. And I’m sure it looks amazing on you."
I breathe through clenched teeth and glance back at myself in the mirror.
Alex always says stuff like that—nice things that feel like lies. “Since when do ghosts have useful opinions?”
Alex’s eyes become wet and his face appears puffy. "You can never take a compliment." Then, he leaves.
A few hours have passed, and I haven’t moved. My usual morning routine has shifted into an entire homecoming preparation session.
A hot curling iron, five different blushes, contours, and hair products sprawl across my counter.
"That’s a tremendous amount of makeup," Alex says, with his legs crossed.
"Back already?” I snort a laugh. “I think I liked you better when you were crying and not talking.”
“I appreciate that.” His voice is flat as his eyes study my face. “I wasn’t joking. You’re putting on a great deal of makeup.”
“Alex, shut up, I look fine."
Gosh, he’s so annoying.
I continue to put on more, ignoring Alex’s comment.
But the way I control every inch of my makeup reminds me of before:
During sophomore year halloween half the group wanted to wear a princess costume: Jasmine, Cinderella, and Mulan—the usual. But I threw a fit. Everyone is going to wear a princess costume. This is stupid. I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. Just mine.
By morning, we were all superheroes. Of course, it was my idea. Some might call it bossy. Some might call it mean. I call it leading. And honestly? They followed because they had no choice. All’s fair in love and Halloween costumes.
Now, looking back, it was rude, uncanny, and monstourous—all the words. But it’s the past. I’m different now, right?
He’s still there, studying my face. He’s frowning like a dog whose parents left them. It’s not because of my rude comments. It’s something else. I know Alex too well to drop it, so I say: "I know you wanna come to hoco tonight. Maybe they can make an exception and you can come too. Hallucination and all,” I say, followed by a wink.
He frowns. "I would." He glances around the room with his leg shaking uncontrollably. "There's a chance they’ll judge me."
I laugh. "Oh, Alex, everyone's always judging you.” We both laugh. “Realistically no one can even see you. You’re not real.”
"I suppose the same goes for you.”
I cross my brows. “Yeah, except for the fact that I am real.”
“Not what I meant. I mean everyone is judging you—always. I mean, not judging, perse…they all hate you.”
The words land heavier than they should.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “They do, don’t they?” I glance back at the mirror and continue to put my makeup on. "You know, even though you don’t want to come, I think you should. I know you always wanted to run for king but got scared no one would vote for you. Plus, your super cool sister was running, which is embarrassing to be next to her. Considering that she had her Neil." Alex stiffly laughs. "Truth be told, I'd much rather go with you. Even if you’re weird, annoying, and sorta a loser."
I nudge him playfully, but instead of laughing, he frowns. “Ugh…I don’t know why that bugs me so much,” he mutters. There was always something about him never quite lined up with the world. His brain… it just didn’t work like everyone else’s.
“Whatever…God, you’re such a weirdo,” I mutter, as Alex disappears. “I’m the only one who’ll put up with you and this crap.” I chuck my headphone out—Alex frustrating me.
I dip my brush into my blush one last time, curl the last strand of hair, and zip up my dress in utter silence.
Just before I walk out of the apartment, I take one final glance around the place, and the last thing my eyes catch on is my dining table. It doesn’t have its usual red roses at the top–the ones my mom loved so much. She’s still not talking to me. Maybe I can give the ones I have, so we can talk together again.
So I do.
I gently place the red roses in the vase on the table.
They fit. Like they were there the entire time.

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Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four
The loud clack of my heels echo through the hall while Alex's slippers slide against the floor. He’s underdressed: long-sleeve button up, train pyjama set, comfy slippers, and his hair ruffled up like an electrocuted scientist. I’m not surprised; Alex has always been peculiar.
When I reach the gym, I enter a decorated and loud atmosphere. Streamers hanging, a disco ball swinging, and balloons floating. To my right, tables of food and bowls of punch. Things look like they used to. And for some reason, for once, a part of me isn’t against that.
The lights are off and the only thing that illuminates the gym is a large array of candles. Each candle shines brilliantly, the flames dancing in the dark room. I've always liked fire. And today's fire seems like a fresh start. Maybe.
After thirty minutes pass, the microphone shrieks. I cover my hands over my ears. The principal taps the mic like she’s testing if it’s still alive. “Testing, testing.” Her voice booms, and instantly the chatter dies. Everyone knows what’s coming. "We're about to announce our king and queen," she says, as everyone erupts into applause and noise. "Can everyone who’s royalty please come up to the stage?"
I feel everyone's eyes look at me and then at the stage.
My cheeks turn bright pink, and my stomach tightens like a fist.
I take one step after the next, stares cutting into me. Until I sit with the other royalty like an awkward aristocratic family meeting. But the most awkward? Randy.
I thought for sure that he’d be gone by now. After all, he prefers to be alone and studies until his brain melts.
On another chair, inches away from me, is Jenny. She’s kind and wishes everyone good luck like she’s doing them a favor. Except for me—of course.
Across from me, sits Neil. Neil’s gaze doesn’t flicker towards anyone else, not even his group of friends around the punch bowl. I can’t help feeling a strange distance from him, even though we’re both in the same room. I thought I hated him, but watching him I'm realizing that maybe I don't anymore.
The microphone echos again and the principal taps it, checking if it still has a pulse. Then she opens the envelope, slowly, like all of its secrets will jump out if she goes quick. "The homecoming king is…" she starts as I silence my thoughts. The rest of the auditorium suspensefully drumrolls as if it’ll make the result any more exciting. "Randy Groves! Congratulations!"
The gym roars with applause, but I don’t because tradition has officially been broken. Nobody votes for the joke. Never. They’re the joke vote for a reason. What happened to the unspoken tradition at our school?
Randy awkwardly smiles as he walks up. Hands in pocket, feet one after the other, and head staring at the stage like it’s telling him something. The principal places a crown on his head, while a phoney smile sits below. It still fathoms me how Randy used to be a nobody. I suppose Isla had a way of pu;ling people into her popular orbit—apprently that was enough.
The principal reaches in her pocket to grab the final envelope.
The microphone echoes again. "And joining Randy…the homecoming queen is…" The envelope crinkles, my stomach drops, and I anxiously shake my leg.
The rest of the crowd suspensefully drumrolls, again. They act like news sounds better after a drumroll. Like it makes it more interesting, regardless of the result. "Isla Dubois! Congratulations!"
I blink. My chest tightens. Did I just…hear that right? Maybe I’m imagining it. No, everyone’s clapping. This isn’t a dream. My stomach twists in protest. And maybe she deserves this? No. No, that’s not right. I hate her.
Beside Isla I glance back at randy and scoff. A month ago, Randy was a nobody. Now? Now that Isla is on top they’re acting like he belongs there too.
Isla stands next to Randy with her crown on her head. She waves to the crowd, like a queen. “Congratulations you too!” The principal exclaims as if they actually deserve it. “You both—” Isla puts a hand out, kindly gesturing for the principal to stop. “I’m sorry, Mrs, but could I have a second with the microphone?”
The principal glares at Isla, hesitating whether Isla should take the mic or not. Isla pleasantly smiles. “You don’t have to,” she quietly exclaims.
The principal exhales in irritation. “Briefly.”
Isla smiles and holds the microphone, like she planned it. “Hello everyone, as you know I’m Isla Dubois. And I just wanted to talk to you all about a recent death that happened.” The entire world tilts. This cannot be happening right now. “We never properly celebrated his life when the death happened. Maybe we were nervous to admit it. Maybe we didn't know him that well. But Alexander Elliot was amazing. The suicide was so unfortunate. But it was nothing but an accident and family problems.” Did Isla seriously just blame me? “But we are so lucky that we still have Audrey Elliot today.” She turns around and points towards me. My face goes red. She looks back at the crowd. “None of you knew him that well. But for those who didn't know, Alex was my boyfriend. Alex and I never properly broke up, so there’ll always be a part of us that is together. And it’ll be a reminder to all of you that you should hug your loved ones because you never know when their last day will be. Thank you.” She smiles and hands the microphone back to the principal, as the gym sympathetically claps. But I don't. My face stays red and my thoughts woefully go off the rails. Kind words? More like indirectly blaming me to the rest of the school, as if I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Thank you for those kind words!” The principal exclaims. “Now for the king and queen dance.” Randy and Isla hold hands and walk towards the center of the gym. The other students circle them like a cult. Hand on hip, shoulder, and eyes gazing into each other like stars. They probably think they're perfect. News flash: they're not.
My nostrils fume. My jaw ticks. I don’t waste a second before I walk off the stage back to my table. I get a few stares, weak congratulations even though I didn't win anything, and stares like my brother died a few days ago. They’re the worst—all of them. But especially Isla. How could she say that about my brother? How could she lie? Again.
“Audrey!” A voice calls.
My head darts around like a lost child, confused and alone.
“Audrey!” The voice calls again.
This time, I frustratingly look at my lap—Recognizing the voice.
“Hey, Audrey!” The voice calls again, shuffling beside me on the table as if I invited her.
“Hi Stacey,” I mutter under my breath. Fuck. Stacey fucking Reynolds.
"Hey, Audrey! Can we talk?" She smooths down her dress like she’s settling for a pageant interview. “I wanted to clear some things up.”
I lift up my head, wiping away my face of frustration and annoyance. “If I say no will you leave?”
“As funny as ever, probably not." She pauses and gets comfortable next to me. "For starters, I've been meaning to tell you something: I voted for you," Stacey says, like I owe her something in return. She acts like this is all part of her game.
I scoff. "Why? Did you want to win a good samaritan of the year award?" Or perhaps, this is a reality TV show that I never signed up for.
"I felt bad.”
“Because of Alex?” Again, this better be a joke.
“Well yeah.” She pauses and tries to find the words. “And also…I put your name on the ballot,” Stacey says, again, like I owe her a favor. “Which seems sorta super strategic; but I thought I don’t know…”
“What?” I choke on my words. “Are you crazy?” Of course she’s crazy. This is is girl who used to stalk her ex-boyfriends the second they moved on.
“I know, I know. And you were supposed to win too. Everyone in school thought it would be a good idea. But you still lost.”
My pulse trembles. “Ok apology accepted, can I leave now?” I ask, pushing myself out of the booth.
She pushes me back down to sit. “Isla rigged the votes. She wanted to give that speech about Alex, and—”
“She what?” My voice is shaky. Isla did this?
She gives a sharp motion, like she’s done with the topic. "I was like super mad.”
Some of the balloons surrounding me fly up to the ceiling. Streamers hanging from tall bleachers fall down to the floor. I look at Stacey again. “Mad about what?” Stacey has no reason to be mad at anything. If anything, everyone else should be mad at her. She’s the one who threatens girls to stay away from the boys she likes, cheats on exams, and cashes in on the money her dad promises for good grades. “Were you mad that your brother didn't die? Did you want the attention instead?"
“Well…” she scoffs quietly. "I was the reason you and Neil broke up." Her voice stays soft like I’m a judge and she’s explaining everything to a pageant committee.
My breath catches halfway in my throat. I guess she really wanted to admit things. “Why does that make you mad now? Shouldn’t I be the one more mad?”
"I know, I know, and—”
“Do you think this is all a game or something? Cause that's not what anything is. This isn't some reality TV show that airs every fucking Thursday. Honestly, are you—”
“Crazy?” She chuckles. “Maybe a little. But I only thought you were still in love with him.” Stacey’s lips continue to move but I’m too mad to reply.
I need to get out of here. Stacey is absurd.
I quickly attempt to run out of the table. Until, I feel a tug on my arm. I glance and notice Stacey. "Audrey, don't make a scene. I’m admitting it now, doesn’t that count for something?”
"I just don't understand why you're telling me."
“I just didn’t want you thinking Isla did all of this alone.”
Oh, is that all?
That's when I realize how every word, every smirk, everything. It’s all rehearsed—she’s been doing this since birth.
I practically chuck myself out of the gym. Each step is faster than the last. My heels slip like a penguin down an inclined slope of snow.
Stacey doesn’t move. She sits at the table, processing what happened. Like thinking harder will make what she said seem logical. But what did she expect? Logic isn’t her strong suit. This is the girl who failed Algebra I freshman year and had to repeat it. And she thought this would somehow land?
I sit in my car. Safe. Drama free. Isla free. Stacey free. But what isn’t free? Crying.
Tears slide down my face. Like everything will be alright, is a lie that will never be true.
Suddenly three rhythmic taps press against my window. My heart stops in place. The familiar rhythm soothes me.
“Neil?” I lower the window. “What are you doing here?” For a second, I think I’m still hallucinating. But then I notice the shine of his hair, smoothed down with coconut oil—too real to be imagined.
“Hey,” he hesitates. “Can we talk? I—um—saw you leave and wanted to check and see if everything is alright.”
I shift in my seat. “Alright? Talk?” I repeat, like it’ll make sense the second time.
His head bobs up and down. My cheeks go red. Is this seriously happening? What an emotional fucking roller coaster.

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Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five
The car smells like rain and leftover perfume. The windows fog at the edges, and the streetlights blur outside like bleeding watercolors. Everything feels so quiet compared to my head.
Neil sits in the passenger seat; hair perfectly ruffled, suit flawlessly ironed, and skin as brown as I remember. I don’t know why I let him sit. Truthfully, I just want to understand. I don’t want to hate him anymore.
“You know, I finally told my dickface dad off, just now on the phone. He went crazy when I lost homecoming king. He told me I didn’t understand: Apparently everything counts! Colleges want leaders. You think they’ll pick someone who didn’t even win Homecoming? He said that.”
I arch a brow after he speaks: I never realized that perfect and polished Neil curses as comfortably as he is. “And holy shit when I screamed at him, it made him mad.” Neil’s acting like no time has passed. He’s acting like we’re boyf and girlf again.
Neil awkwardly chuckles again. “My brother wouldn’t get it. He wins everything. Dad likes him better for it.” He uncomfortably laughs, his pearly white teeth catching the light—figures. Neil can yell at his dad, curse like a rebel, and still look perfect doing it. That’s the thing about him—he can be chaotic and controlled at the same time.
“Sorry I probably sound like an asshole right now,” Neil says. “And I know it’s weird that I’m here…and you probably don’t want to see me…or maybe you do…probably not.” He laughs dryly. “Anyways, I saw you leave and I thought I should follow you.” Neil sympathetically smiles. “Because…I messed up, alright. Happy? And I’m sorry.”
I push a little with my words, keeping him honest. “After Alex died, you should’ve come back. You should’ve been there for me.”
He lets out a quiet breath, eyes downcast. “I know. I was…stupid. I left when I shouldn’t have. I should’ve counted the days differently, been here.”
I chew my lip. Part of me wants to soften, to forgive, to sink into the warmth of his presence. But the rest of me—mad, sad, suspicious—pulls back. “You left me. fourteen days before he died. How do I forget that? And why did you believe Stacey?" Her name tastes like poison in my mouth—cold, bitter, and impossible to swallow.
“Stacey? Shiiiit, I sorta forgot she existed. I honestly never liked her. And she was always so annoying. And honestly I never liked any of them. I only stayed for my dad cause he thought that meant happiness. networking. Connection, popularity all meant something or some shit. But I'm happy now without them. He just believed in some fucked up things”
I chuckle. “Yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” Neil looks to the sky like it’ll help my words make sense. “I mean…she told me stuff.”
“Ohhhh. Stuff? Yeah, stuff is not good. What kind of stuff? And if it’s bad, then please don’t tell me.”
“She told me about the rumors.”
Neil chuckles and shakes his head. “I wish I didn’t believe that fucked up nonsense. But hey, we’re all a little messed up one way or another.” Classic Neil—justifying his perfect life in his perfect suit. Somehow, his messed-up mistakes never feel big enough to count.
This is good. This means that Neil regrets his decisions. But does Stacey? “You think Stacey meant to do it? You think she felt bad?”
Neil looks in the corner of the car like it’ll help him think. After a few seconds, he looks back at me. “I think she felt bad for herself.”
I bet Stacey doesn’t even know we’re talking bad about her. She’s always lived in her own world.
“Maybe…but why didn't you at least come back when Alex died? It could’ve been as a friend, nothing more.”
He lets out a quiet puff of air. “I should’ve. Instead of being there for you, I became friends with Isla, Stacey, and Jenny. Stupid bitches.”
I look up at him and hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I know…I saw you guys the day Isla came to my house after the funeral. I felt like shit.”
Another laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. It startles me—like my body forgot I was supposed to be furious. The anger is still sitting in my throat, heavy and unchewed.
“Yeah, it was shit. But you’ll be happy to hear that they all dropped me.” My eyes widened. “Even my other friends, the ones my parents hated. My gift for being an asshole, I guess.”
“So you’re here now because they dropped you?”
“They told me I changed. I spent lunches and homerooms doing…stuff. Spent weekends doing more…stuff. And I guess they dropped me.”
I lift my brows. “What stuff? And is that why you’re here now? Was losing your friends an excuse to be with me?”
He exhales and looks outside at the streetlights surrounding the school. A few of them flicker as the bright moon shines above. A few card doors slam in the distance and neon lights bleed through the school windows. Neil sighs again like he's about to say something illegal. “Clam down Auds,” he says slowly. “I thought Isla maybe…” Neil fidgets with his hands. “God! Am I seriously telling you this?”
“What is it?” I ask, earnestly.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone.” He puts out a pinky finger as if we’re in the first grade making promises to one another.
“I promise," I reply, as our pinkies intertwine.
“Great, well here it goes…I think Isla had something to do with Alex’s death.”
My eyes go wide. Is he serious right now? “Are—are you serious?” My voice wavers. My hands curl into fists. My nails press into my palms. Part of me wants to scream at him. Part of me wants to collapse and cry. I don’t know which is louder.
“I know it’s crazy…”
I take a deep breath. For a second I almost swallow it—the suspicion, the knot of dread. But it’s been pulsing in me all night, and pretending everything’s normal suddenly feels impossible. “Y’know I haven’t told anyone this…” I shift in my seat. “One week before Alex went missing, Isla broke up with him, and then he died a few days after his disappearance. I thought she drove him to suicide.” Neil’s face turns pale. “And then she stole Alex’s pills—antidepressants. When the toxicology results came, they said there wasn’t enough in his body. When my mom got the call, it was some metabolism nonsense, but I know it was more.”
“Audrey…that’s a lot.” Yeah ya think?
“I know, I know. But I’m not done…because Isla also stole his pin. It’s worth more than 20 grand.”
"So she killed Alex for the money?" He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach. “Damn, gold stars for Isla, huh?"
I shrug. “I don’t know because I dropped it. I stopped investigating. Because, whatever. I got tired. But after tonight, it’s pretty hard to forget. I found out she changed the votes for homecoming so she could win. Just so she could give that speech, put the blame on me and spread lies to the entire school. There seems to be more than I thought. Something else happened.”
Neil swallows hard. “I–I don’t know what to say.”
“I know. I don’t know either. It’s probably paranoia or anger. Perhaps it’s—"
“I’ll help you.”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. A car alarm from a close-by car starts going off. As a couple in sage green runs to turn it off, I manage to say something: “Seriously? I dropped it.”
“I know, but maybe it’s something worth reopening? With my help, it won’t blow up into a fucking nightmare.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it definitely blew up that night at the hospital.”
“Exactly! And now, it’ll be different.”
I peer off into the distance the music leaking through the school. A quiet buzzing from cicadas. Neil's words stick to me like glue. Like something that makes sense, for once.
“You wanna do something crazy?” I ask.
“Hmm…depends. I mess with crazy sometimes.”
“You wanna go visit the place Alex died?”
He sits there, hollowed out like a pumpkin. “Visit the place, what?”
“I know, it’s probably more than crazy. It’s been hard for me to do, but I feel like with you…it might make it easier.”
“That is pretty crazy. I don’t know if I should be scared or attracted.” He bites back a smile. “Why do you wanna see it?"
I laugh like it’ll make sense if I say it out loud. “I just need to see it. Ok?”
“Yeah, of course.” He turns on the ignition. “I owe it after leaving you for so long.”


* * *


Neil doesn’t play any music or talk for thirty minutes. He hums, occasionally. And drums on the steering wheel like the car will go faster that way. But other than that, it’s silent. Maybe that itself is louder than words.
When we arrive at Alex’s spot, I shakily step out of the car. It feels like a mistake to be here. As if I’m at the scene of a crime. Hallucinations of blood splatters cover the concrete and haunting whispers screech in my head: He died like a bird whose wings were cut off. He screamed like a girl before being murdered. But maybe he always died like someone who was freed. Like all the bad things in his life could be good again.
As I stand over the bridge, it overlooks a small river basin where houses surround it farther North you go. Like a postcard…for someone dead. It’s beautiful in the kind of way that hurts to look at. But also beautiful because it sometimes ends pain.
I look down into the river. “You think he screamed?”
Neil swallows hard. “I’m not sure.”
“You think he cried? Or did something when he fell?” He hesitates, and doesn’t answer for a second. “Do you?” I ask again, pressing at him to answer.
“I—I hope not.”
I look back down into the water, deep like an endless abyss. “When he was falling, do you think he wanted to jump back up? Was there an ounce of regret?”
Neil stands behind me and pulls my arm off the bridge. He forces me to look at him. “Audrey, why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Doing what?” I fold my arms. “Asking questions that can never be answered?”
He shakes his head. “No. Why are you asking questions that you know fucking hurt?”
I glance at the water and the way the moon shines on it—like headlights on a deer. “I dunno…maybe I’m just curious."
“Really? Cause I don’t think you’re ready. Not yet.”
I stare into his brown eyes and black hair. “Maybe he quietly screamed? Maybe—”
“Maybe you’re not ready,” Neil interrupts—his voice loud. “Maybe being here brings up shit memories that you don’t want. And maybe it’s a mistake.”
“I guess…you could be right.”
Neil gently pulls me back to his car.
Then something sharp presses against my shoe. I pause, raising a hand for him to stop. Crouching, I brush away dirt from a narrow crack in the wood. At first it looks like nothing—just a glint, half-buried. But when I wiggle it free and bring it closer to my face, I see it.
“What is it?” Neil asks.
It’s a charm. A smiley face charm. Small, less than an inch long, and bright yellow.
My hand shakes because I know exactly whose charm it is.
“What Audrey, what?” He asks, intently.
“This is the missing charm on Isla’s bracelet.” She’d mentioned it a few times, like a missing eraser or a marker that has memories attached to it. It never seemed like a big deal, just like something small missing.
“So, what does that mean?”
My nostrils fume as I look at him with a deranged face. “What do you think it means? Isla was here.”
“Maybe she came here later, or before?”
“This is 45 minutes away from where she lives. She told me that she’d never visit this place.”
Neil rubs my shoulder while my eyes are saucers. “What if you’re overthinking it? Don’t make things worse than they already are.” Easy for him to say. He didn’t spend months replaying every second of that night, wondering if one tiny thing could’ve changed it.
“Or what she was here that night. What if she was with Alex. What if this was never a suicide but an actual murder? What if…” my breath slows down. “What if she killed him?” The words hang between us, heavy and electric. I don’t know if I’m right—but I know I can’t stop now.

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Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-six
The first word out of a baby’s mouth is almost always a simple one—short, repeated, easy to form with soft lips. “M.” “B.” Bilabials.
These past few minutes, I’ve felt like a baby myself. A single word has been echoing in my head ever since I saw Isla’s charm.
Murder.
What if it was a murder?
What if, all this time, I’ve been talking, breathing, and laughing with a murderer?
“Just listen for two seconds!” Neil retorts. “You need to relax. You’ve had a shit night. Don’t jump to conclusions and put yourself through hell.”
“You don’t understand Neil!” I snap back. “This whole time I’ve been chasing after a clue, a sign, or something. And I’ve finally found the biggest clue I didn't know I was after.”
“You don’t know if it’s real or not. It’s not like it has her name plastered across.”
My eyes widen in shock. “I don’t know if it’s Isla’s? I don’t know? I don’t know?” I repeat like it’ll make sense. “Sure, I don’t know about the smiley face charm with black initials on the back: ID. Engraved. Sure, I don’t know about the bright yellow that’s been the same since we were kids.”
“What if—”
“What if I’m right?” I slap my leg in aggressive anger. “What if she killed him?” I hit my other thigh violently. “What if—”
“Stop it!” He cuts through me. “I told you I’d help, isn't that enough?” he screams. “God! Not only are you driving yourself crazy, me too.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Murder,” he mocks. “As if I didn't get it the first fucking time.”
He leans back in the driver’s seat, arms folded, and jaw clenches like he just got his braces tightened and it hurts. Clenching my jaw always helped ease the pain.
The car goes quiet after that, and Neil starts driving. His fingers drum on the steering wheel, like he’s daring for me to speak again. I press my forehead against the window, watching blurry streetlights smear into one another. Telephone wires stretch across town like thoughts mixing together. I want to scream and dig the terrible thoughts out of my brain. Instead, I let the silence sit between Neil and I.
By the time Neil clears his throat, the quiet tension has dulled into something else: “I’m sorry for before.” He adjusts himself on his seat. “But…are we still going to the party? I know it’s fucking stupid and all, do you wanna go?” Neil asks.
“Party? Is that seriously a good idea?” Parties are never good ideas, but especially not today.
“No, I understand, it’s like—whatever, yeah."
I sigh and lean back in my seat. “Do you know whose house it’s at?”
“Hmm…” He scratches the back of his neck, weighing his words. “Isla, I think.”
A chill seeps through me as I sit upright. “Stop the car!” Maybe tonight a party could be a good thing. Seeing Isla when my emotions are most peaked might just help me reveal one of Isla’s secrets.
The light turns red; Neil comes to a quick stop. Inertia pushes us back into the seats like a roller coaster ride where you’re pinned to the seat. “Shit, what Audrey!”
“Turn around. We missed the turn.”
“Huh? Your house isn't for another few blocks.”
“No, I mean for Isla’s house. We’re going to that damn party.”
Neil and I drive to the party, like old times: Hands at nine and three, hair barely greasy from the coconut oil, and skin like brown porcelain tiles.
The only difference? He’s quiet like the leftover spaghetti no one wants to touch because he knows what I'm planning…
The thought comes fast and ugly, before I can stop it.
If she drinks.
I hate myself for where my brain goes next. I tell myself it’s not like that. I’m not forcing anything. I just need her loose enough to say something real. Something she can’t joke her way out of.
I’ve tried asking. I poked. Circled. Waited for a crack. She smiled, deflected, and made me the villain for caring.
So maybe this is the only way.
God, listen to me. I sound insane. Crazy enough to think about burning everything down. Not literally.
But maybe literally. Because, today, seeing her name again, hearing Neil casually say Isla’s party, it feels like the universe is handing me one last shot. One last way in.
By the time we get to her neighborhood, I start to feel that itchy, restless energy building in my chest—the kind that makes you do stupid things just to do something. Like the pent-up energy you get before you go cliff-diving.
A stupid thing.
Stupid energy.
Just to do it.
My other options have all been too slow, too safe. Like putting pent-up energy into something lame; knitting, crocheting, or painting.
If I want the truth, I have to shake it out of her.


* * *


Neil and I changed into pajamas in the car a few minutes before, so we look like we belong. Minnie Mouse pajama pants that fall at the ankles and cropped tank top for me. Classic blue plaid pants and black cotton t-shirt for him.
I stop at the edge of her driveway. It’s dark, and that’s when I see them—
Her beautiful flowers barely peek out. It reminds me of the day I got my braces off. I always had an insecurity when it came to teeth, but when the orthodontist revealed my new pearly whites I was delighted. And every photo they’d peek out—my confidence rose exponentially.
I try to get a better look at the flower's color but it’s so dark that they feel empty. It reminds me of every day since Alex died. The house is always dark and empty. It feels worse in the apartment—like I’m always alone. The flowers probably feel the same. Not even bees are here to chase the almost perfect flowers.
They’re not worth my time.
As Neil and I walk into the party, we get a few stares from one corner and the next.
Besides that, it feels like every other party: Perfect pajama pants, perfect drinks, and perfectly boring humans pretending to have fun. Great. Just great.
After every homecoming, the homecoming queen is supposed to host a legendary spur of the moment party. I almost forgot that since Isla won, it’s her turn. But, this year was supposed to be my year. I’d been yearning for it since freshman year.
“Audrey, why the hell are we here?” Neil asks as we stand on the edge of the party. I’m not sure why he’s asking, he knows.
"You know exactly why.”
Neil scoffs. “I feel like I should, but at the same time I don’t.”
I give a short, stiff nod, my hands twitching upward in a half-finished gesture of irritation. “Just patiently wait like a useless sidekick for a superhero.” Like Robin was for Batman.
He silently snorts and tugs on my tank top. Neil’s eyes look into mine as he gives me a scornful glare. “Audrey…what are you going to do? You know she has hella friends, right? How are you supposed to get past them? And also…she hates you. How do you think you’ll deal with that?”
I exhale in annoyance. “Questions, questions, and questions.”
“Important questions,” he clarifies. “And maybe something you should put a little fucking thought into.”
“I’ll find a way. I always do,” I retort, pushing his hand off my chest.
He’s relentless and keeps muttering about bad ideas. It’ll never work. You’re stupid for thinking it can work. He only raises his voice when he’s scared for me.
Nevertheless, I ignore him and split towards the living room. Weaving past bodies and squeezing through friend groups and beer cups.
Music rattles and colorful lights flash in the background.
As I continue to walk through the party, there’s no sign of Isla. I mingle and ask some casual questions about her. No luck.
I finally ditch Neil leaving him behind in a herd of people and that's when I spot her in the corner, knees pulled up while chatting with Jenny and Stacey. Her smile looks real. That smile when you get the Christmas gift you’d yearned for. That smile that's nearly perfect.
A red cup is held in her hand, sipping something that’s already spilling slurs out of her mouth. “I love you guys. I hope you know that,” Isla slurs, touching Jenny and Stacey. Clearly she’s already drunk—probably Stacey’s doing—I know it’s not enough to get her to spill.
I step into the kitchen, leaving Neil behind. Cups, bottles, and alcohol—everywhere. A few lingering people wait in the kitchen, talking.
You saw him? He’s so cute. One girl says. Who? No idea.
Yeah, I failed that test. It was literally impossible. Someone says. What class? No clue.
They’re too busy talking about their lives, that they won’t notice me.
I grab a Sprite from the cooler and a red cup from a stack. I pour the sprite a little under halfway. Then I take some vodka and pour it in. Sprite hides the color of Vodka and hides the taste too. Especially for someone like Isla—skinny, doesn’t drink, and doesn’t eat—the drink will get her talking in 30 minutes tops.
Two bottles clink at one another—making a satisfying twinkling sound. “Audrey…” Alex warns. “You’re crazy,” Alex quickly comments, disappearing seconds later.
I don’t give myself time to feel it. Rage steers me across the room.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” A guy swoons, pointing directly at Isla.
I look at her—the way her hair sits on her shoulder, tangled randomly between her curls. Her Flowery matching pyjama top and bottom makes her look twelve. Who could ever love that? “Isla?”
“Yeah she’s so cool, nice, popular, and…”
A light bulb shines over my head as the random boy continues to talk. I could get him to hand the drink to Isla. “Hey, maybe you could hand this to her.”
“Really?” His face lights up. “You think she’ll like me?”
I nod with a smile as he skips to Isla with the stronger drink.
Neil is nowhere to be found, so I awkwardly stand behind the doorframe alone. I wait there for about thirty minutes. A few concerned people walk up to me and ask if I’m ok; I shoo them all away and count the sips instead—one, two, three—pretending I’m not watching her mouth touch the rim. I keep telling myself that this isn’t cruel. This is necessary. If she has nothing to hide then nothing bad will happen.
Then it happens:
“Hey, Isla? Jenny and I want to take a few photos outside, we’ll be quick,” Stacey says. Perhaps the universe is trying to make everything work out in my favor.
“Mmmm—ok, whatever you got to say, say it and do it,” Isla slurs.
As Stacey and Jenny flee the scene, I manage to slip in right next to Isla.
Isla’s posture stiffens with surprise when she sees me. “Audrey! My friend!” She throws her arms around me. Ugh…I kind of want to hug her back. No. I can’t. “Wait, I thought I told you I don’t like youse.” Isla says holding me back a little.
I push her off. “You didn't mean that,” I quickly reply.
“I didn't?" she puts her finger to her mouth—thinking. “Ha! I guess I didn't." She pulls me in for another quick hug. “And this drink tastes so good. Sprite is my fav—fa—favorite, whoo that’s a weird word.” Her shoulders shake with giggles, while taking another sip. “Say it with me: Favorite.”
I say the word dully, the same time as Isla. “Yeah, it’s great and all, but I have a few questions.”
“Oooh, I like questions. Hit me. I mean, don’t actually hit me cause that would be mean, I just want you to ask.” She giggles again, her laugh infectious after one drink. If she wasn't drunk her infectious laugh would be as perfect as a twinkling star.
I chuckle. “Yeah that would be mean. What’s also mean? Stealing from Alex. Have you ever done that?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t steal, that’s mean.” Yeah, right, liar. “But…I do have something. Well actually it’s pretty bad if you think about it.”
My eyes go wide. “Are you talking about the pin or pills or something?”
“No, that's different.” She laughs in a high-pitched voice. “Different, that’s a silly word. Diff—di—different.”
“Isla focus!” I snap. “What did you take?”
“It was good of me, and it was good of me. Oops, I already said that.” She laughs again. God, I can't imagine how she'll be at a bar. She would probably kill someone.
I roll my eyes. “What is it?” I reply sharply.
“Hmmm, I don’t remember. I do remember that, it’s in my—I don't know—clothes, computer, my room, something.” A giggle bubbles up inside of her. “You didn’t hear that from me, okay?” She laughs again, like it’s a joke.
But, it’s not the stupid Dad jokes my dad made. It’s not the lame puns Rick pulls out of his ass, claiming he used to be a comedian. And it’s nothing like the riddles Alex used to tell me, like everything will be alright after hearing them.
I laugh with her, like I’m some sad, drunken, idiot. In my head, I’m spiraling, plotting, and my mind is sprinting. A marathon. Mile after mile. Idea after idea.
Maybe I can get up there…or maybe I’ll trip on my own two feet and make this party a legend for all the wrong reasons. Same difference.
I weave through people again, quietly creeping towards Isla’s room. The stairs barely creek after every step I take. I can hear the faint sound of police sirens: I don’t have forever. I need to make this fast.
When I reach upstairs, I notice a sign: Don’t enter, beware. I chuckle, Isla did that—clearly. Smart. Cautious. If she hadn’t, I guarantee two stupid highschoolers would be making the biggest mistake of their life.
I slowly turn the doorknob, and push the door open just enough to see the corner of Isla’s neatly made bed. A faint and sweet perfume in the air.
I step inside, eyes sweeping over the desk, the shelves—
“Cops! The cops are here!” someone screams from below.
The music cuts off mid-beat, and suddenly the whole house lurches into motion—feet pounding on the stairs, doors slamming, voices overlapping in panic. Something about a noise complaint.
I freeze. One foot in the room while the other is barely in the hallway.
“Everyone out!” another voice yells, closer now.
The front door bangs, followed by a harsh wash of blue-and-red lights flashing through the upstairs windows. I can already hear the metallic thud of a flashlight against the railing, officers climbing the steps—louder than before.
I race out of her room, jolt down the hallway, and pull myself into the current of partygoers towards the backdoor.
Today clearly wasn’t the time to discover more. It’ll happen soon. I know it.

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Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven
The small charm has been held in a tight fist ever since I found it and the worst possible ideas have been keeping me awake.
At least after the party, I find Neil and he drives me home. But the entire car ride, I don’t say a single word. I just sit there like the world owes me silence or something.
After about 15 gruesome minutes, I arrive home. And I scream. My mom isn’t home, duh. So I scream with Isla’s face in the back of my mind. That girl pisses me off. Always pretending to be so perfect. Even though she did look kind of…put together today. Whatever. She still sucks.
Finally, through the restlessness, I decide to pick up my storybook again. Surprisingly, every time I read it, I seem to sleep fine.
Maybe my watery eyes before every read reduces the pain I feel that day.
I squish myself between a stack of pillows and pull my blanket over my waistline. Alex’s bookmark is gently held in my hand as the room feels colder than usual. According to Alex the best times to read are when it’s cold. A warm blanket, pillow, and a calming book makes the cold feel less…cold.
I let the pages drift beneath my fingers. I pass a coffee stain on a page, and a half ripped sheet, but finally stop and pause as the right passage surfaces.
I adjust myself one final time before I let the story take hold:
Chapter Five: A Sea of Cold Friendships.

The shivering waves of Northern Canada swayed under the cold wind. In the distance, lavender fog blurred the sun and the mountains. The mountains, heavy with snow, towered over the restless sea. Above the waves, the currents twisted and howled, blowing brittle twigs and small leaves in every direction.
Yet beneath all that chaos—the crashing waves and winter storms—fish traveled in schools and whales moved in steady pods. Occasionally, hungry sharks and famished belugas snapped up passing fish. In the heart of the ocean, one creature with grey blubber and dark flippers swam alone.
Nelly the Narwhal was usually by herself, and unbeknownst to her, most of the other sea animals were tired of her behavior. She always lied—I lost my horn, or some extra seaweed would be nice. She was consistently rude—You’re sharpening your scales like that? I suppose you don’t want any friends. And she often acted selfishly—Oh, a party for older fish? No worries, let’s just sneak in.
Because of all this, the other sea animals resented her.
One cold winter afternoon, Nelly overheard chatter about a local party. Excitement bubbled up inside her. I haven’t seen those animals in so long. Maybe I can show them how awesome I still am.
As she swam, she spotted Chloe the clownfish—an old friend from long ago.
“Oi, Chloe! Party tonight? Can’t wait!”
Chloe folded her flippers. “Um… not for you, I’m afraid.”
Nelly laughed, ready to reply, but Chloe darted away before she could say anything.
Nelly kept asking other sea animals about the party she’d heard whispers of, but she received denial after denial.
“Please don’t come,” one sea animal said.
If they didn’t want secrets, they wouldn’t keep them, Nelly thought.
She knew she had to find out what was happening. She decided to sneak in. Maybe sneaking in is wrong…but I have to. They’re hiding something, and I deserve to know the truth.
As the day passed and the party began, Nelly swam around searching for it. She weaved through algae, slipped between rocks, and squeezed past other sea animals—until she finally found it.
At the party, Nelly hid behind tall seaweed and tucked her horn behind a coral branch—her eyes barely peeked out.
Coral tables were filled with salt‑water shakes and seaweed banners hung from the ceiling.
Nelly’s horn slipped slightly into view of a beluga whale.
“What was that?” Nelly ducked back behind the seaweed. “Sorry—I thought I saw Nelly.”
“Nelly?” another animal asked, scoffing. “I despise her.”
Nelly raised an eyebrow.
“Me too,” a swordfish added. “I don’t think she deserves to be here. Remind me why you like her?”
“I don’t,” several sea animals said at once.
Nelly leaned in closer. I deserve to know what they’re saying about me, she thought.
“She’s so rude. She lies to get extra coral during lunch,” one sea animal said. “She’s always making comments about my flipper color.”
“She only shows up when she wants something,” a whale added. “I’m sick of pretending.”
Nelly’s face softened as she realized that all her lying and sneaking had made the sea animals hate her—and that sneaking in to find the truth had led her to a truth she had no right to hear.

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Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-eight
Homecoming was ten days ago. Neil and I hang out like a married old couple—scrabble, board games, awkward conversation. Friends. That’s all.
But sometimes I doubt it.
His texts never stop: Audrey, I made you cookies. Audrey, you look beautiful today. Audrey, remember bowling?
He’s a sweetheart. Pretending to be the prince I once believed in.
Then my phone buzzes. School. The word tastes like sin.
But that doesn’t matter. Neil and I have a plan: skip fourth, sneak into Isla’s house, find…whatever she’s hiding.
Hallways are crowded. Teachers talking, students gossiping. I push thoughts of Isla away, just for a moment, just long enough to get through this.
Someone taps me gently on the shoulder and I find Neil at my elbow. “Is something wrong?” Neil asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Cause you can tell me.”
I bring my thoughts back to earth. “What?” I ask. “Why would something be wrong?” I push his arm off my shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You sure? You can tell me.” Neil keeps a soft eye contact with me smiling with his eyes, you can tell me anything.
I hesitate and rub the back of my neck. “I guess…I’ve been thinking about Isla.”
“Yeah me too. I think sneaking in is a shit idea and maybe—”
I huff a laugh, interrupting him. “That’s not what I mean because I want to find out more.”
Neil awkwardly smiles. “I don't want you to do something you’ll regret.” His Adam's apple jumps, subtly. I hate that I notice things like that. “Cause, fuck…I care about you, and you know this.”
Suddenly, I feel a different tap on my shoulder. Unfortunately, it’s the last person I expect: Isla.
“Hello?” I ask.
Isla scratches the back of her neck. “Hey, Audrey.” Even her voice is annoying.
I peek up at the clock. It continues ticking with relentless precision—a constant and muted hammering. “I have class.”
“I know, same here. But…we have a few minutes and I’ll make this quick.” She exhales and smiles. “I’m sorry for what happened at homecoming…and during the party. I don’t remember a lot, just the drinking.” My chest tightens. If she remembered even a little more… everything would be over. My stomach twists with panic.
“You’re sorry for rigging the vote?” I snap, trying to mask the fear clawing at me.
Her body flinches like struck by lightning. “How did you—?”
“You’re sorry for giving that fake, lying, stupid speech about Alex?” I ask again, the fear slipping away, replaced by something sharper—anger, control, a taste of victory.
The space around me starts to feel like a suffocating grey. A nearby locker has the same stain splotch since freshman year—large and bulky. “Yeah, I know. That was so wrong of me…I was wondering if we could start over. Maybe put all that behind us?” She pulls at her sleeve, fixing her gaze on me. Friends?
My nose wrinkles. "Us? Friends?” I scoff. She better be joking right now. “Um…I don’t think so…and I have to go.”
"I've felt sorry for a long time.” She hesitates. “For everything.”
A chill creeps up my spine. She says it like she knows more than she should. "What's everything?" Is this another ‘confession?’ Or is she just messing with me and toying with my emotions?
"And I want to be your friend. I'm willing to put the past behind us."
A knot twists in my gut. Shadows cling to the hallway corners—holding their breath. "Are we talking about the same past right now?"
“I want to be—”
“No!” I boom, my voice echoing through the hallways. “Leave me alone!” I don’t think I can let her keep talking, she’s crazy.
“Oh—ok” As Isla’s head drops. Her eyes land on Neil's feet. She slowly raises her eyes to meet him. “Ne-Neil?” she stutters.
“Hey…” he hesitates. God, no. I hoped she wouldn’t notice him.
Her lips purse into a thin line. “What are—” She pauses. “You and Neil?” Isla asks, pointing her finger from Neil to myself.
I shake my head. “Nothing, it means nothing. We’re together, as friends.”
Isla smiles at Neil. “Good. Cause the last thing I want is for you two to be in love.” My forehead creases. What did she mean by that? Quickly, Isla’s face softens. “Not because I hate you!” she exclaims. “I want and know what’s best.”
“Great. Then what’s best is for you to go,” I say, pointing at her to leave.
Isla looks shocked, the lump in her throat moving back and forth. Her face tilts in the slightest, Is that really how you feel?
I lean forward, wordlessly agreeing. “Well, just…” Her hands clamp over her eyes, desperately attempting to keep the world at bay. She stumbled blindly across, each sob catching in her throat.
The bell rings overhead as a few teachers guide the last few stragglers into class. Most of the teachers give Neil and me disapproving looks before they shut their doors. One teacher lingers in the hallway, clearly waiting for us to move. “We have this period off,” I lie.
He rolls his eyes and shuts the door.
Neil tugs on my shirt. “Auds? What are you doing?”
I glance at Neil and force a smile. My stomach is still tied like the knots during old camping trips. “Neil, I think we should leave now,” I say.
“Huh? I thought we were going to leave after fourth period?”
The old clock on the wall ticks menacingly. The walls of the hallway seem to lean in—aggravating my stress. “I can’t be here anymore. We need to leave now.” I don’t know if it’s Isla's almost perfect presence that was uncomfortable or school that feels like carrying a backpack filled with bricks. Regardless, I need to get out of here.
“Audrey, what? Are you—”
“I’m serious, let’s go.”
Neil can hear the sternness in my voice, knowing that leaving is more important than my wedding. “I thinks maybe this is—”
“No more hesitating. Let’s go.” I awkwardly laugh, pulling Neil towards his car.


* * *


When I reach Neil’s car, I get this weird feeling in my stomach. Maybe it’s just an odd feeling because this is where Neil and I used—chat. This is where we went when needing a break from the world. This is where I used to feel safe and where, everything will be alright, wasn’t false.
I pause. My eyes wander around the street and that’s when I remember. Neil and I used to play our favorite game here. The game that made us feel the most safe. But also, maybe this is dangerous. Maybe forgiving him too fast is how it all starts again. Then again, I don’t want to stop.
I like hearing him laugh and remembering who we used to be.
“Hey Neil?” I ask. “You see that guy over there?” I point to a random kid.
“Scrawny arms, blue backpack, brown hair?” My lips press together, a small yes. “What about him?”
“Well, what do you think of him?” I ask, referring to a game I have stored in my head.
His eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”
My jaw drops to the floor. “You don’t remember?” Neil shakes his head. “Oh my gosh. How? Ok here, let’s see if you remember: I think this guy is a freshman because he looks scared. I also think he’s a virgin and he wants a girlfriend because his hair looks like it. And his backpack is blue with ten zippers, so I know he’s smart. And smart people aren’t cool.”
“Wow. Good insight,” Neil says, followed by a chuckle.
“So do you remember now?” Neil nods his head. “Now it’s your turn.”
He smiles. “Ok. Pick someone for me.”
I glance around the parking lot at the few people wandering the asphalt. A few clueless freshmen, popular girls with bright water bottles and overdecorated backpacks, and athletic seniors whose IQs are lower than their GPAs. But finally, my eyes land on a girl. “What about her?” I point at a random girl.
“Oh, Junior for sure.” He laughs.
I laugh back. “Oh, yeah? why?”
“I’m getting to that. Well, she looks stressed as hell, and…She’s also a volleyball—no—Basketball player. Because she’s tall and she’s wearing leggings. If she was a volleyball girl, she would be wearing a dress. They have a game today.”
I clap my hands and kick my feet up and down like a giddy toddler. “Good insight.”
We both continue laughing until I stop and smile. “I missed this, Neil.” But not him. Just the feeling.
“Me too, Auds.”
I blush again. “I miss that.” I break off. “Auds,” I say, in a cute mocking way.
“Yeah…” Neil trails off. His eyes gaze into mine and his pink lips look like they belong on mine. Oh, his kissable lips. He looks so perfect and—NO. Shut up Audrey. What are you even saying? Do you know what you're getting yourself into? Because this is bad—very bad. He’s a friend. After all, he hated me not too long ago. And people can think their friends are cute, right?
“Well, we should probably go,” Neil says, turning on his ignition.
“Yeah, yeah, with our plan, and all.”
Neil and I continue to drive in silence which is more awkward than I like. The midday sun glints against the window with cotton-candy clouds stuffing the sky. A scrawny man plays guitar on the street, cars driving swiftly by him and pedestrians taking another route to purposely avoid him. Yet he still smiles proudly in the bus stop shelter. He’s alone, cold, and has one dollar in his guitar case.
Neil speeds past him as I look back one last time. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from him.
I glance back ahead at small businesses, the bricks covering town halls’ floor, and strung lights that haven’t been lit yet. Just as it has always been.
For a second, I almost wish we could keep driving forever—just two people in motion, passing through lives that don’t belong to us.
But after five minutes pass, we reach Isla's home. Because right now, revealing Isla's sins is more important than endlessly driving through Virginia.

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Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-nine
As I stand in front of Isla’s tall, white, and beautiful house. I smile radiatingly. Fall starts in six days, but there’s already a few orange leaves in a group of green. The sun isn’t out as much anymore and cool breezes leave shivers down my spine. Almost like Isla, if she were perfect. Almost perfect in the way she wears her sweater just off the shoulders. Almost perfect in the way where she modestly wears jeans but still has two rips on the knees. Almost perfect in the way her hair is always tied back with a bow—red, black, and white. God, why am I noticing this. She’s Isla. Stop.
I glance back at her house.
Her house is so pretty and perfect, how I—I pause. Something catches my eye—
Four to a flower. Large blue and sky-like petals fan out, forming cups. The petals curve at the edges, fading from a Maya blue into a light hazy blue. It reminds me of every Saturday during summer of 15 where Neil and I’d swim in his pool. Every possible game and every possible thing we could do, we did it—together.
Suddenly, a few bees swarm at me. They continue to buzz a familiar unsystematic tune. They’re just like us, always building, fixing, perfecting, until there’s nothing left to fix. It reminds me of every morning before school. I’d spend two hours doing my makeup. Every ten minutes I'd remove it because the blush would be too much or the concealer wouldn’t cover enough.
I wave my hands around the air, walking closer to the door.
They’re not worth my time.
My feet slowly stop before the door, as I rattle the doorknob.
“Shhh,” Neil silences me. “I’m already against this, don’t make it worse by being hella loud.”
I place my hand on my mouth and hold back a laugh. “Sorry. But it’s not opening.”
“Why don’t you just ring the doorbell or something?” I shake my head in disagreement. “Or maybe we can leave?” Neil suggests.
I glare my eyes over him. “Then leave.”
He swallows hard. “If I leave you here alone, you might do something worse.” He pauses and glances behind him. “And…don’t you think someone will find out about this?”
I shake my head. “You’re silly Neil. And such a worrier. No one will know. Trust me.” I touch his shoulder then quickly remove it. “Now, help me find this key. If there is a key…or…something that is.”
“Well don’t people usually put it under the mat?”
“Try it.” Neil looks under the mat with a nice floral pattern on it: nothing. We look in a potted fern that sits on their porch: nothing. Finally we search under a rocking chair that slightly rocks back-and-forth in the wind: nothing.
Until I remember: “Wait,” I stop him. “There’s always a key in the rocks.”
Classic Isla. Classic Dubois’s.
I search for a key between the rocks. Small rocks, medium, and slightly larger ones. There are a couple of prickly shrubs that poke me, I push through the pain. Within seconds I feel a small, metal, and crooked object. I hold it up to the light like it’s a chunk of gold.
Before I twist the key into the hole, for a second, my mind flashes back to the charm. The yellow. The initials. The word that won’t leave me—murder. It’s ridiculous. But, what if stepping into Isla’s house means stepping straight into a murderer’s den?
I shrug it off and twist the key into the small hole. Then smile when the door clicks and swings open.
As I quietly take my first step through the house, Neil holds my hand from behind. His hand feels hot, not too hot to the point it’s sweaty. And it’s cold, not too cold it feels like ice. Perfectly confusing, just like everything else about him—and here I am, overanalyzing hand temperature like a psychopath.
As I slowly close the door, it clicks in place—louder than I’d like it to. I wince.
“Isla?” Mrs. Dubois voice calls out.
Her shoes clack against the floor, and the air in my lungs leave.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
“Shit. I have no idea.” Neil’s voice nervously wavers.
I hesitantly breathe as my feet grip onto the floor, like a block of ice.
When Mrs Dubois finally comes around the corner, she looks like she's seen two ghosts. And in her right hand, she grips a pan, like Rapunzel would. “Audrey? Neil?” She asks.
I hesitate before speaking. “Hey…Mrs. Dubois.”
Mrs Dubois smiles lopsidedly as she clears her throat. “What are you both doing here?”
My eyes glance around the room. A fuzzy carpet lays on the floor, hooks hang on the wall without coats on it, and plants sit below framed photographs. Some of the photos are family trips and others are photos of just Isla—glittering, glowing, and smiling. Perfect. “We’re here for Isla,” I say.
She folds her arms. “For what?”
“For a…project,” I quickly lie.
I glance over at Neil whose face looks more stressed than ever.
Mrs Dubois’s face relaxes. “Oh, sweeties, you could’ve rang the doorbell.” Seriously? She believed that?
“Isla told us to come in.”
Mrs. Dubois shakes her head while laughing. “You kids, you kids.” I laugh. “You know, I thought you all weren't friends anymore. I guess teenagers are unpredictable.”
“Yeah…” I scoff quietly.
“Well, we’re just gonna get stuff for the project. Once again, our deepest apologies.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, take your time.” Then she leaves for the kitchen.
I can’t help wondering how easily Mrs. Dubois took it. She didn't ask any follow up questions and she did not question the interaction. Maybe I am a good liar. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to look closer.
When I step into Isla’s room, the first I notice her clean bed, vacuumed floor and organized shelves. She has a long mirror in the corner with sweet reminders at the top. Yellow sticky notes, pink, and even green.
I walk towards the mirror, and notice something weird… At the top of the mirror there’s a yellow sticky note in my handwriting. Fake it till it feels real. I know it’s mine because every homeroom when we were supposed to write a quote, I’d do the same one every time. She must’ve grabbed one of them when our teacher would throw them away. A tiny part of me warms—she kept it? I clench my jaw and shake my head in disbelief. She kept it because she keeps everything. She’s manipulative. She probably has a whole shrine.
“Hey, Auds, don’t get too distracted. We came here for a reason. Let’s make it quick,” Neil comments.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Just got…daydream, I guess.” I shake off the weird feeling and walk towards her bed. My hand brushes against it. Her blanket is soft and cozy. I creep towards her desk as my hand rubs her chair. It’s fuzzy like a Poodle with long hair. Why is her room so…comforting? Ew, no. Stop. That’s exactly what she wants you to think.
“So…what exactly are we looking for?” Neil asks.
“That party the other day, she admitted it. She admitted that she hid something in her room. Maybe we can look in her closet, computer, and drawers. You should look in her drawers, I’ll look in her computer. Then after, I’ll take the closest.”
“Well, what if she moved it? And did she explain what it was? Like what if she was lying?” Yeah, I've thought about that too, but Isla is evil and perfect. Perfect in a way that makes me feel…something. No. Shut up. She’s just evil.
“She wasn’t, I know her.”
“I mean, after everything you’ve explained about her, she seems like a liar already, who knows if she lied about other stuff.”
A locked door behind me seems to hold its breath. “Just trust me on this. She had all of Alex’s stuff, whose to say she doesn’t have more?”
“Ok…” he hesitantly says. “I’ll start with her dresser.” His eyes narrow as his posture slightly collapses.
When I glance at the computer, a password line glares in front of me. “Ugh!” I exclaim. “This sucks!”
“What? What’s wrong now?” Neil asks, walking over. He leans over me like a teacher helping a student during a quiz.
I point at the line for a password. “What am I supposed to do now?” This is not how it’s supposed to be.
“Maybe, give up? Let’s head back now. Because shit…” Neil keeps talking until it hits me. During Isla’s birthday, I saw her put the password in. It was my birthday. Of course. So that’s what I try.
To my dismay, an error sign pops up. “See? Let’s go. I’m not joking,” Neil says.
I ignore him, darting my head back to the computer.
Maybe I can try her birthday? I carefully put Isla’s birthday into the password line and shortly after an error sign pops up. Really? Sure, let’s just trust the birthday guess, because obviously every evil genius like Isla keeps her password so predictable.
The next thing I hope it’ll be is Christmas due to her love for the holiday. I quietly scream when another error pops up.
So I shut the computer, with my nostrils fuming.
I glance around Isla’s room, hoping my emotions might settle. They don’t. My nostrils still flare and my head still aches.
So I glance away from her decorated walls and picture frames and look back at her computer. Her computer has stickers covering the entire front of her case. Some of them are of penguins on glaciers while others of them are of witches in tall hats.
Maybe she hid it on her computer? I flip Isla’s computer over and to my dismay…nothing.
My brain buzzes with a lightbulb. My grandparents always put their passwords under the desk.
I crouch down so I can look under her desk. And there it is. One yellow sticky note. Passwords. I almost don’t check. It feels too easy. I shrug it off and check anyway.
“Audrey,” Neil warns, placing a hand over the computer screen. “I’m serious, this is a bad idea. Stop it before you—”
“You need to stop being annoying.” I push him onto her bed as I quickly type in the password on the sticky note and grin when it works. Wow thanks Isla.
When I open her computer, there are so many tabs open. The first tab open is, messages. She's texting her grandparents, Neil, and…Randy.
What the heck? Why is she texting them?
I look up at Neil, his face is bright red. Then I look back at the computer. Most of her messages with Neil are not too recent but recent-enough to raise suspicion. Not months, but weeks. They are from a few weeks ago.
Maybe we can hang out just you and I? Neil asked.
Sure! I guess…
I scroll more up:
Neil: I’m getting these weird visions…
Neil: What do they mean?
Isla: Don’t you dare do anything more. I’ll tell them all about that night.
Isla: I’ll tell Audrey.
“Why were you texting Isla a few weeks ago?”
He brushes it off. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
My stomach twists. Why the hell was Neil texting Isla weeks ago? Why didn’t he tell me? He’s been hiding this the whole time, while I’ve been trusting him, letting him stand by me like some loyal shadow. Maybe he’s not a shadow. Maybe he’s covering his tracks. Is this why he’s been so hesitant all day? The reason he’s been so reluctant to let me investigate?
Then, I notice Randy. Almost all of their messages are deleted. Why would she delete her messages with him? What is she hiding?
I scroll up a little and uncover a message that wasn’t deleted. The day after Randy and I went to the grocery store. I remember the date because it’s my second favorite number: 12. June 12th. He texted this: Isla are you hiding something? Makes sense, after I told him, he must've got suspicious of Isla. Is there something you’re not telling me? Did you lie that night we were together?
My thoughts begin to scatter like mental fog. What the hell? Why were they together? What is she not telling him or me? What is she hiding? And does Randy know something?
I continue to scroll until Neil stops me. "Focus Audrey…focus. You're not here to play detective. I don't want you fucking anything up."
I uneasily nod my head. “Yeah, yeah. I understand.” I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Neil want me to uncover more? This could be the biggest secret ever. What is he hiding? What is he—
Neil slams the computer. “I’m fucking serious. Now’s not the time.” I uncomfortably sit, a sense of dread sitting in my stomach.
“Let’s go check the closest. I doubt her computer has anything else.”
“We still have—”
“Audrey!” he retorts. “Isla will be back any moment, and we haven’t made progress. Let’s look at her closest.”
But why Neil? Why?
I hesitantly comply and walk over to the closest. I can't shake off the feeling: why is Neil acting this way? “Y’know, people’s greatest secrets are always in their closets,” Neil says, attempting to lighten the tense, shitty, and dark mood. There’s noises ringing in my head, like a bell ringing in church.
“People’s what?” I ask.
“People’s secrets are always in their closets.” I drop a shirt in my hand and chuck something else across the room. “Or sometimes in their cars. Nobody ever looks in the car.” Neil laughs to himself. “Anyways—you wanna get ice cream after this? Or is that just me?” I don’t respond. “And I know, ice cream, dairy, fat, and all that shit sounds bad, I think it could be great!” I don’t reply again. Neil looks over at me and his jaw drops to the floor. “What is that?” He shakily asks as I hold a bag in my hands. It’s not just any bag, a black one.
“It’s Alex’s,” I say with a shaky voice.
Neil’s texts, Randy’s lies, Isla’s charm—suddenly none of it matters. The world shrinks as a black man bag is grasped between my shaky hands.
“Open it,” Neil exclaims. I rapidly breathe as I feel around. There’s a few mints that hit my hands, also a letter. I take the letter out and throw the bag on the floor.
And on the front of the letter is Alex’s name:
Alexander Elliot
For my dear sister, Audrey Elliot.
“Found it,” I say, holding the letter. “I freaking found it.”
“Well we can read later, let’s just get out of here before it gets more suspicious." Neil proposes. “We don’t want things to get any worse.”
A knot forms in my stomach as I follow Neil dragging me by my wrist.
It feels like things are at their worst. It feels like my entire world has been shaken. Like everything will be alright is a lie. Like everyone in my entire fucking life is lying to me. Perhaps even myself.

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Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty
Neil sits before me in the car.
I can’t look at him. Everything that just happened is swirling in my head. Why did Isla have the letter? How long has it been there? Why were the texts there? What did the texts mean? And of course, he didn’t think I needed to know, because obviously keeping secrets is fun for everyone else but me.
“I still can’t believe we found that letter?” Neil says, as the ringing in my head gets louder. “And Alex’s bag? I mean what do you think that shit meant?” the ringing starts to blare like a siren. “Audrey? Are you ok? Cause if it’s about the letter or the texts, then I swear they meant nothing. I’m not a fucking asshole and I’m not fucking crazy. I promise, it’s not what it looks like. And—”
“Why were you texting Isla?” He doesn't reply. "Why were you texting Isla?” I ask, again like a warning.
Neil’s face turns pale. “I told you, it was—”
“Nothing? Yeah, right.” He’s lying. He’s been lying. Using me? Is he a pawn in Isla’s plan? Did he help kill Alex? What else is he freaking hiding?
“I promise, it meant nothing.” But how can I believe that? I can’t.
“No! They were from a few weeks ago! Stop avoiding the question!” The words drop out of me, dry and cold. “Why were you texting her?”
Neil frustratingly runs his hand through his hair. “Did you even look through the messages, all the way? You’re always treating me like I’m some asshole.” Cause you are.
I fold my arms. “I looked through some of them. Not that it matters—you’re still a mystery wrapped in a bad excuse.”
“Yeah. Those texts are from when Isla and I were friends. May I remind you of how all of them and Isla fucking dropped me like I’m a piece of shit? Believe it or not, I hate them all now. Especially Isla.” He fiddles with his finger. “But they mean nothing.”
He's lying. They weren’t from months ago. There were time stamps on there that show he’s lying. “I know you’re lying. I know you are! Just tell me—”
“Fine!” he retorts. He looks around the car and looks in the distance then back at me. “It was for a project.”
Clouds crowd together as the sky slowly darkens. “A project?” This has to be a prank. What kind of fib is this? “You're kidding, I already used that excuse once,” I say, my voice with a hint of a deadpan delivery.
“No really, I swear. Because…It was a tribute project. For Alex.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
He scratches the back of his head. “Nope. AP English. Board, pictures, poems…don’t ask me.”
The clouds create shadows stretching across the grass. “Really? And Isla picked you to help?”
“She had no one else. Lucky me. And it was her idea to pick Alex.” For a split second, something in me aches—Isla choosing Alex? Why? Did she actually…care? I grip my sleeve. She doesn’t care about anyone.
“Why did you say ‘I’m getting these weird visions,’ or, ‘ What do they mean?’ And why did she say, ‘Don’t you dare do anything more. I’ll tell them all about that night. I’ll tell Audrey.’ Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
“No, I said that because we needed a…poem. Yes, a stupid lame-ass poem and that line was supposed to be poetic.”
The silence between us isn’t peaceful, it's like a threatening stillness. “Ok…” I reply hesitantly. “Why did you say the other things?”
“Well…I was just confused about the project so I didn't know what it all meant.”
My patience starts evaporating like a puddle beneath the sun. “And what about Isla? Why did she say those things?”
“We took pictures of stuff Alex likes and we didn't want anyone to know that we did…it felt hella wrong. And she just didn't want me to do anything else for the project. Something about liking how it was. So yeah…”
“Why do I have this weird feeling that you’re lying?” I ask. And I swear it’s not paranoia this time, it’s something else. Something more.
Neil holds my hands, with his. “I swear to all the fucking gods that I’m not lying. I swear to you I’d never lie.”
“Yeah, whatever you say.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I still have this weird gut feeling that he might be lying. But at the end of the day Neil’s beautiful smile will always precede any nonsense overreaction.
“Yeah, don’t worry. I know how much you hate her, I would never do anything like that to you. It was a stupid project. I'm not an asshole.”
Neil shoves his key into the ignition.
His car roars and his terrible music blares. Unfortunately, it’s the only thing that occupies the silence. Neil never had good music taste. Every time he’d choose the concert or music festival, it’d be some band I've never heard of or an artist I’d plug my ears while listening to.
Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he likes the distraction.
I shift in my seat and slowly reach for the volume knob, turning it down—not off, just low enough to let silence peek in.
“Have you ever—listened to Rhianna?”
“Rhianna? Yeah, she’s my bitch.”
“Isla loved her.”
He swallows. “Oh…cool.”
The wind howls like a howling thief, banging against the car windows. “Did you ever like…Isla?”
“I told you, I don’t.”
I snort. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
His face looks uncomfortable like he ate a small cup of salt. “I promise I don’t.”
I know him. I know he’s lying. “If you’re going to lie, at least try harder.” I reach over to the music and turn it up higher. “Just stop talking. Please. I can’t think when you talk.”
He turns the music off, again. “Audrey, I told you I care about you and I’d never do anything to hurt you. You’re just overthinking every damn thing.” I don’t respond. “Fuck, is it still about the messages? Because I promise it’s not what it looked like.”
“It’s not just the messages. It’s everything. It’s you. It’s me. I don’t wanna talk.”
“I swear the messages, Rhianna, and everything is not what you think, I—”
“I said, no talking!” I exclaim.
“Yeah, of course. Of course.”
And the car goes silent.

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Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-one
The letter continues to sit on my nightstand like something dripped in acid.
I want to read it, I really do, there’s something pulling me back. What will happen if I see something in the letter that I dislike? What will happen if I see something in the letter that makes my stomach churn? What will happen if when I read it, I find out the truth—the real truth. And that truth happens to be the worst?
Perhaps it indicates that today isn’t the day, again. For now, I have other things to focus on. By other things, I’m referring to my mom. My mom still acts like the hospital incident never happened. Like “It’s fine.” Fine. As if I ever wanted it to be fine.
I quickly throw my backpack on and race out the door. When I finally get outside, I raise myself on my tippee toes to try to find Neil. He’s been driving me to school everyday. But I’m still mad at him.
I raise myself higher and that’s when I see him.
Punctual as always. Cute as always. But his lying face and harsh tone keeps replaying in my head. He’s still supposed to be the enemy.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I dry my voice. “Thanks. Keep the flattery to a minimum.”
Seconds later, silence falls. The only noise we can hear are the car’s wheels pressing against the road.
“You don’t have to be so quiet, y’know,” Neil comments, interrupting the silence.
A lone and hesitant breeze rustles leaves against the window, as if unsure where to blow next. “Just—a lot on my mind.” My voice is flat again.
“Yeah I get that. You wanna talk about it? I can nod my head and pretend to listen like usual, or—?”
“No,” I interrupt. “I saw a picture of Alex and got sad, that’s it.” Then we stop talking. The rest of the drive is just air and silence—no words, no music, just thoughts I don’t want to think.
When we reach school, Neil and I split off toward our separate lockers. For a second, I almost miss the silence.
Suddenly Alex appears for a second after a locker slams in the distance. “What do you presume about you sneaking in? I mean, does anything good ever come out of lying? If she interrogates you better hope nothing bad happens.” A locker slams again, as Alex disappears.
I stare into my locker like a ghost made permanent residency in it. God, I really hope nothing bad happens.
“Hey Audrey,” Neil says as I close my locker, giving him all my attention.
Neil smiles as his eyes wander over me, up and down several times. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful? Because if not, they fucking should.” God, is he doing this to cover up his lying?
“Audrey?” a voice calls out.
My forehead creases at the noise. I thought I was forgettable…why is a voice calling for me?
When I gently swivel myself to face the figure, I notice someone that I was unfortunately partially expecting:
“Isla,” I yell in agony. Isla nods her head as her arms are folded. “Is something wrong?” I ask, dull and expressionless.
Isla tucks her chin—glaring at me with stern eyebrows. “I wish nothing was wrong and we could be friends. It’s come to a point that this is hard to watch,” she says. Why does she have to talk like that? Like she actually cares? No. Don’t fall for her voice again. “My grandma told me. And—” she stops, jaw tightening. “That’s not even the worst part. You and Neil?" She points her finger at Neil and I, like we’re a we. “What’s going on?”
My chest burns. “Oh?”
She tilts her head disappointingly. “Yeah. Oh,” Isla says, mockingly.
My forehead creases again and I quiet down. The sun behind a nearby window, hides behind clouds, as if too afraid to cause a scene. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Audrey, please stop acting like you don’t know.” Isla throws up her hands.
I continue to lean against my locker. “Isla I didn't mean—”
She cuts me off. “Why were you in my house? And why did you lie?” Her voice is soft, not weak. Don’t feel bad. She’s faking it. “Why are you still trying to do this to me?”
“Look Isla, we didn't mean for this shit to get this bad,” Neil interrupts.
Isla eyes Neil up and down. “And you two?”
I rapidly blink. “Us?” I ask.
“Yeah. Since when has that—” She points her finger from Neil to me, like she’s picking between two ugly couches at Ikea. “—Been a thing? I thought you guys said it was nothing.”
I uneasily chuckle. “We’re not a, thing.”
“So why are you always together then? Last time I asked, you were friends. Now? Now, things seem different.” They’re not different. In fact, they’re worse.
I glance over at Neil—hoping that he knows what to say. He doesn’t. This time, In fact, he shrugs his shoulders and nudges his head to me, gesturing to me to answer.
Her hip tilts to the side. “Cause you guys seem like—”
Neil cuts her off. “Sure, we’re together.” My heart flutters for a second and when I look at Neil his eyes sparkle under the sun.
But no. I shouldn’t start that story again.

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Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-two
Isla’s face continues to bulge red. “Why couldn’t you have said you were together the first time I asked?” Her vice raises in the slightest bit, but still sounds soft—in that perfect way. And her mascara didn’t even smudge. Of course. Perfect girls don’t melt.
My voice is barely audible as I say, “We weren’t sure.”
“Yeah, right,” Isla says. “And were you not sure when you threw Alex’s bag?”
“What was his bag even doing there?” I interrupt.
She leans in close to me and looks at me with disgust. “And after everything you’ve done, you’re still asking questions.” She whips around and walks away.
As I watch Isla walk away, I notice her long hair braided seamlessly, and at the top, something ties her hair. It’s blue, long, and a ribbon I would never miss. The little planes on the bottom of the ribbon, the frayed ends. It looks like Alex’s.
No—it’s not. My chest tightens like I’m lying to myself.
But—it has to be.
It’s Alex’s.
I knew she stole it.
After all, she knew how much it meant to him and me. It must’ve been during that damn birthday party.
I stand there too stunned to speak. Holy freaking shit…
I stand frozen for a second. I can’t move. This is worse than stealing friends, boyfriends, pills, pins, and bags. Because this meant the world to me and Alex. Not one and not the other. She’s worse than the worst.
Less than seconds later the bell rings. The last thing I’m focused on is the signal that it’s time to take my English test. I’m just happy she’s gone.
As the ribbon scratches against my mind, Neil leans over. “Don’t you have English right now?”
I shrug, staring at the door Isla walked through. The hallway smells less like pizza and more like lies. "Yeah. Supid English."
"You’re not going?"
I force a laugh, my voice cracks. “I should, except…I haven't even finished the assigned reading. Plus I can't go after seeing her, that, and…everything.”
“So what does that mean?”
“We’re skipping.”
As we slowly begin to walk to Neil’s car, he talks, trying to lighten the awkward mood lingering between us. “My dad told me a joke this morning. I have to warn you, it’s worse than the jokes Rick’s told you.” He gives out a little snicker, then begins. “Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you I smile.” He laughs in empty silence. “There was this other one he told me: Why did the math book look sad? Because it had too many problems!” He laughs without any care, like he didn't just lie about everything.
I slowly glance down at his mouth. His teeth are barely peeking out. “Do you mean that smile? Or are you still lying?”
“Seriously? I thought we were over that shit.” How can I ever get over it, if it’s clear that he’s lying?
“Well it’s sorta hard to forget.”
“It shouldn’t matter. Because right now, I’m with you. All that stuff from before doesn’t matter.”
I make a face and sheepishly smile. “Yeah, except—”
He frowns, curses under his breath, and somehow, the way he scrunches his nose, the way he glances around the parking lot, it all just…works. He’s perfect. But I’m still mad, no matter what my stupid heart thinks. “What the fuck, Audrey…” he blurts, then stops. “I mean—no, not fuck—I mean…yes. That’s what I mean.” His laugh is shaky. “I’ve told you. Why do you have to do this?”
“Then tell me the truth,” I retort. My voice cracks at the end like a crack in a sidewalk that wants to stay smooth.
Neil’s face looks like a deer’s in headlights. “I—I don’t know what else to say.”
“Of course.” I sigh.
“Hey, everything will be alright, right?”
I give him a side smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
Will things be alright? Who knows. But I’m still here. I’ll play the part until further notice.

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Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-three
After I saw Isla five days ago—after the ribbon, after Neil and all his dumb freaking lies—there’s only been one thing in my head.
Not about the pills, the pin, the lies, the ribbon, or how she holds my life as if it’s her own. It’s the letter. I don’t understand anything anymore. Why the ribbon? Why any of it?
The questions keep mutating—small ones turning into violent ones.
For hours. For days. For nearly a week I’ve been staring at the letter with more questions than ever. I don’t know what to think when I look at it. Maybe it’ll disappear? Maybe his name will blur if I stare long enough. Maybe the universe will give me one second of mercy. Maybe everything will make sense because wisdom only shows up when it’s too late to do anything with it.
I’m not sure, whatever happens I want to figure out the truth.
I reach over to my phone and turn on soft music. The melody fills the space between the letter and I.
Still…there’s something that’s pulling me back. Something that’s telling me not to read it. What if I read something I can’t crawl back from?
I look back at the letter. Then again, this is what I’ve waited for. I need to just…do it.

May 20th
Dear Audrey,
There’s no easy way to start a suicide letter. Or any letter for that matter.
I’m not too fond of texting, never have been. I’ve always preferred letters. But beginning them is a talent I’ve never mustered.
To Aunt Eloise, I started it like this: Hello, dear Auntie, my fish died last week. That absence lets the heart grow fonder, so I have more love in my heart for you, uncle, Audrey, my parents, Randy, and Isla. You know Isla.
To Mom’s favorite cousin, I started it this way: Hello, Mom’s favorite cousin. I’ve always wondered why you’re her favorite. A gift? Did you enjoy board games? Was it something you said? I only ask because I want to be my sister Audrey’s favorite. She yells at me frequently and is often rude. Please don’t gatekeep. What are your secrets?

Something heavy sits in my stomach. Does Alex mean that? Was I that rude? I always thought it was a joke. Was it not a joke? I don’t even know how I’m supposed to react. I feel hollow and boiling at the same time.
Alex appears beside me. He’s wearing that red-striped polo again—the one he always wore when he wanted to feel brave.
“Isn’t that your favorite?"
He nods.
I glance back down at the letter:

For this letter, you can imagine the same. It is impossible to start, and it is also impossible to write.
I have questions to answer, so I can’t discontinue. And as you always say, “Don’t be a loser and deal with hard things. Don’t be lame.” Or “I shouldn’t bother anyone with my problems.” I know. I know. But now, I think bothering you is the best option.
So here I go:
One week before my suicide, I was arranging a road trip. A memorable one, early too. For Isla. Randy continuously tags along wherever we go, on grocery store trips, movie nights, and even on dates. This time, it would be just Isla and me, on the road, singing loudly to songs we don’t know the lyrics to, and driving in the distance to Florida. It was always our dream to drive down to Florida. Visit Disney World, Universal, and Miami, and explore a botanical garden (Isla was always a stickler for flowers). The only difference was that it was all a surprise.
I step into her house, with the presumption that our relationship will blossom and we’ll adore one another more than possible. “Just head upstairs, she should be alone,” Mrs Dubois said. “And she’ll be elated.”
I beamed and dashed up the stairs. The TV was running without voices, so I assumed that I’d be able to catch her by surprise.
After I took the first step in, the words, “Surprise!” escaped my mouth, but I was cut short.
Because there they are. Randy and Isla. Isla and Randy. The Notebook, playing in the background, lips pressed against one another's, in love. I drop the flowers on the floor as they look at me in shock.
“A-Alex?” Randy asked, hesitating.
Isla pushed Randy off her, straightened her shirt, and stood up. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”
“It seems as if you’re cheating on me,” I blurted.
“Well…” she paused. “What are you doing here?”
“Florida,” I said. “It seems like you have other plans.” I ran out of the house. Isla chased after, yelled a few things, but I couldn’t focus. I was too focused on everything else. The cheating, the lies, the betrayal, and worst of all—heartbreak.
Once you break a vase to the point where it's dust, you can never tape it back together. You could melt, weld, and force it into a vase; it'll never be the same vase it once was, and that's how I felt. I was and always will be the vase that's cracked and broken; I can't be welded back together.

My stomach begins to churn.
What am I even supposed to think? That I was right the entire time—or at least right enough. Isla is just as bad as I perceived. Thanks Alex.
For once I feel something—and I hate that it feels like relief.
I look back down and continue reading:

That wasn’t what ultimately caused me to write this.

I read the line twice—attempting to register what it means.

Isla and Randy were hurting me; that was my breaking point. That pushed me over the edge. And that is what finally broke me. It wasn’t what killed me.
January 21st: Mom and Dad drove us to New York. I was ecstatic that I wore an “I love New York" t-shirt and tucked it into cargo shorts that fell just above the knees. I wore a brown belt, long white socks, and sandals.
To me, it was terrific. To you, it was: “Stupid, I honestly wish you weren't my brother. Especially not my twin. Honestly embarrassing. You should be glad I’m your sister, otherwise the world would fucking eat you up.” I never forgot those words.

He’s joking. He has to be. Otherwise I wouldn’t recognize myself.
I’m not this evil or cruel—I can’t be.

July 2nd, 2010: I was playing in the sandboxes, building a sand castle. One bucket. Two buckets. Shovels. And water from the pond nearby made the perfect castle. While I did that, you swung from the monkey bars like a sly gymnast or an agile spy.
You got bored—quickly. You leaped from the monkey bars and kicked my sand castle down. “This is stupid!” you cried out. “Your sand castle is ugly and worthless. Just like you. If only you could be more like that loser friend Randy. At least he's a little normal.” I never forgot those words.

I want to deny all of it. I really, really do.
But every memory hits some nerve I didn’t know was still alive.

October 25th, 2020: I notified you the day before that I had abnormal bedwetting. Due to stress and anxiety. It had been ongoing for over a year. That day, on October 24th, I decided to tell you.
The following day at school, I walked in and began receiving laughs from kids I’d never met before. People would insult me: “Bedwetter!” Or “Don’t get too close, he might get scared and pee his pants!” Or, “Don’t let him sleep over, he’ll ruin your sheets!”
And then I saw you, laughing with your friends. Spreading my secret like it’s middle school gossip. And at home? You denied it. For the rest of that semester, I got so much attention. Not the kind that’s good, the kind where people made me feel more different than I already felt. I never forgot that.

I want to believe that none of this happened, but after every memory—it feels like there’s a chance it might’ve.

April 16th, a little over three weeks ago: I was sad because during class, nobody wanted to be my partner. Everyone picked someone, and I was left alone. It’s a usual occurrence for me. But happening for the 100th time, it feels more sad.
I walked through our front doors, my shoulders slumped, my back arched, and a frown on my face. You walked in on top of the moon—why? Just another Audrey day. You’d act nice to people on the outside, but on the inside, you’d talk behind their backs, make fun of them, and deliberately make them feel left out. My words were the only reason you weren’t worse to them. I’d warn you of the consequences, and that’s the only explanation for your empathy.
“Hi Audrey,” I said glumly on April 16th. “I’m feeling extremely down today,” I glumly muttered.
You scoffed. “Hi loser,” you said. “Not everything is about you. You’ll be fine, suck it up.” And the conversation ended. I wish it hadn’t, and I said something like, When is anything ever about me? It’s always Audrey this and Audrey that.
That same night, you were sitting in the backyard, but something was different. No longer happy—sad.
I cautiously walked over. “Is something wrong, Audrey?” I hesitantly asked.
You nodded. Leg shaking, nostrils fuming, and hands folded with one another. Rage held a tidy bow around you. “Everything,” you muttered. “Everything is fucking wrong.”
I was scared, but still settled beside you. “Talk to me.”
“Neil broke up with me,” you muttered.
I comforted you and gave you a hug, but it didn't do anything.
You continued to clamor, wail, and holler dreadful remarks. I understood; you were exasperated because Neil hurt you. You didn't look at me or see that I was already broken. Furthermore, you screamed at me like I wasn't your brother, like I was merely there to unleash your rage.
“You ruin everything, Alex! I hope you die.”
You said that.
I left and quit speaking with you for two weeks. I guarantee you never noticed that. Not until my death was on the news.

I rub my eyes—wet from the crying. I know I said that I hate crying. I said it during the funeral, and I said it most of my life; now seems more appropriate than ever.
The tears fall faster and faster. More than ever. God, I think my heart just exploded. Not literally. Unfortunately.
Is this all true? Did I seriously hurt Alex this much? He was already sensitive. Did I make it worse? Maybe I’m twisting it. But…I can’t untwist it now.
I rub my face and push tears off my cheek and glance back at the letter:

I guarantee you never noticed many things.
How your voice rose when I’d ask a straightforward question. You deliberately went out of your way to make my life miserable. Telling people secrets, bullying me, turning the world against me
Everyone bullies their younger sibling. Yours was more than that. Yours actually hurt.
It’s like making cookies for a type 2 diabetic—it seems nice, but it’s detrimental.
It’s like forcing a dyslexic child to read five books in one week—it might seem like you’re pushing them for the better, but really, it’s torture.
For me, it’s like telling a sensitive kid they suck. They’re losers. They’re the worst. Because you think it’s amusing. Truthfully? It’s harmful.
Isla and Randy always thought it was weird that I still loved you. That I still wanted to be your friend even though a part of me hated you. I hated how you treated me, but I still loved you.
But don’t dwell on it, dear sister.
I will still invariably watch over you and ensure you have an adequate rest of your life. It will be filled with devotion, delight, and devoid of loneliness. I will be the voice that keeps you going and helps you cross that bridge. Your enemies will not bother you anymore. You'll hold your friends close, and every beautiful thing about you will remain intact.
Audrey, I wish you the best and the same for the rest of our family. You are suitable for this world and will do amazing things.
From the loving memory of your dearest twin and best friend, Alexander Elliot.
-The sun and stars won't wait for you, but I will, because everything will be alright

I drop the letter in my hands onto the ground. I sit there, still, ghost-like, and dead. What did I just read? He sounded…sad all the time. I didn’t know it was this bad. Maybe that’s why he needed the pills…
Stacey used to be my mirror. Now, when I look, I don’t see her anymore. I just see me—and that’s somehow worse.
Did I kill Alexander Elliot? Did I kill my twin? Did I kill my little brother?
“Audrey, it’s—”
“No, it's not!” I scream, turning off the music. Alex disappears away, as I shakily cuddle on the couch.
No. No. No. I didn’t kill him. I can’t think about that. I can’t handle that. It can’t be my fault. That would destroy me. That would make me a monster and I thought we talked about how I’m not a monster. I don’t hurt people anymore. I’m a good person.
I don’t know if this is truly the truth, or just the version my brain can live with.
I can’t be the villain.
I can’t.
So if it’s not me…then someone else had to break him first. That’s the only version I can survive with.
Someone started the crack. Someone fed it until he splintered.
The real villain? Isla. Randy. Both of them. They killed Alex, even if no one else would call it that. They lied. They let me stay close, investigate them, while keeping a truth like this taped to their hip. This is their fault.
Isla doesn’t just want people to like her—she wants them to believe she’s incapable of hurting anyone. Her perfection only works under surveillance. The moment the spotlight moves, so does the truth. And the second I stop watching? The second anyone stops watching? She murdered my brother.
Now that I know the truth, this is beyond anything else. The police won’t care. They never do. Emotional bruises don’t count to people who only look for fingerprints and footprints.
It’s time to finish what everyone else refused to see—or what I can’t unsee anymore.

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Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four
Revenge. Revenge. Revenge.
Murder. Murder. Murder.
Truth.
Lies.
The words echo in my head like a nightmare. Like a slumber I can never be awakened from. Something straight out of a horror movie.
Like the first Saturday in October where there'd be a drive-in movie at my local park. Hanging lights, buttery popcorn, and a tall movie screen. Always a murder mystery horror movie. Last year they played Knives out original. One year they played the shining. I'd never be able to sleep that night or wake up the next morning with pleasant memories. Tonight feels the same. Maybe I still can’t sleep after nights like this, but at least now, when I think about it, I can remember the lights and the laughter instead of just the fear.
Yawnnn. I dab my mouth, hoping the yawns will disappear. No luck.
I’ve been trying my best to avoid sleep, knowing there’s only one thing that’ll occupy it: Isla.
Tired, I rummage through my nightstand. Hair ties, empty cups, and a book. I grab the large book. Perfect.
As I flip through the pages, they crackle between each finger. Each page glides beneath my fingers until the pages fall open to the place I left at last time.
Then, I begin reading.
Chapter six: A Fiery Revenge

Rocks and rubble covered a large lowland in Australia. Wispy winds carried the rocks and rubble to far away places and swung them towards trees. Tree-shaped shadows covered the grass. Beside them, boulders cast jagged shadows. Some boulders were stacked on one another, towering over the rest of the lowland.
Flying creatures lived in that land, playing amongst the rock structures and arches. They’d chase one another, throw toys in the air, and play dragon ball.
However, one dragon didn't join the chaos. David the Dragon didn't play with toys or fly between boulders. Instead, he sat on a towering stack of rocks and looked into the beyond.
David the Dragon sat on a boulder and looked into the beyond. He was staring at all the other worlds, yearning to leave his. Each lowland in Australia was separated from the other where other creatures were. Once old enough, he and all the other dragons would get to leave to the other lowlands. Not yet…
No dragon could leave until they could breathe fire—something only the mature and respected ones could do. Once they did so, they could travel to the other world and be paired with a fairy, elf, or even a princess. They’d guard castle walls, protect fairy kingdoms, elf kingdoms, or maybe even a water world. Whatever it may be, it provided them with purpose and worth. Something that the presence of other dragons couldn’t do.
Suddenly another dragon flies up towards David, flying around him. "Ya still waiting for something that'll never happen? Mate you’ll always be just a kid, and ya’ll never grow up and get your fire power," Charlie, David's biggest bully, said.
Ever since Charlie took his spot as watcher in dragon ball, Charlie and David had been at odds with one another. Charlie never let him forget it—bragging about accomplishments, mocking every misstep, and making everything a contest.
David sighed, his nostrils flaring. "Never say never!” He exclaimed. “Someday I'll—"
"Yeah, yeah. That's great, mate,” Charlie interrupted. “Losers don't get fire-breathing powers. Only winners do.” Then he flew away.
The next day, a massive crowd of dragons were flying around an arch—David’s favorite to fly around.
"Hey, what's going on?" David asked, approaching the crowd.
Out of the crowd came Charlie. There was something different about him. Sure, he looked his usual gloat-ish self, but something else…
David slowly leaned in and his eyes went wide: "Lookie, here,” Charlie said, jabbing claws towards himself. “I got my ability to blow fire before ya…I told you, ya are still a loser."
Charlie and the rest of the dragons erupted into laughter—cackling beneath the gleaming sun. David frowned and flew away.
Charlie always had been superior, but this? This was the one thing David cared about more than dragon ball or any flying test.
Suddenly, it hit him. If Charlie was going to be so smug about his fire-breathing ability, then David should take it away. This was David’s last straw. Charlie was going to get what he deserved.
Fueled by anger, David flew into action.
After searching for a long time, he found just the thing: an anesthetizing solution which was used to calm dragons when out of control. It temporarily put the targeted dragon to s Shah p and removed their fire-breathing ability. If a dragon was found to be out of control, it was a sign that they weren’t ready to breathe fire. And that’s who Charlie was to David—a dragon that never deserved the flame.
That night, David released the solution into the fog, making sure it would only strip Charlie of his fire-breathing powers. After all, none of the other dragons had those powers—so it shouldn’t affect anyone else. Only Charlie...right?
The next day arrived quicker than anticipated. And the entire lowland of dragons woke up in a haze. There was fog everywhere, and no dragon could see anything.
Did it work? David thought.
It had to. Yes, it must've.
As the fog settled down, David flew with his scales looking sharp and a brilliant smile, he was on top of the world. Nothing could ruin his day.
"David!” A voice exclaimed. David stopped where he was flying and swiveled around only to see Charlie. “What have ya done?"
David scoffed. "I did what I had to!” He exclaimed. “Ya didn't deserve those powers!"
Charlie slapped his head. "Ya didn't only take mine away.” David arched his brows. “Ya also took away the power of three other dragons."
David choked on his words, his heart on the floor. "I thought ya were the only—"
"No! I wasn't," Charlie retorted. "Wow, ya really are a loser."
The next couple of weeks went by even slower. Charlie continued to mock David, who sat there—not doing anything. He wasn’t the only one. Every other dragon was the same. They all sat there—not doing anything and never breathing fire.
David's anesthetizing solution worked well, too well. It ensured no other dragon could ever breathe fire, including David.
"Ya ruined everyone else!” Charlie exclaimed. “You’re a bigger loser than ever."
David frowned. "I didn't mean to. I really didn't."
David tried everything to show that he was sorry: He used matches, hoping they could create fire, no luck. He tried to find a potion or make one, no luck. He tried to see if the other-world beings would still accept them without fire powers, still, no luck.
He learned that—

I slam the book shut before the moral flashes before my eyes. It’s wrong. They’re all wrong.
I don’t know what I’m going to do to Isla yet. I just know something is coming for her, and I don’t need a fairytale to tell me otherwise.

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Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-five
I sit in the ice cream parlor with Neil, lying with cold mouths. Acting as if nothing happened. I ordered strawberry—Alex’s allergy. It’s the first time I’ve had ice cream since he died. I don’t taste a thing. Especially today.
After reading the letter I can't taste anything except bitterness. But I don’t want to talk about it.
Neil got chocolate chip cookie dough because he always says the dough has secrets. Eating them makes you feel sorta special in a way, like it’s someone telling you their deepest darkest secrets.
It was a prolonged day, basically never-ending, so Neil and I thought Ice cream would ease all the tension and pain. It was always the go-to emotion-fixer.
But still, not all emotions can be fixed because I’ve still been thinking about two things.
First of all, Alex doesn’t visit as much anymore. Maybe even ghosts have limits. It’s weird not seeing him.
Secondly, sitting beside Neil and being with him almost makes all my problems better. Almost. If I wasn’t still mad at him.
Fall started four days ago. Green leaves still cover the trees but sometimes they spiral down to the brown grass—like a whirlwind or a storm. Dancing in the wind like the ballerinas my mom would take Alex and I to see. The sun barely comes out anymore. Probably tired of dealing with everyone’s crap—relatable.
As Neil and I’s ice cream come to the melting point, we throw away our ice cream and head straight to his car.
When we walk outside, I notice the sun is no longer high in the sky. Rather, it’s falling down to welcome the stars.
“So are you doing anything after this?” Neil asks, throwing my thoughts into a suitcase.
I huff a laugh. “What like…homework?” I chuckle. “Or hanging out with friends?” I laugh again. “Or going to the mall with Isla? Cause ice cream isn’t enough.”
The sky is almost a perfect dark azure—mocking Neil’s existence. “You could've just said no.”
“No is never as fun.” Neil knows that I’m talking about. He used to be the yes-man. Wanna go to a party? Yes. Wanna skip class? Yes. Wanna commit a murder? Yes?
“Really?” he asks. “Well, then let’s play a game that you can’t say no to.”
Nearby trees gently thrash. “Oh no, what?”
“Truth or dare.”
I put a hand up to my mouth holding back a laugh. “What, is this the second grade?” I laugh. “Or are we in the homeroom again with nothing to do?” I burst into laughter. “Or, my favorite: are we at a party with alcohol, and Stacey is trying to get something out of everyone?” Stop smiling, Audrey, you idiot. You’re mad. Remember?
“No, we’re just Neil and Audrey who want to play a game.” I miss the sound of our names next to each other. I miss the sound of how his name pairs with mine like a pair of sneakers—Annoying, but impossible to pull apart.
“Why though? Why now?” Is he trying to pry something out of me? Is he still lying? I told him I forgave him. I think I did. Or maybe I just wanted to. I guess ice cream with Neil is letting him more than ever.
But truthfully, I was overreacting. Even if I wasn’t, Neil is all I got. Without him, I’d probably be sulking alone. So for now, he’s forgiven. Those texts might still mean something, but it’s not enough to be mad.
“Audrey, you know why.”
I laugh like a room without an echo. “I really don’t.”
He chuckles. “That's all you’ve been talking about.” My eyebrows furrow. “Since the moment you opened it, you haven't stopped.” My eyebrows cross again. “The letter? You texted me the night you read it: Neil, Isla is worse than we thought. Alex admitted it. Then you called me and read the entire letter. You ended up blacking out that night so you came the next day to my house and made me read the entire letter, again. And since then all you’ve yapped about is the damn letter. And Audrey, you don’t need to keep reading or digging. This is killing you. And if you keep pushing, things are gonna…change. Between us.” Between us? Or does he want the scent to get off of him?
But, regardless of whether he has suspicious intentions or not, I sulkily shift my head down. He’s right. The letter is all I’ve talked about. I don’t know what to make of the letter anymore. Whose fault was it really? I glance back up at Neil. “Truth or dare?” I ask.
“Right now? You really wanna keep playing after—”
I already know this is going to be a terrible idea, but I still ask agin—sharper this time, “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
I glance into the distance, thinking. But in the distance I can see the mountains lying just beneath the sun. From far away they’re lofty and high. Like a castle that stands over the rest of the town. Maybe the royalty living in that castle is the only reason the sun is as bright as it is this morning.
There’s a soft mix of traffic, people yelling, and police sirens. I know that’s supposed to feel annoying but it feels like home. It feels like no matter where I am, the traffic never changes. The screaming mixed with police sirens feels like an uncanny kind of white noise I listen to at night.
I look back at him. “I got one: if you were to run away from your parents, where would you go?”
“Oooh, that’s a good one.” Neil looks out the car window for a second then back at me when he knows what to say. “Probably…a beach maybe. And maybe…not the U.S. So probably…the Virgin Islands or Hawaii?” His answer comes quick, like I can picture him—running into the sunset, the waves gently washing over his feet, with sand pressed between his toes. Somehow, he can make running away sound perfect. He’s perfect. Perfect at making me forget why I’m mad—and I hate that.
“I like that, that’s good. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Yeah, I know. Plus my mom hates the beach, so she would never want to visit if she found out I snuck out. It’s freaking perfect.”
I laugh like a bubbling brook. “You remember our first date? When we drove down to Virginia beach? Your mom didn't even want to come pick us up because she hated the beach so much.” I hold back a chuckle. “Then you spilled ice cream all over your shirt.”
“My shirt? Wasn’t it your shirt?” I ask, pinching my shirt.
“Honestly probably, but I don’t remember much, I do remember how nervous as fuck I was.” Neil? Nervous? He’s never been nervous.
He stares at me and smiles. His smile doesn’t stop at the lips. His eyes crinkle into tiny happy triangles. “Truth or dare?”
“Hmmm….truth.”
“If you could do our first date all over again, what would you do differently?”
“What would I do differently?” I ask again, acting like the answer will come. “Hmm…well, for starters…instead of ice cream, I would wanna go to the movies. That way we could’ve gotten food and done something fun.”
“Alright…but what movie?”
“Hmmm…probably something stupid that we could make fun of and laugh about. Maybe Minions, Cars, or Zootopia. Something silly like that.”
“You’re telling me that yellow servants in overalls, talking cars, and animals taking over the world is stupid?” I laugh. “You’re telling me that you wanna make fun of that shit,” Neil asks, laughing between every word.
I start to laugh even harder. “Truth or dare?” I ask amidst my laughing fit. I shouldn’t like this. I really shouldn’t.
“Ok, way to veer off the conversation. But…I pick…dare.”
I look away for a second, then quickly (too quickly), I look back because this was the dare I was waiting to ask. “I dare you to kiss me.”
His eyes go wide. “To what?”
“Don’t make me repeat it. You heard me the first time.” Did I just let him in? I’m an idiot.
He looks around him on all sides and smirks, eyes glinting. Neil leans over the cup holders after unfastening his seatbelt. He grabs my face with his hand and rubs my jawline with his thumb. Then, for what feels like a fraction of a second, his lips press against mine. I sit there, frozen, unsure of what to do with my hands—should I move them up or leave them by my sides? What about my hair—let it fall onto his face or move it away? I’ve never kissed anyone like this before. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and yet…when he talks, when he moves, when he is just him, everything makes sense. It’s effortless, chaotic, real—and perfect. Then again, how can he kiss me like this after everything?
For once, the ache in me quiets.
Is this real or another lie?
Neil lets go of me, leaning back into his seat. We both smile. “I wasn’t expecting that,” I say.
“You weren’t expecting me to do the dare?” I laugh into my sleeve. “Really? Cause I never back down from a dare.”
“Ok, I see that now.” Did I just let him in? Not like that—like this. Like a stupid tiny door that opens everything up.

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Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-six
The sun creeps out from behind the clouds, its light spills through the cracks of the window.
I’m still looking at Neil though. The way the sun barely covers his face, his brown eyes like golden specks and brown skin as beautiful as always. He's perfect.
But his lips are so unchapped. Maybe it's psycho of me to notice. Regardless he's still...perfect.
I can’t stop thinking about the way his lips pressed against mine. The way he made everything feel alright. Just for a second. But still…he lied to me. Is he still lying? What’s the truth? I don’t know anything anymore.
“Why are you so nice to me?” I ask, my voice shakier this time. “Did you lose a bet to Stacey or something?”
He awkwardly laughs. “Well…I care about you and shit. You know that.” I don’t know that. “Audrey, you know me better than anyone.”
I dart my eyes around the car. “Yeah, definitely.” I lie.
“Well, then you know…that…you know—” He scratches their forehead, attempting to find the words. “What I mean is…you know how I am.”
I scoff as my brow puckers. “What does that mean?”
“You know how I get with people. You know how popularity feels like hell and…I've always regretted that shit.”
“Neil, what does this have to do with—”
“Audrey, look,” Neil says, grabbing my hands. “I saw you—in the halls...the way you looked and didn't look at anyone. That part of me that actually feels shit sometimes couldn’t ignore it.” Neil chuckles dryly, his voice flat. “That’s when I realized this whole popular bullshit—is not me. Maybe it was for a little. You…you were the only reason I stuck around those people.”
My breath slows down. “You never liked any of them?” Another thing to add to his list of lies.
Neil shakes his head. “And I guess…technically speaking…there was one other thing.”
My forehead creases. The nearby trees' branches weave a tangled net that mirrors my mind. “What?”
“My dad.” He looks to the ground, buying a second before answering. “I told you family was the reason last time. I meant it. You know him…you know his dumb as fuck ways. He wanted me to be popular, smart, and athletic…I’m dumb as rocks and shit at golf. Popularity was the only damn thing left. My dad started giving me so much shit that I decided popularity wasn’t worth it anymore.”
I look away suddenly and quietly. “I’m sorry, Neil.”
“Yeah, me too.” His throat tightens. “Worst part? He wasn’t the only one. My brother is literally the definition of perfection.” He trails off. “And, yeah, no, it’s ok. I don’t care about it or my dad’s opinion. I don’t care about anything.”
“You really think that?” I look away again. A leaf blows onto Neil’s car window. It disappears after seconds, the yellow leaf joining the rest in the sky. Pollen particles float in the sky’s mixture like a fall soup.
I glance back at him. “Enough talking…now it’s my turn.” He smiles maliciously. “Truth or dare?”
“I don’t like that smile so I’m picking: truth.”
He smiles and puts a finger up to his mouth—thinking. “I think I got it,” he says after a few seconds. “What is the craziest dream you’ve ever had?”
I chuckle, the answer sitting at the tip of my tongue. “Well, I had this dream, after I read the letter, that I burned Isla's house down.”
Neil’s laugh dies mid-sound as he shifts himself in his seat. “That’s… not funny, Auds. That’s actually the kind of thing that gets people in trouble. This isn’t good for… anything.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m going to actually do anything.” His eyes continue to stay wide. “I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Audrey, it’s still fucking bad. Dreaming about burning a house down?” Neil’s voice cracks in that way it does when he’s scared, not angry.
“I mean, can you blame me? Remember…the letter?”
He swallows hard. “Yeah, I know, and this game was supposed to help us forget about it.”
“Well, yeah, I know. But remember what it said? Did you actually read it?”
Neil’s smile thinned. He swallowed, the color draining from his face for a second. “Aud, I read it, but—some of that sounded like a kid writing a grief-struck letter, not a court transcript. We can’t make the world out of that alone. Plus…you’re going to find something you can’t… undo.” He stops. “I mean—you won’t like what you find. That’s all. I don’t want anything to happen to you” Is it something about Neil? Is he still lying?
“It was her fault. She hurt Alex.” I trail off in my words.
He tilts his head to the side, like he just ate a sour lemon. “I mean—” He starts.
“You read it,” I say, cutting him off. “Alex admitted it.”
He touches my shoulder. “Audrey, nobody's perfect.” I want to roll my eyes at the way he makes it sound true. Maybe nobody’s perfect—but sometimes, in certain lights, Isla looks perfect. Whatever. It’s probably just the lighting. And Neil screams perfection with some flaws—obviously. Like how he used to make me carry the picnic basket during our dates. He rubs my shoulder then removes his hand. “And hell, I’ve made worse decisions and always fucking overthink it. For all we know, you could be doing the same. Plus things are gonna get worse if you try to find out more. You’ll find something you don’t want to. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Why does he sound suspicious after everything he says?
“Fine, yeah, whatever. Truth or dare.”
“I’ll do, truth, again.”
I stare into the sky. Maybe the clouds can help me think of a question. One cloud looks like a bunny. One cloud looks like Florida. And another looks like a bow. You know who loves bows? Isla loved them. Red, pink, white, and anything that looked good in her hair. And it helps me think of my next question. I look back at Neil. “Do you think what Isla did can be justified?”
I look at Neil, his eyes are wide. He quietly shifts himself in his seat. “Is this my question?” I smile in agreement. “Everything she did was sorta a dick move, I know.” His eyes narrow at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “I think she truly loved Alex, and just made a mistake.”
“You think cheating is a mistake?”
“For someone as kind, thoughtful, and sweet as Isla, yeah. It seems like it was a mistake.”
“I don’t know Neil, maybe you’re wrong. Because if she isn't, villain. Then what am I even doing?
“Audrey…”
“Maybe it’s time we do something.” Isla’s face slowly comes to mind. Her hair. Her face. Her voice. “Maybe, something more than breaking and entering.” The way her shoes always match her shirt. “Something more than getting a confession.” Isla’s teeth are always as white as fresh snow on a cloudless morning. “Maybe we—”
“Maybe, we do nothing! Maybe we can run away together on a private island. Maybe we can be like how we used to be. Only better.” He stops and smiles. “We can be Audrey and Neil. Neil and Audrey. Boyf and Girlf.”
I smile. “Neil, that's sweet and you always say the perfect things, but you can’t change how I feel about her. And how can you possibly defend her after everything she’s done?”
“Audrey, I’m not defending her, I just think you’re overthinking everything. And I care about you and I really don’t want this shit to swallow you whole. I don’t want you to find out anything that’ll hurt you.”
I look outside for a fraction of a second: Red, orange, and yellow leaves cover the grass in piles. The piles I used jump into making, what Alex and I used to call, Leaf angels. The angels who bathe in leaves. The angel who sat at the top of our Christmas tree every December.
The air looks crisp and cool. Branches covered in frost like a cold blanket protecting them from the sun. I slowly swivel my head back towards Neil.
“Ok, well…my turn to ask. Truth or dare? Neil asks.”
“Hmm…truth.” He smiles without taking a second to think. “Oh no, should I have chosen, dare?”
“Nah, nah, it’s not that bad. Just…what is one thing that you’ve always wanted to do? And it doesn’t have to be now, like it could’ve been from when you were younger or from sometime before today.”
“Can I say that when I was a kid I really wanted to go to Disney world?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but you’ve already gone, so that doesn’t count.”
“What about if I told you that when I was ten I really wanted to be a princess and have a prince where we’d live in a sugar-fairy-castle.”
He laughs. “No, Audrey, something realistic that you want or wanted.”
“Ok…” My gaze drifts in the distance. Growing up there were small things I wanted: new necklace, clothes, and maybe perfume. There was never something big that—
Suddenly, it hits me.
“Y’know there is something,” I say. “My whole life, there was always someone that I hated. And I always wanted something bad to happen to them. They’d get hurt, destroyed, or something they care about would disappear. I dunno, something.”
Neil’s knee bounces. Clearly an idea of what I’m thinking fiddles in his mind. “Oh, yeah, interesting. Who was it?”
“Isla.” The name drops out of me cold. Why did I admit that? Why did I say that out loud—to him of all people?
His voice cracks in the slightest. “Isla? That’s pretty fucked up Audrey. Please don’t actually do anything. It’s for your own benefit.”
He’s right—as much as I hate it. Maybe I’m the one who’s rotten. Or maybe she is. It doesn’t matter as long as it hurts her.“I hated watching her perfect hair, perfect grades, and perfect self, exist around my family and my life. Like she belonged there. Like she had any right. She was perfect just like those damn flowers in front of her house. Perfect in that annoying, look-at-me way.” I glance down at the floor for a second. Is this why I always hated Isla? Because she was perfect? No. No, no. Stop. You’re losing it. You don’t feel that. You hate her. You’re supposed to hate her.
“So you always wanted to ruin her?”
Suddenly something in me clicks. I grin maliciously. “Truth or dare?” I ask.
“Are you sure, I thought we were—”
“Truth or dare?” I interrupt.
“Oh—um—dare?”
“I dare you to do something crazy with me.”
Neil’s face has a micro crack like he knows what’s going to happen and already hates the idea of it. “Right now?” I nod, swift and grim, like a falling guillotine. “Like what?”
I reach over to Neil’s phone and type in an address. Then I place it back on his car dashboard, pointing to it. “Drive me here.”
Neil’s voice goes quiet. “Isla’s house?”
Something else in me clicks finally. Finally something makes sense. “You still have those matches in your glove box that your dad makes you carry around? And hand sanitiser?”
“Yeah he loves to go camping so he always keeps a matchbox with some other camping gear. I’ve never used it, but it’s not my car, so why complain?” Neil’s hand hovers over the glovebox, a small, stubborn pause. “Why are you asking?” I give him a look, like what I want to do is obvious. “Audrey—” He looks at me properly then, like weighing a foolish dare against the quiet of his future. “I’m not agreeing. I’m not doing this. You better not do anything. You’ll get hurt and maybe—” He lets the sentence hang. He doesn’t finish it. Then, with a breath that sounds like surrender, he closes the glovebox and pushes the matches towards me. He’ll probably lie about this one day too. But I’ll let him lie later. I need him now. “No, no, no. Please no. You’ll find out much worse if you do this. Trust me.” I reach over Neil’s side and grab the hand sanitiser.
Then I smile because finally something feels like control. Even if it’s stupid.

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Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-seven
Meconopsis flowers require careful care and consideration. They thrive in cool summers and mild winters. The flowers need partial shade and moist, not soggy, soil.
Isla always followed every step as if she were writing her own care manual. She takes such good care of those flowers, as if they were family. It’s pathetic, I tell myself—because if I don’t laugh at how much she loves them, I’ll start remembering why I loved them too.
We sit in front of Isla's house. The sun has fallen behind the horizon, and the sunset has disappeared. A few stars sit in the night sky, twinkling above. It feels like they're watching me, saying 'hi.'
I glance over at Neil. "You coming?" I ask, as I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door.
"I don't want to burn her house down." Does he think I’m that evil? Delusional, sure. Paranoid, sure. But cruel and evil, no. I’m just a vengeful lunatic.
"You think that's what I'm doing?"
"Why else would you need hand sanitizer and matches? I took Chemistry once, y'know."
I step out of his car, feeling a gentle breeze brush against my cheek, and walk towards his side of the vehicle. Neil slowly lowers his window and smiles when I stand beside his window. "You see those flowers over there?" I ask, pointing at the meconposis.
"The dumb blue flowers? What?"
"They're not just blue flowers, they're her meconopsis."
"I feel like you're just saying words; they don't mean much." Except he doesn't know that word means everything.
"Fine, you stay here and I'll come out later when I'm ready to leave. Wait for me to finish first."
"Finish burning her house?"
"Just the flowers." And if he dares to tell anyone or lie to me again, he might be next too.
Then I walk away.
I unhurriedly walk up Isla’s driveway. Gravel crunches under my heel—too loud. I freeze, then step lighter.
Somewhere nearby, a sprinkler clicks, stalls, clicks again.
“You don’t have to do this,” Alex whispers beside me.
“I know, I don’t. It’s just—after reading the letter and after—”
“After conceding that your aversion was always envy?”
I blink three times, hoping the words can be erased. They can’t be. “I don’t like admitting it,” I say. “But yeah. It was jealousy. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. Just the flowers.”
Alex frowns. “Then why hurt anything at all?”
“Because it’s easier,” I say. “And because it’s a dare, right?”
He doesn’t answer.
I walk through him, his voice thinning into the dark.
And then I see them—
Even wilted and slumped—they’re beautiful. Airy fingers spread the petals gently, thin and soft, like the pages of an old book you can’t bear to throw away. The blue is fading, but it’s the kind of fading that feels peaceful, like a sky at dusk.
They remind me of Christmas mornings—of racing downstairs with ribbons tangled in my hair, exhausted from wrapping presents all night but secretly loving every second of it. My whole family is in one room. Alex stealing the cinnamon rolls. Warmth everywhere.
I open the hand sanitizer and smooth it over the petals, like I’m tucking a blanket around something delicate. When I rub them, the texture surprises me—papery at first, but then soft underneath.
The stems bend easily between my fingers. It reminds me of our old couch—the one I watched Gossip Girl and Gilmore Girls on. The same couch where Alex and I spilled cherry popsicles, where we got grounded for “irreversible stickiness.” My parents threw it away, but I loved that couch. Every memory on it glows in my mind like it’s still sitting in the living room.
I lean in and breathe the scent of the flowers. The mix of soil and sanitizer somehow makes me laugh because it reminds me of the “garage ghost” Alex and I thought was real for years. It turned out to be a dead raccoon my dad hid so we wouldn’t freak out. When we found out, I screamed; Alex laughed so hard he cried. I replay that memory whenever I need to feel him close.
I rub more sanitizer onto a petal and smile because even that raccoon story—gross as it was—became one of our favorite inside jokes.
A breeze passes, soft and sweet. The flowers sway a little, like they’re waving. For a second I can almost pretend that everything good we ever had is still here.
I glance at the flowers one last time.
The faded blue makes me think of Alex’s famous cupcakes—vanilla with washed-out blue frosting, white sprinkles, and tiny fondant airplanes. He said they tasted like “future sky.”
I crouch down again.
The lighter flicks.
Flames bloom.
The mulch feels dry underneath my feet.
Red, then orange, then gold—dancing under the moon like something performing just for me. The heat reaches me even from a foot away.
For once, they feel worth my time.
I continue to back up one foot at a time, and the fire starts to spread. My hand covers my mouth, while the entire soil filled with flowers rises up in flames. The gentle breeze from before escalates into a harsh wind which drags the flame across the porch—powerfully.
Suddenly, the front door opens. And out comes Isla and Mrs. Dubois.
My heart drops in place. Is that really them?
"Audrey?" Mrs. Dubois asks, running down from her porch in a cat nightgown. "I just called the police. What are you doing here?" Mrs. Dubois asks.
"Seriously, Audrey? What have you done?" Isla asks, in her dog nightgown. She stands close behind her grandma, disappointment displaying on her face.
I wave my hands, motioning for them to lull down. "I know, I know. But…”
"No!" Isla retorts. "There is no explanation for this whatsoever."
The harsh lines of Mrs Dubois’s face erase and become more placid. "Audrey, if you hated the flowers, you could've just told me. This could be considered arson, or you could've gotten hurt," Mrs. Dubois kindly voices.
"I don't think that's what this is." Isla folds her arms. "Why did you really do this, Audrey? And tell the truth, if that’s even possible.”
My tongue rolls in my mouth, as I simmer with anger. "I read the letter, Isla. I read the letter you hid from me."
She unfolds her arms and looks at me, dumbstruck. "What is she talking about, dear?" Mrs. Dubois asks.
"Why don't you tell the truth?" The words drop out of me cold. "All the signs pointed to her. Every missing thing. It couldn’t be anyone else."
Mrs. Dubois' face turns pale. "What. Girls, this isn't funny."
"I thought you said you'd stop investigating me?" Isla says, her voice escalating. Her cheeks start to turn red and her pupils narrow into slits.
"Well, that would be really convenient for you, huh?" My fists clench. "I'm not stupid, I know the truth."
"Girls, let's chat later. Right now, we need to stay away from the fire." Mrs. Dubois guides us to the curb in front of the neighbor's house, across the street. A few people come out to see the commotion. However, amongst the crowd of people, Neil is the only one missing. He's gone. Vanished from the scene of a crime. Of course he ran. Of course he couldn’t watch this. I trusted him again. Why? Why did I do that?
The police and fire department arrive approximately five minutes later. When they do, the fire engulfs the entire Garden. Part of the porch catches on fire. The trim edge and one of the legs holding up the banister.
Two firemen race towards the house with a hose gripped tightly in both hands. The water sprays against the plants and the Garden, until shriveled-up leaves and dead flowers lie on ashes.
Police officers begin to roll out caution tape around the extinguished fire to control the crowd gathered at the scene.
It takes nearly one hour for the police to successfully control the crowd, the firefighters to investigate the inside of the house, and for the scene to appear as organized chaos.
Two police officers call for Mrs. Dubois, Isla, and me to follow them to an area with minimal chaos.
One of them begins to scratch on a notepad. "Alright," the shorter Officer, Officer Lory, says. "We're going to ask a few questions. Just basic ones."
Isla is a few inches away from me. I can hear her breathing, and the way her voice slices the night: "It was Audrey!" she blurts. "Audrey started the fire! I bet she even has something in her pocket, or—"
Officer Lory looks at Isla with a sharp stare, gesturing to her to stop talking. Then she looks at me, daggers in her eyes.
"I-I don't," I mumble.
"Ma'am, do you have anything in your pockets we should know about?" I shakily shake my head. "Please empty them now," Mrs. Lory retorts.
I uneasily reach down into my pockets. They're my tight jeans. One size smaller. They can't even fit my phone, only one thing.
My hand fiddles around my pocket, stalling for time. The police officer leans close, her blank expression staring into me. "Could you please empty your pockets, now?" She asks again. It doesn't sound like a question; it sounds like a command. I brush past a receipt and two small balls of lint and gently pull out the matchbox. I hold it up—fear in my eyes. "Was this in your possession during the fire?" Officer Lory asks.
I swallow hard. There's no point in lying; it'll only make things worse. "Yes. I lit it. I'm sorry," I say weakly.
"Why would you do something like this?" the taller Officer Blunders asks, pressing his pen into the notepad.
I freeze my brain before speaking. "Because Isla killed Alex. It's the truth. It is."
Officer Lory sighs. "Audrey, you've made that accusation before. Without evidence, it's slander. We're not here to tolerate that."
The two officers look at one another and simultaneously nod their heads. "Alright," She pulls a set of handcuffs from her belt, pressing them into my skin. The cold handcuffs feel like ice cubes pressing against my wrists. "You're under arrest for arson. You have the right to remain silent—"
I glance around the small parking lot. Trees, cars, and bikes—the usual. Even now, the leaves still dance when the wind blows. Every other corner has cold stares stabbing into me. Colder than the handcuffs, harder to wiggle away from. And maybe I deserve it. Maybe I deserve it all.
The blaring police lights make my head throb, but even they look almost pretty tonight—red, white, and blue flickering beneath the stars like some unique version of fireworks.
I walk toward the car as if I’m walking to the gallows. Shackles hold me like a prisoner, but the night air smells faintly like pine. I can almost pretend I’m anywhere else.
Then I sit in the police car, the cold leather pressing against my back, and I think—maybe they’re right. Maybe I am the witch who finally got what she deserves.
Neil’s gone. Alex is gone. Mrs. Dubois is disappointed. Isla stands there, hating me more than ever. And as the car door closes, I loathe myself the most. But outside, the lights still dance.

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Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-eight
The courtroom is cold, like my bedroom in winter with three fans blowing at once. It smells faintly of hand sanitizer and polished wood. Sunlight almost breaks through the blinds, painting the walls in pale gold.
The room is smaller than on TV—no grand rows of people waiting to judge me, just a few black chairs with bits of brown shining through. Somehow that feels worse.
I scratch my ankle, chains clinking together softly, almost like a rhythm. I get a few stares. Maybe for bad reasons. Or maybe they’re admiring the way the metal catches the light. Whatever it is, I just want this sentencing to move along.
But for a moment, I notice the way dust floats in the sun’s rays, like tiny pieces of glitter floating in the air. Somehow, in this awful room, that feels almost beautiful. Almost, not quite—don’t get excited.
But the sense of dread washes over me again and realization hits me. I'm on trial. God help me now.
Suddenly, the judge, Judge Matthews, clears his throat. "Ok, let's hear a few statements before sentencing."
Judge Matthews had already delivered his speech, and the rest of the legal process proceeded smoothly. Now, it's time for the worst part:
"I'd like to call the first witness,” the judge says. “Lindsey Dubois.”
Mrs Dubois walks up and sits down. Her hair is in a tight bun, pearls hanging around her neck, and a purple floral dress that’s too nice for court.
“I saw smoke,” She later admits. "Called Isla, 911, and then we raced outside. That's all I have to say." After every question, Mrs Dubois looks at me as if she's doing a favor. It's always a weak, safe, easy answer, and a smile as the cherry on top.
Randy comes next to give his statement, and it’s not as nice:
The clerk adjusts the mic, clicks a button, nods. “You may speak now.”
“Audrey was mindful of her actions and just as readily aware of the consequences. She’s not a good person,” Randy says. “Unremorseful and mean." He continues in this manner and answers every question to its fullest extent.
“I know her via Alex.”
The next answer is worse: “Of course she meant to, have you met her? She kills flies and spiders for pleasure,” He chuckles. “Creating that fire was her intent.”
A new question. Randy launches again: “Grief? Absolutely not. Frankly, it’s unfathomable how she keeps exploiting that as her justification.”
Most of what Randy says is about how much he hates me. The other bit? Not enough to land me in prison. At least I hope…
Next, Neil is called forward to speak on my character:
“Audrey? Oh yeah, I know her. But well?” His voice cracks in the slightest, sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t know her well. I wasn't even there that night. Maybe I was with her a few times out of sympathy. We were never friends, dating, or anything.”
My ears ring. The courtroom dissolves. He doesn’t even look at me when he says it.
Neil can’t be serious. The lying? Acting like an asshole? I thought we were over that.
Did he not know me when he kissed me, tender and softly? Did he not know me when he admitted that he loved me? Did he not know me then?
I should’ve known, from the moment I read those texts. Neil will never really tell the truth. He hurt me twice. That’s enough. I should've known. Audrey, why do you keep doing this?
Some of the neighbors are also called up to speak. They all say the same thing: Flames, chaos, we wanted to check. There wasn’t more to it.
Finally, the last person to speak is Isla.
“Please state your full legal name for the record.”
“Isla Dubois.”
She sits in the chair, adjusting the microphone a few times. Isla moves it back, taps on it, and slides it in a circle until it’s perfect. “Sorry,” She chuckles. “Um, Audrey? I think she's a good person.”
My eyebrows lift. Did she just say what I think she did?
Part of the courtroom audibly gasps.
“She talked to me that day of the fire,” Isla says, too quickly. “She cried. She admitted it. I—I don’t have proof. But I know it happened. Audrey knew she had made a mistake. And I get how grief works. I think she deserves compassion.”
Judge Matthews doesn’t look totally convinced by Isla's lie. He thanks her anyway.
Isla doesn’t fully respond to any of the judges' few questions. It constantly circles back to the same thing: her lie. It’s not like Neil’s lie or Mrs Dubois' lie, where they hide the truth for their own benefit. And it’s not like any other lie where she hides something bad.
“Ms. Elliot?” The judge asks after a few minutes pass.
“Yes?” I croak.
“You confessed, cooperated, and this court has considered the statements presented today. Regardless, fire is serious.” The judge shuffles a stack of papers. A page slips. He straightens it.
The room holds its breath for half a second. My ankle chain taps once against the floor.
“You will serve six months with an ankle monitor, two hundred hours of community service, and will pay restitution for damages to Mrs. Dubois' property. No jail time."
The gavel hits the sound block with a resounding thud. I jolt in my seat as the courtroom breaks into chatter.
I’m not sure where to go, where to move, or how to sit anymore. All I know is that a dizzying wave of relief flies over me.
Isla saved me back there. The same thing could've happened without her testimony, but a part of me can't stop grinning while thinking about her. She’s kind, even after everything. And I guess that helped me realize that this whole time she’s sorta always been a good friend. I almost feel kindness—or maybe guilt. I can’t tell yet.
Not that I’m turning into a Hallmark card or anything.

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Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-nine
It’s been a week since my sentencing hearing. I’ve picked up new hobbies—drawing, Sudoku, reading my fairytale book—but none of it feels real. I still wake up with a monitor on my ankle and a dead brother in my head.
At least I’m not in jail. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that.
I do have to worry about a few other things:
A fine of 1000 dollars. Apparently, some of those flowers were luxury, and a lot of them get shipped in from outside farms and flower shops over long distances. The banisters are also a fortune to fix; even though a few banisters were destroyed, I still had to give money.
There’s also community service—at least that’s after my probationary period.
I correspondingly have to worry about my probation officer's check-ins.
Ever since the trial, I have had a probation officer who gave me an ankle monitor and daily check-ins. It isn’t that bad. I have restrictions about where I can go, who I can visit, but court-ordered visits are allowed—apparently.
The door creeks open, the slightest. My head turns in the direction, and I notice my probation officer. He’s wearing slacks, a button-up, and loafers. A nice mix of professional and approachable. “Hey, Audrey,” he exclaims. I wave. “Been getting in trouble?”
A grin appears across my face. “No, Roger, I haven’t.”
I like that I can call him Roger, like we’re best friends.
It’s only because I’ve been good. I haven’t broken any rules or done anything bad. Roger's kindness is a way of saying Good job, Audrey. You’ve changed.
If I were doing bad, I wouldn’t be able to call Roger by his first name. I’d have to say, ‘sir’ or ‘Mr.’ Something superficial.
“Well, that’s incredible,” he says. “Speaking of incredible: I have other news for you.”
“I’m off probation?” My face lights up, grinning from ear to ear.
He shakes his head. “Nope.” My lips fold into a frown. “You’re getting a visitor, though.”
I furrow my brows. Visitor? What does that mean? “I thought you said no visitors.”
“Yeah, but you’re not getting in any trouble, so it’s fine.”
I force a weak laugh. “When am I going to meet this visitor?”
“Two weeks,” he says, walking out the door.
Great. Two weeks.
Two weeks.


* * *


Two weeks have passed. A week ago, I didn’t even know who it was.
However, a few days ago, I figured it out.
My probation officer called me and told me Isla wanted to see me. I didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, so I laughed. Said to him that she’s lying. She doesn’t want to see me.
Maybe she wants her perfume back. Whatever it may be, Isla can’t care less about me.
I said yes anyway.
Why? It’s not like I want to give her stuff back. Frankly, I have no idea where they are.
Seeing her may be beneficial. Maybe she’s changed. Maybe I can explain myself. And maybe, I can get the honest truth.
Additionally, my mom thinks it’s a good idea. She’s forgotten about the hospital incident and thinks seeing Isla is a punishment worth-while. My mom was confused about why they’d let me see her, since you know…I burned her flowers.
“Presumably protocol nonsense,” Alex says. “Technically, you didn’t harm anyone. Quite deplorable if you ask me.” Alex is on another nearby chair, while the fridge hums behind the wall—steady and low.
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Totally deplorable or whatever.”
He chuckles. “Honestly, do you even want Isla here?”
I shrug. “Not really. But I still said yes. Better than playing Sudoku.”
“I presumed you loved Sudoku.”
“Love is a stretch.”
I continue to sit at my small dining table, dark brown, with yellow table decor. My feet are propped up on one chair while I’m slouched on another. Alex is on another nearby chair, while we both scroll on our phones. The kitchen has a wall blocking it from the rest of the house, so it almost feels like I’m hidden from the rest of the world. Like maybe I'm the princess who matters most—protected from all the dangers of the world.
Thud. Footsteps come closer, entering the kitchen, as the door hits the wall with a thud. Alex quickly disappears as I straighten my back and my stomach flips; I drop my phone onto the table. My head doesn’t turn to know who’s coming. I thought I had more time before I had to see her. I could’ve had time to do my hair, makeup, and decorate my ankle monitor. Anything is better than how I am now. “Hey, Audrey," I hear a voice exclaim.
I wince, slowly turning around to face Isla. She walks towards me as if it’s normal. Like we’re friends who had a minor fight but quickly reconciled. Like, everything will be alright.
And that’s when my hands start shaking. Not with anger. Just…uncertainty.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel now that she’s in front of me. Angry? Happy? Jealous?

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Chapter 40

Chapter Forty
“Hey, Isla.” I cautiously wave, as if my dream just came to life. “You’re here already?”
“Court says five minutes,” my probation officer utters. “Don’t ask me why.” Isla and I nod, afraid to do anything else.
Isla sits on a chair across from me, shifting herself on the chair cushion. “I want to get this over with,” Isla says under her breath.
I furrow my brows, uncomfortably adjusting. “And what is that exactly?”
She lowers her head and lowly speaks. “Our chat.”
“What if I try to kill you?” I maliciously smile. “You wouldn’t want to chat if that was the case, huh?”
“Audrey…” A voice disappointedly rings out. Sorta like my mom does when she screams my full name. Typically, it is associated with staying out late, poor habits, or underperforming academically. “Not funny, Audrey,” Roger says.
I sheepishly grin. “It was a joke. You know that.” I hope that maybe joking can spark a sense of friendship. It doesn’t.
A nearby vent begins to hum as Alex slowly appears. “Friendship?” Alex asks. My eyes flick to him for a second, then back at Isla. “Is it because of court?” Another glance. God, Alex—stop stating the obvious. Of course it’s about court. Of course, it’s friendship. Of course, it’s weird.
“Like Pandora’s box,” he says. “A world of unforeseen consequences.” As his voice fades, the vent hum quiets, the allusion intoxicating my thoughts. He’s right. Friending Isla started as a plan to uncover the truth, but now? It’s warped into…friendship? No. Frenemy-ship. If that’s even a word.
Roger puts a finger in the air, like it stops the entire world. Like, his problems are the only things that matter. “Hold that thought.”
“What?” My eyebrows pull together. “I don’t—”
“No, no, no.” He pauses again, forcing his hands into fists, enraged by something. Clearly. “Ugh!” He screams. “Dispatch.” He puts the phone up to his ear. “I have to take this. I’ll be back in five-ish minutes. Please, don’t do anything I would disapprove of.”
He leaves the door cracked open behind him as I hear him pacing outside, voice low into the phone.
Which means Isla and I can have an uninterrupted conversation. I’m not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I’m also not quite sure if Roger can do that. I know he’s new. Is this considered illegal?
After the door slams and Roger is out of the room, I scoot my chair closer to Isla. It scrapes against the wood, etching the sound into my brain. “What are you really doing here?” I ask.
“I wanna talk about what happened.” She unfortunately chuckles. “I owe you that.”
I huff a laugh. “Truth?” Like poison in my mouth. It doesn’t belong. The thing I’ve been searching for, I’m finally here to receive?
“And any questions, because I’m sure you have a lot.”
I nod, my eyes wide like an Alien’s on a foreign planet. She’s right. I have questions. Too many.
Am I seriously being handed everything I’ve wanted on a silver platter? The truth. Questions answered. A chat I didn't ask for, but deserve?
Everything she stole from me boils up at once: “First—why did you defend me in court? You didn’t mention any of the mistakes I made. And you’re grandma, she—she didn’t either. I didn't deserve it. So why did you both do it? Why did—”
“Audrey—”
My mind keeps swirling and my mouth acts before my head. “When you cheated on Alex…it felt like I lost him. Not just as your boyfriend—as my brother.”
“Seriously? Audrey, it’s—”
“Then you stole his things, my life, and you proceeded to move on with it.” I clench my fists. “And look where I am now.” I point to the ankle monitor on my ankle, the apartment, which replaced a gorgeous three-story home, and to the quiet. Because my dad and Alex aren’t here to fill it.
“Audrey, calm down. First of all, you actually burned my flowers down, so that is not up for comparison.” Her shoulders slightly stiffen. “And you don’t even know what actually happened.”
“I read his letter.”
Her nostrils flare. “And I bet I know exactly what the letter said. Alex was hurt by the way you treated him. I saw the way you treated him. Worse than the way you treated me and anyone.” She scoffs. “It’s sorta ironic that you’ve been chasing a murderer this entire time, and never realized that you are the murderer. You killed Alex.” Her words land cold.
I speak unsteadily. “You still cheated on Alex.”
“Yeah, and maybe I regret that. Maybe that did something…nothing is as bad as you.”
“I just don’t understand. Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do it? You know why,” Isla says. “He was hard to be with. On a personal level, I had to help him, care for him, and always watch out for his feelings.” She looks at me with tender and sympathetic eyes. “Then there was Randy. He was so easy to be with. I didn’t ever have to worry.”
“What about the pin, pills, toxicology results, the ribbon, and so much more shit? If you really cheated on him, why did you have it all?” My voice cracks, the slightest.
“It was there right before Alex died. I don't know why I took it. I just did. I know it was wrong. I know. I put the pin in the car because Alex used to pretend the car was like a plane. I kept the pills on my desk because my room is where he felt the safest. My room is where we could fall asleep to any movie, and always be alone, safely. And the ribbon…” Her eyes glisten, holding back tears. “It was wrong of me. I was mad and I shouldn’t have done that in front of you. I’m sorry.”” Isla calmly interrupts my dissension towards madness. Her voice is smooth. “You know that I care about you, right?” My eyes bulge. “Shocker, I know. But…I do. I always have.”
I scoff. “You’ve always cared? Always? Is this a joke?”
“Since always. Ever since I first laid eyes on you, you reminded me of her.” Her? What is she talking about? Who is she talking about? Why?
My eyebrows furrow. “Remind you of her? Of who? And why? And when? Like since kindergarten, and what the—”
“My mom!” Isla blurts. “You remind me of my mom.”
I swallow something back. The air starts to feel heavy and thick—pressing on me like an unwanted thought. “Your mom?” Isla jerks her chin, agreeingly. “What about her? I thought she was—”
“Dead?” She screams like someone would, ‘boo’ or ‘surprise!’ “You can say it. People die.”
“Yeah, they do. But why do I remind you of your dead mother?”
She laughs like it’s at the tip of her tongue, and she rehearses it in the mirror. “The way that even if you were rude, you still had room for kindness.”
She shifts in her chair, letting her thoughts seep into me. “You worked hard on group projects and never made someone else do all the work. You’d let anyone sit next to you, even if you didn’t like them. I adore your passion. Your passion for homecoming queen, popularity, parties, and y’know…that stuff.”
The memories flood through my head. The real reason I was ever Audrey Elliot is the reason Isla loved me? The reason I'm similar to her mother? “She was confident? Kind even if it meant shit? And passionate about silly stuff?”
“You ignored me on road trips, yelled at me if I was in your way, and treated me differently than you did others.”
My expression mellows into a soft smile. “I guess, being around you so much, I felt comfortable enough to act that way.”
“And that’s exactly why you remind me of her.” She leans back in her seat. “So when you burned the flowers, I was the saddest. Because they were her favorite.”
I go silent for a second, not knowing what to say. Classic Audrey, speechless and dramatic.“I’m sorry, I didn't know that—”
“If you did, would that have changed things?”
I look around the room. My eyes land on a watch where it aimlessly ticks, mirroring the stillness in my heart. I look back at Isla. “Well—”
“You wanna know something. That I haven't told anyone?” My lips press together, wordlessly agreeing. “When I was little, I begged my parents to stop for ice cream. Just one stupid little stop. That’s the only reason we were on that road when the crash happened. If I’m bad, people die. If I hadn’t spoken up, if I hadn’t been so whiny or spoiled—” Her throat catches. “They’d still be alive.” She wipes her face. “Those flowers were like the last bit of her I had left. So when you burned the flowers, it was like you burned a piece of her, too.”
Look, Isla.” I hold her hands within mine. They're small and fragile, much like her heart. “That’s incredibly sad, and I’m sorry you went through that. And honestly, you shouldn’t blame yourself for it.”
Everytime I've thought of Isla's grief selfishly. It doesn't matter. But now? We're more similar than I realized. She didn't deserve it. And neither did I.
“Y’know…everything will be alright? That’s the last thing she told me before the crash.”
My heart stops and tears roll down my face like raindrops do on a window.
“Thank you, bye!” Roger exclaims as he enters the apartment again. “Ok, I’m sorry, leaving is unprofessional. I think I got it all figured out. And now I’m here! Unfortunately, you have to go, Isla—” Roger finally stops close enough between the two of us. He does a double-take, unsure how to react. Two teenage girls crying? Like an emotionally uninclined father stopping his daughter from crying. They have no idea what to do. “Oh, no…was leaving really that bad?”
Isla wipes her face. “No, it wasn’t.” She looks back at me. “He’s right, I should probably go. Bye, Audrey.” She stands up. I do the same as I pull her in for a prolonged hug.
As I hold Isla between my arms, I whisper in her ear. “Isla, I know you won’t believe this, but I’m sorry. I really am. And I don’t hate you, I never did. I guess I was just—ugh I dunno—jealous, and—” I continuously break down into tears. “I’m sorry.”
She slowly pushes me off. “And for once, I think I actually believe you.” She takes one step in the other direction and leaves without looking back.

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Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-one
The next few months go by slowly. I eat the same things every day, watch the same shows, and read the same stuff.
Halloween went by. Of course, I did nothing. I didn't even eat candy.
Thanksgiving went by. Of course, I didn't have a glorious dinner; I didn’t even eat anything that day.
Christmas and New Year's went by. I didn’t receive any gifts, and I didn’t attend any parties.
It’s weird to think that almost a year ago, Alex died. Strangely, not much else has happened except for the fact that I turned 18. And that marked the end of my probation period.
Ding-dong. The doorbell cuts through my thoughts. My heart stutters. The judge just ended my sentence yesterday, and someone is already interested in me?
My feet walk one after the other up to the door. Rick and my mother boisterously laugh in the kitchen. Rick moved in the second, and I started my sentencing. We wanted to move into his house, but the judge didn't let me leave, and Rick wanted to be with my mom. So he sold his house and moved here.
As for my mom? Surprisingly, she’s nice about it all. Weird, right? She told me that my response was because of my grief, and she forgave me.
I slightly prop the door open, peek through, and that’s when I see him:
“Neil?” I ask, opening the door wide.
“Hey, Auds…can we talk?” There’s that word again: Auds. Like a poison my brain likes.
Part of me wants to shut the door on him. Neil left me when I needed him most, twice. The first time was when I lost my brother. The second time was when I got arrested. Who's to say he won’t do it again? My nose scrunches up, and I look around the apartment hesitantly. “I know that I was a shitty person, but I need to explain why,” Neil clarifies.
I glance at my writing desk, usually solid, now it’s trembling with uncertainty with every drawer open. “Why?” I ask, lowly and hesitantly.
“It’ll be super quick.”
My hand wavers between shutting the door and opening it wider. I can almost hear my heart beat mixed with the suffocation of my thoughts.
“Please Audrey. Trust me one last time.” He puts his hands together giving the classic puppy-dog face—as if it convinces me into anything.
“It better be worth it,” I reply.
I open the door wider and gesture for him to enter. “Hey, Neil!” My mom exclaims as she and Rick continue to make their sandwiches. “How are you, dear?” I can hear the slight hesitation in her voice. Leaving Neil and I alone might just be the worst idea.
“I’m—”
“He’s not here for long; we just need to chat,” I interrupt, staring at Neil icily.
“Oh, ok, just have fun!” My mom says sweetly. I roll my eyes. Have fun? What does she think we’re going to do? Play Uno? Chess? Nearly six months later, and she’s still the same mom she’s always been. “I’ll just be right here.” She probably just doesn't know how to respond to her daughter and ex-boyfriend being together: alone.
We sit on the bed and close the door behind us. Neil looks at me and frowns. His hair is incredibly messy today, like a mop on his head. He has circles around his eyes like two black holes resting on his face. Neil’s hands are shaking; He looks sad. Part of me hates that. Another part of me gets it.
“So how have you been?” Neil derails my thoughts, his words sinking into me.
He has the nerve to ask me? Months later? “Neil, what do you want?” My voice is low and terse, as if a personality and voice were given to a rock.
“Well, I wanted to tell you the truth.”
“What’s the truth?” I fold my arms. “Why did you leave me when Alex died? Why did you leave me that night I burned the flowers? And why did you ever even come back to help me with my plan in the first place? None of it makes sense, and none of it adds up.”
“I know, I know. But that’s why I'm here." He shuffles himself on the bed. You see…that night I left you when you burned Isla’s flowers, I was scared the police would search my car and find something. The week Alex died, Isla found out and used it as leverage. If I even tried to go back, she was going to blackmail me.”
My heart drops to the floor. “Neil…that’s messed up.” Moments, memories, and thoughts blur through my head. “And what did she have on you?”
“I know and—”
“Why would she do that to you? Did you have something on her?”
“No, I—” he swallows hard. “No, I didn't, it’s just how it went.”
I grip the edge of my bed—slowly leaning forward. “Did you know about her cheating on Alex? Is that what you had?”
“Yeah, I did. But when you told me—”
“So you just pretended not to know? Is that what happened?"
“No!” he retorts. “Just let me finish.” Am I supposed to believe him here? “When you told me that day the things Isla had and what you thought she did, I thought it was something more. I think it wasn't a suicide. I think—”
He shuffles again, as he refuses eye contact. Then with a low voice he says, “—I think she might’ve actually killed him.”
I sit open-mouthed in front of him. “Wait, what are you talking about? What did she have on you?”
He glances away for a second, rubbing his palms on his jeans. Then he looks back at me. “Truth or dare.”
I laugh in disbelief. I know Neil's joking. “Are you kidding me?” I ask, like it’ll make sense. Maybe I should just say dare, mock him, and things will make more sense then. “I don’t think so. You did not come all this way just to play a game.” Who knows if this is a game or just the only way he knows how to speak.
“Just trust me,” he says. “Truth or—”
“Stop,” I say, but my voice cracks. “I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to carry it.”
He scoots closer to me, rubbing his hand on my leg. “You know that I would never try to do anything. I just wanted to tell you—” My body freezes before my brain does. That’s when I know—this is the moment I leave.
“Neil, you need to go—now!” I retort.
“I’m an alcoholic! Drug addict and—”
“Stop!” I scream, stopping him from continuing. I don’t care what Neil has to say. “I”m not joking, get—get—out!” I hesitantly scream.
He jumps up from the bed and races out the front door quicker than a cheetah. I’m just realizing that Neil’s the kind of person who looks perfect from far away. The closer you get, the more you realize he’s terrified you’ll notice the cracks. Why did I ever think he was safe?
My mom looks at me with a concerned face. “Did you have fun?” she asks as the door closes with a slam. “Nothing went wrong…right?”
My knuckles go white as I grip a nearby table from the edge. I can feel the veins in my temple pulsing with even the slightest thought of Neil. “Nothing much…Neil was just drinking; he made it suck.”
“Neil? Really?” She opens the fridge and places a bottle of wine on the table. “I did not expect that.”
I clench my jaw so tight it feels like my teeth almost crack. “Neither did I. Trust me, neither did I.”
“Everything will be alright, don’t worry,” Rick mutters, smiling like that fixes anything.
Everything will be alright wasn’t a promise—it was a plea.
None of us were alright. Not then. Not now. But we kept saying it, like if we repeated the lie enough times, maybe it would finally tell the truth.

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Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-two
Neil
Growing up in an Indian household, you're set up with these standards: be smart, get good grades, be kind, act respectfully, and above all—make your parents proud. You’re expected to be the perfect child before you’re even born. Which can feel really scary sometimes. Especially when your parents are first-generation immigrants.
Before my parents even knew they were coming to America, they worked tirelessly. My dad studied for months to get into IIT, one of the best colleges in the world. My mom worked years just to afford her plane ticket to the U.S. So they expect nothing less from their kids—smart, hardworking, and successful. The problem is, sometimes that “perfect” version of me feels impossible to live up to, under the weight of their high expectations.
When I was younger, I used to tell myself I was different from my brother. I’d slam my door, swear I’d never end up like him, then still show up to every stupid piano lesson. These days, I don’t even try to explain myself. I do whatever I want, and they just yell. It’s like a routine—they shout, I leave. No one listens, but at least it feels like something.
My brother didn’t fail in the way I did. He’s not even twenty-five and he already has six figures, a wife, and a kid on the way.
I’m eighteen. No girlfriend. Lost all my friends. Bad grades. And I’m not perfect.
My parents’ words even replay in my head: Crying over a girl? Where’s your discipline?
What happened to that friend, Joshua? The one whose parents said they’d give you an internship? How will we brag to Aravind uncle after this? So disappointing.
Neil, Laddu. What did we talk about, eating sweets all the time? You're going to gain weight. Be more like your brother. Eat healthy, go to the gym. Don’t disappoint us.
So I found a dealer. For the past two years, since junior year, I had been illegally buying adderall to help me with school and maybe even life, too. People don’t joke around when they tell you junior year sucks; it does.
I have nothing.
Maybe that’s what I’m okay with. Perhaps that’s what I want. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to be fucking perfect.
The night that Alex died, I learned more about myself than on most nights.
I was on the edge of Charlottesville beside Murray's bar, one of the most popular ones in all of Charlottesville.
Bright lights, loud sirens, and chatter fill the streets. It was certainly not for a 17-year-old and certainly not for an Indian kid like me.
I was drunk, yelling at strangers, hating myself the most. Isla and Randy found me and drove me somewhere safe. I barely remember.
I told them I was feeling the pressure. I started taking Adderall, drinking, trying to cope. Randy stayed with me. Isla ran out, came back, repeated the same thing—over and over. Then I blacked out.
I woke up the next day and discovered that Alex was missing. It was all over the news as if it were the most interesting thing in years.
I texted Isla because, for some reason, she was friendly with me ever since that blur of a night: Hey, checked the news recently?
Isla: Yeah…
Neil: Sorry for your loss.
Neil: I know you two were close.
Isla: Yeah, it’s hard.
Neil: What about Randy?
Neil: How’s he holding up?
Isla: It’s hard on both of us.
Isla: But I should go. Talk later.
That’s when something uncomfortable settled in. Not suspicion exactly—just a feeling I couldn’t shake. Was I overthinking the text? Or did they mean something? She was acting weird.
Even worse? The hallucinations. Visions. Flashes of scene after scene.
Isla and Randy screaming: Dead, dead, and dead.
Then the cops found the body: a suicide, they said. Was it? Did something else happen? Did the police really make the right decision? Dead? Dead? Dead?
I called Isla that day. Chat? I think that’s what I said.
“What happened that day?” That was the first question. It landed hard. “The day Alex died?”
She looked at me with her head hanging low—begging for me not to ask any more questions. “I wish I knew.” Safe answer.
“What happened the day you picked me up?” That landed equally as hard. “Why was it so close to Alex’s death? Is there something else that happened?”
“Neil, why are you pressing me with so many questions?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Just unanswered shit, I guess.”
Her torso strained forward like an investigator eager for answers. “Do you know more than you’re letting on?”
I swallowed hard. What else is there to know? “No, I promise," I calmly admitted.
“Then why all the questions? Be careful, Neil…don’t forget who dragged you off Adderall and alcohol, drunk, high, a total mess.” She maliciously chuckled. “So if you try anything and I mean anything, Alex’s death won’t be the only town buzz. I’m thinking of headlines: Neil Shah, honors student, golf athlete, popular, was just found illegally buying drugs and drinking.” She is evil.
And that night, vision two: Alex falling. But a hand was pushing him. Maybe I saw it, perhaps I didn't. Maybe it was nothing more than a vision.
So what did I do? I stayed close. Hangouts. Parties. Lunch. Stupid shit. I was there for every fucking thing.
Wherever Isla was, I was there.
Yet, I didn't find anything. Dead end after dead end.
More adderall, drinking, and late nights spent trying to find the truth, I fell apart. My friends all left. Even Isla.
That day, Audrey told me when my life was at its worst. The only reason I went up to her was because she was the only person I knew who could accept me. She was the only person lower than rock bottom, so I talked to her. Only to find out that I wasn’t the only one who suspected Isla. She started to say things that I’ve been too scared to say out loud.
Apparently, a week before Alex died, Isla cheated on him with Randy. One question answered, a million more to go.
“What if you’re overthinking it?” My brother asks as he continues to drive.
“What if I’m not? I told you every damn thing I know—I never saw what actually happened and I don’t actually know anything.”
“Maybe that’s best.” My brows crease. “What I mean is, I got you help. I didn't tell Papa or Mama because I know how they are.”
The tree’s branches twist into grimaces, pushing into the wind with stubbornness. “You didn’t deal with the same shit. How do you—”
“You think I didn't have to deal with that crap? You think it was easy for me?” I quiet down as Andrew’s voice gets louder. “Well, the truth is I had to deal with all of it. I was a loser in high school. People bullied me when bullying was…cool I guess. And people didn't get cancelled for bullying.” I chortle. “I didn't get a girlfriend until I got my PhD. And her parents hate me.”
I laugh again. “Seriously? How is that supposed to work?
“No idea. But to be frank, I like her, Vidya, a lot and want to make it work.”
I sigh. “See, this is you having your life together.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
The sky above rested into a grey and restless churn. It mimicked the thoughts swimming in my head. “No? What does that mean?”
“You wanna know something, Neil?” I bob my head. “Last week was the first movie I’d watched in years. During my master's, nothing. Bachelor's, nothing. High school, nothing. I had to start taking antidepressants because of the workload.”
I scoff. “C’mon, it’s impossible to work that much.”
“Yeah, it is. You're right. When I got to college, it was the first place I made friends. I started hanging out with them between study breaks. I felt bad for ditching them. But I didn't get any free time. I stopped eating, sleeping, and…” His voice cracks in the slightest. “That weekend, mom and dad came to Boston for the weekend, and I was in the hospital. Unhealthy, that’s what I was.”
My heart rate spikes. “Andrew, are you serious? Why didn't you say anything?”
“Embarrassment that was part of it. I always wanted to be a bit like you. Do whatever, be whatever, and never have a care.”
I puff a laugh. “I am kinda like that, huh?”
“Yup, and…we’re here.”
I smile, looking ahead at the tall building. It’s made up of red bricks, black shingle roofs, and bright green foliage.
I’ve never tried therapy before, but maybe it’ll let me be happier with myself. Because listening to Andrew, and after everything that’s happened, I feel like I’m almost there.
I don’t know if everything will be alright. But for the first time, I don’t feel like I have to pretend it already is.

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Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-three
Randy

I detest the idea of giving “half the truth.” Occasionally, my mother does it: Randy, for dinner we’re having chicken, she exclaimed the other day.
Of course, I excitedly cheer and yearn for dinner. Only to find out it’s a chicken stew. Packed with onions. I utterly despise onions.
I would rather her lie and say: I don’t know. Even if she does know, because then I’m ready for both the worst and best. Or tell the truth. That way, I could skip dinner and go out to Chipotle.
I only mention the idea of half-truth because of my NASA thesis prompt: evaluate the cultural history and subcultures within NASA. My internship ended last summer and NASA has faced much criticism for diversity and inclusion. I knew I couldn’t include that in an essay. So I had no choice but to half-truth it.
Before, that word had little significance in my life. It only ever became important because of Isla. She's used to giving half-truths. She's used to lying.
But why does she lie? Why do people lie?
People lie because psychologically lying gives advantages, such as social acceptance or rewards. It helps avoid negative consequences like punishment or shame, and protects others from harm or emotional distress.

Maybe that’s why I dislike half-truths so much. Not only do they ensure nothing bad happens, no consequences occur, they also trick you into hope before ripping it away. At least with a lie, you brace yourself. With half the truth, you’re left holding on to the best parts until they shatter in your hand, like the Challenger. Everyone anticipated that it would go smoothly; it ended in utter disaster.
The night Alex died was also a disaster. An unfortunate and surreal accident.
Alex and Isla were the first people who ever looked at me long enough to actually see me. They listened. Asked questions. They remembered things about me.
Unlike my parents.
Growing up, my parents barely noticed me unless I was in the way. Running a restaurant meant they were always yelling. I learned early that being invisible was safer than adding another problem to their day.
One week before Alex went missing, Isla and I were together.
It started off as a harmless movie marathon night. Moana, The Notebook, and Inception. Isla and I enjoyed the variety.
I’ve always been keen on Isla. From the moment I met her. Unwavering kindness, gifts on non-holidays, and the dog food commercials. I know I said I didn’t like her because of that, but I do. I had to lie.
Halfway through our fourth movie, I pulled Isla in close and started to kiss her. Lips pressed against lips. Hands interlocked. Love. “I think I love you,” I muttered as her lips tasted like sugar and salt—everything I wanted and everything I shouldn’t have touched.
Then Alex walked in. “Isla?” his voice dropped. She pushed me off, as if it were a mistake.
“Alex?” she shakily asked.
“Randy? Isla?” The second Alex’s voice cracked through the room—my stomach fell. His face looked like it already decided something in that instant, something I couldn’t undo.
Then, he walked out. No confrontation, investigation, or questions. Just fled.
Isla chased after him. As if he were the most critical being, she chased after him. She didn’t even look back at me. Not once. That told me everything.
“I’m sorry, Alex!” Isla blurted. “We didn't mean to! It was a mistake!” That word still haunts me in my sleep: mistake. Was it truly a mistake? Or was she just saying that, aware of Alex’s sensitivity?
Regardless, he still ran out, drove off, and never answered any of our texts.
Me: Alex, I’m genuinely worried about you
Me: Could we chat
I sent that the day after Alex stormed off. I wanted to text earlier but I know that if Isla and I could reflect on our mistakes, process, and comprehend the situation at hand., it would result in a more thorough, thoughtful, and sincere apology. Astronauts and scientists should’ve done that with the Challenger, so it didn’t blow up.
I texted again later that day:
Me: Alex, I’m truly remorseful. I am.
Me: I wasn’t inordinately thoughtful. I was purely a terrible friend.
Of course, no reply. I would be the same, after all, I was a wretched friend.
One week later, Isla and I were driving, trying to find the soundest way to appropriately apologize to Alex.
“We should make him something,” Isla suggested.
I pinched my nose—shaking my head at the terrible idea. “Absolutely not. That’s a hassle and would never work on someone like Alex,” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, but just think…Make him something sweet, buy something, or write a thoughtful letter; Alex would appreciate it.”
“Isla, no offense, but that’s something you’d enjoy, not Alex. He’s well…different.”
“Yeah, except—” Suddenly, I interrupted Isla mid-sentence and aggressively stopped. No one was around when a drunken boy staggered into the street.
“Isla, look,” I pointed at the boy. “It’s Neil.”
Her eyes widened. “We can’t leave him like this. We should take him.”
My eyes grew large. “Take him? Are you mad?”
“He looks too drunk to even understand us, trust me. And we can’t let him wander about; he might get hurt.”
“Fine,” I retorted. “Let him in.” I don’t know why I was so furious; maybe the Alex situation had me too incensed.
Isla stepped out while I kept the car running. She guided Neil to the back of the vehicle, and he drunkenly sat down. We talked for a little bit: Isla and I. Neil occasionally joined in, and we periodically asked questions; he was too drunk to answer accurately. However, we found out he was not only drunk but also high on adderall.
Suddenly, amidst the chaos, Isla screamed at me to stop:
“Is that Alex?” She asked, her voice hesitating.
I stopped the car because she was right. It was him. What was Alex doing at the edge of the bridge at night? “You’re right. Maybe I should—”
“No!” Isla exclaimed. “Let me get him.”
A heaviness settles into my muscles—as if trying to think whilst hanging upside down. “You sure? I think I should at least?”
“No!” She exclaimed again. “Go park in that structure over there, and I’ll get him.” She pointed to a nearby parking garage.
Every other noise except Isla’s voice muffled as if the world was speaking in hushed tones. “Have you gone insane?” I yelled. “I can't leave you, not this late.”
“You can’t stay here anyway, and we’re wasting time. What if something is going on with Alex?”
A stubborn wind pushes against the window. I ignore it and trace the shape of Isla’s name in my head. “Fine, but I’ll circle back in a few minutes.”
“Good,” she said, jumping out of the car as I navigated toward the nearby parking structure.
Curiosity tugged at me—I needed to know what had transpired between them. What if I didn’t like what I discovered?
Isla’s words echoed relentlessly in my mind: It was a mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Everything was just a mistake.
I sat anxiously with Neil, the silence between us stretching uncomfortably. He spoke occasionally about Audrey or his family, but I was too on edge to engage fully.
Then, amidst Neil’s scattered conversation, I heard a faint knocking at my door. I looked up and there she was: Isla. Twenty minutes late.
I checked the dashboard clock twice. Twenty minutes is too long to just talk.
“Isla, is that you?” I asked, but a question loomed in my mind—where was Alex? Shouldn't he be with her?
I hesitantly pointed to the other side of the car and gestured for her to sit there.
Her eyes were red. Not from crying—at least not the kind that comes from grief. More like the kind that comes from fear.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
She uneasily nodded and looked at Neil. “You think he’ll remember?”
I shook my head. “He won’t remember anything.”
She started speaking the words, barely coming out, “He jumped. I didn't even have time to say anything. He just jumped.”
When she said he jumped, her words floated in the air, thin and flimsy, like they could be bent into whatever truth she wanted them to be.
“Why were you out there for twenty minutes?” I asked, my voice tinged with concern.
She hesitates. “I was crying.” Isla patted her eyes. “It was hard to see.”
I frowned skeptically. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth? I brushed away the doubt and melted into a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Isla.” I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug.
She pushed me off like some virus. “Can we go now? I don't think I can be here right now.”
I locked eyes with her for a moment, half-convinced she was joking. “How can we leave now? We have to tell the police. We need to call someone.”
“I already did.” She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears, her expression serious. “I think I need to leave. Please, can we go?”
I shake my head. “The police will ask us questions, don’t we—”
“No!” She retorted again. “Please, I need to leave. For me, I need to.”
I wanted to argue again, but the same words echoed in my head. Mistake, mistake, mistake. She could've asked me to kill a rabbit, and I would've just to prove that I was never the mistake.
The day arrived, I felt a weird pit in my stomach, but ultimately believed Isla's lie. I believed that he jumped off that bridge.
One week later, Mrs. Elliot called me, her voice trembled as she said, “Alex is dead. I’m so sorry.” I believed it, just like that.
I even remember how much their voices broke at that moment. I remember how much I could hear them die a little when they spoke.
I figured they must have been so overwhelmed with everything that a week was the soonest they could manage to reach out. I was caught up in my NASA internship and work, too consumed to consider that anything else could be happening. I didn’t search his name. I didn’t read articles. Every headline felt like a bruise I refused to press. After all, my best friend was gone. I was in mourning, grieving with no room for anything beyond the need for life to move forward and for my nights to be filled with tears.
Until, Audrey saw me that day at the grocery store and tried to explain what had happened. Then, again at the mall, she brought it up. After that, I couldn’t shake the feeling—it gnawed at me, urging me to investigate for weeks on end. But I found nothing.
I felt a heavy weight of regret for lying to Isla, especially during that 'Thanksgiving' dinner. It felt like that moment when you take the last cookie or accidentally break your mother’s favorite vase—those pangs of guilt returned to haunt me. It was truly the worst.
So, I found myself explaining everything.
Isla believed me, and was more angry toward Audrey. I noticed that spark of trust in her eyes. She was so sweet, and in that moment, I realized: Isla couldn’t have done anything wrong. Maybe I was overreacting. I had my hunches from time to time, but I decided to let it go. I was busy with my job at the grocery store and my internship at NASA—everything else felt trivial in comparison.
A whiplash brings me back to the present:
“Perhaps you’re overthinking everything,” a fellow NASA intern comments.
I’ve gotten close with a few of the NASA interns, so I often share my problems with them rather than internalizing them. And although our NASA internship ended, we still frequently hang out, creating robots. “Perhaps I’m not, Annie.” Annie is one of my best friends. She’s short, Asian, but much smarter than she looks.
“Randy…You could just be anxious. You’ve talked about Isla too many times and from what I can tell she's harmless.”
“I’m not sure, Annie. I’ve just had the notion a few times…”
“Oh no.” She says, stopping halfway through cutting a wire to look at me. “What was that notion? Are you going to tell me Isla is an Alien now?”
I ignore Annie’s sarcastic comment, my mind still racing with ideas. “What if Isla pushed Alex—”
“Randy…” She warns.
“Let me finish.” She motions for me to resume. “What if Isla pushed Alex because she wanted to be with me, but knew that if Alex and I existed at the same time, that would be unattainable? She knew that she couldn't kill me, ever. So she killed Alex. It made her life easier, certainly, and I guess she was so anxious and frantic for an easier way out of the situation, so she picked the ‘most promising’ alternative at the time. It makes immaculate sense.”
She tucks her arms and eyes me up and down. “Seriously? That’s your notion.”
“I mean, c’mon, Annie, it makes sense.”
“Well why didn’t you ever check in with Neil?”
“I was going to. But Isla told me…” I open my mouth to try and defend her, but nothing comes out.
She faces the robot again, screwdriver in hand, tightening another screw by the motherboard. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. But what doesn’t add up are the articles.”
My heart skips a beat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
“The news articles and papers. There were a few; it was part of my health final.”
“Health? I’m so confused.”
“I know a senior taking health is lame, but I wanted to research suicide. Alex’s articles were the first I found. There were other articles and news posts, but his case fascinated me the most.”
My mind starts racing faster, piecing together the fragments of information I have. “Wait, hold on. News? Articles? I’m still so confused.”
“You must have noticed them, right?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Well, a day after Alex went missing, they—”
“Missing?” I interrupt. “He never went missing. He died.”
She places her screwdriver in her toolbox. “Randy, do you live under a rock? How could you not know?”
“I guess I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a moment to glance online. People knew I was close to him, so they were probably afraid to bring it up. And honestly, when your best friend passes away, scrolling online feels like a futile exercise.”
“Yeah, well, there are articles. News posts. Social media updates—everything. Alex was missing.”
My head begins to swirl. Alex went missing? When? How?
Isla never contacted the police.
Isla never cried for twenty minutes.
She lied.
“How outlandish…” Annie eats her thoughts. “Appears like she did kill him.”
Maybe she did…

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Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-four
Isla

When I replay my visit with Audrey from a few months ago, I only think of one thing: I was too soft, too kind, like a sugar cookie saturated with cake flour.
It’s not surprising because that’s how most conversations are for me.
Anytime my grandma had her friends over, they praised me. I wish my kids were like you. You’re so kind, Isla. We need more people like you in the world.
My friends were the same. My friends used to call me an angel. You’re too good for this world, Isla, you’re too perfect.
I mean, I make my bed every day, eat breakfast every morning, and get straight A’s at school—that doesn’t make me perfect. In fact, I’m the opposite of ideal.
I let Audrey control me, Randy, Neil, and even my other friends. I let them use my kindness and sweetness to their advantage. I killed my parents for some dumb ice cream. And killed Alex because I thought it was best.
And these haunting reminders are nudging me back to that night.
The night that Alex died was a week after I broke up with him.
Before it happened, he caught me cheating on him with Randy. I didn't know how to deal with it, so I told him the truth. I said I’d been cheating for a while. I added that it didn’t mean anything, which was a lie. I just wanted to avoid making it worse. But, as you can guess, it only escalated. Alex left, tears streaming down his face. It was a reasonable reaction for him—he was, well, different.
I felt so bad. I mean, I still feel bad.
The next day at school, Alex acted like he didn't know me. He acted like I broke his heart and ended things. I mean, it was all true. It wasn’t the right reason, but it was true.
Although it was hard to deal with, I tried to stay nice. I kept saying thank you to the waiters even though I wasn’t thankful for anything in life. I kept hugging my grandma every morning when I woke up, even though I was exhausted. And I always smiled at everyone I walked past, even if I didn’t know who I was smiling at. I always thought, maybe if I stayed pleasant enough, maybe nothing bad would happen again.
My mom would have loved me if she were still around. Grandma always tells me how amazing she was—sweet, polished, and perfect.
After she died, being good felt like the only way to keep people from leaving too.
But trying to be nice didn’t matter, because a week later, everything spiraled. That night, Randy and I drove around, brainstorming ways to get Alex to forgive us.
Driving was supposed to help—but I soon realized how wrong that thought was.
Not only did we find a drunk, high, and slurring Neil, but we also found Alex.
I told Randy to leave, and I went to talk to Alex:
“Isla? Is that you?” Alex asked, as if he were looking at a ghost.
My lashes gently fluttered as my eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes, it’s me,” I replied.
Alex’s face turned red, and his breathing looked unsteady. “This is your fault.” He pointed a stiff finger at me, and his eyes looked cold—straight into my soul.
I stiffly smiled. My face did what it always did when someone was angry—softened, apologized, begged. “Alex, you're so sweet and perfect.” I smiled softly. “Please don’t tell me you were going to—”
His face turned crimson, and his breathing grew erratic. “This is your fault,” he accused—eyes piercing right through to my soul.
My smile faded away. “I didn’t mean to, Alex. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “You still did it.”
I ignored his words. I didn’t care if he was mad at me; I didn't want to lose him. Because then I’d never be able to explain. “Please, Alex. Don’t do this.” I said. “Here,” I placed my hand out for Alex to reach it. He shook his head. “C’mon, Alex, please.” I paused and attempted to find the words. “I love you.” I’d watched his face soften every time someone chose him—anyone. He always felt better and happier when he felt needed or loved.
Alex’s face froze, and his cheeks turned red. “Really?” He asked. “You mean that?” I nodded my head. Of course, I didn't mean it. However, I was willing to say anything to save Alex.
And it worked.
I felt Alex’s soft hand grab mine.
A small smile escaped from my mouth. There was a glimmer of hope. And it felt like a rush. Maybe I saved Alex. Everything may be alright.
“I apologize…I didn’t want to jump and exacerbate things,” Alex said, with a smile. “I was simply hurt. More by Audrey than you…”
I smiled back. “I know you weren't gonna jump. You’re too good for that.”
At that moment—I don’t know if my hands were too sweaty or if I was too weak. My grip slipped.
Alex fell—his arms flailing and a face of desperation.
I tried to reach my hand out to save him and grab him; it wasn’t enough.
He still fell. He still died. And it was all my fault. It didn’t matter how nice I was. It didn't matter how kind I was because I killed him. I killed Alexander Elliot.
On the floor next to the crime, there was a black bag. A black, man-bag. I glanced around the street and took it. When the police would eventually find him, they’d steal the bag and all of Alex’s things as well.
I rummaged through it for a second. Alex's phone and watch were in it, along with a few other things and a letter. I took his phone and watch and chucked them in the water. I didn’t think about what I was doing. Thinking felt dangerous.
Then, I wiped my face, my eyes, composed myself, and ran to Randy’s car.
It’s not that his car was far—it was the crying. I never lied about that part. I did cry. For a while, too. Because I killed him. I cheated on him, and I’m the reason he lay in that water, dead. His scream still haunts me at night—his face, his desperation, his beautiful blue eyes.
The hours after that blur together. I remember sitting in silence, the sound of my heartbeat louder than the world. I kept thinking maybe if I stayed quiet long enough, it would all go away—it didn’t.
It didn’t take long for the panic to set in.
The day after, things took a turn for the worse when Neil called. He remembered pieces. Some made-up stuff, some real stuff, so I threatened him. And it worked. People will do anything to protect their image. I didn’t mean to threaten him. It just came out. My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. I was a monster.
Later, when Neil’s friends abandoned him, I followed too. It was easy. Too easy.
Then I had to convince Randy it wasn’t what he thought. I made sure he didn’t find out about the news articles, the missing reports, any of it. He was too caught up in his NASA nerdiness, his stupid job, and grief. He never saw the signs. He just assumed Alex was dead because of my story.
A week after the body was found, the family called. Randy thought they were processing the news, but they were calling because it felt fresh to them. He believed me and believed them because he needed to. People believe what they want when they’re hurting.
The past slowly starts to fade away. The memories still haunt me, but the present begins to take shape:
“I don’t even know if I can ever forgive you for this,” Audrey says sitting in front of me.
It’s been a few months since the chaos calmed down and I’m finally reaching out to Audrey. Neil and Randy have both been ghosted. But Audrey? I owed it to her to tell the truth. The real truth.
“I know…and you don’t have to right now. I just need you to hear the truth,” I reply.
“Truth or lies, I don’t know anymore.”
I place a hand on her shoulder—a glimmer in my eyes. “Then we take it one step at a time.”
Because then everything will be alright.
Not just for me but for her.
For Audrey.

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