The waiter came by our table and dropped off our drinks. Dakota thanked him and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

"So, they think you did it?" she said after a few moments. It had been a few hours after coaxing from my mother and my father's own interrogation that they finally let me go. My mom suggested that I go up in my room and think, but I persuaded her that Dakota was the only one who would be able to make me feel better. (Not that my parents weren't great at consoling me when I was down, but I just had to spill the beans to Dakota.)

"Yes," I answered. "And keep your voice down. There are people in here."

"So let's go home," she suggested. My eyes darted behind her. A boy was sipping his coffee. When his eyes met mine, I turned away.

"No...not now. I don't think I can handle an interview with your parents and my mom overbearing me at the moment," I admitted. Whenever I entered Dakota's house, there was always a--at least--ten minute question-session regarding on how I was, what we were doing, have I been making any bad life choices, etc.

Dakota nodded sagely. "Yeah, I get it. I feel that way a lot too." Her phone buzzed and nearly fell off of the small table. The place we were in was nice and quaint--a small family-owned coffee house that was victim to hipsters and businessmen alike.

"You gonna answer that?" I asked. Dakota shook her head and pushed her blue-dyed locks out of her eyes.

"No, this is more important," she replied, ultimately turning her phone off, making me grateful yet again for my best friend. "It's just Amy."

"Girlfriend troubles?" I inquired.

Dakota sighed. "Yeah," she replied, "but this is like, a million times more important than me not texting Amy; anyway, what are we going to do about this?" Again, Dakota saying "we" instead of "you". I didn't deserve her kindness after all these years, but was forever beholden to her.

I leaned forward and explained in a whisper. "My lawyer said to meet him tomorrow at seven at some address. I guess it's his office or whatever. We're gonna make a 'game plan'."

"Game plan?" Dakota inquired.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too," I groaned, leaning back and taking a sip of my coffee. "I have no idea what he's planning." My hands began to shake and I had to set the cup down. "I'm scared, Dakota." Dakota smiled sadly and clutched onto my hands. Her hands were balmy and a tad shaky too, but she held onto me for my sake.

"They don't have anything against you, Avery," she assured. "There's no murder weapon, or witnesses, or any motive. You're okay."

"How do I know that?" I asked. "The cops probably just didn't tell me everything. All I know is that he got shot and wrote my name down."

"Maybe he wrote it down...because...because, I don't know. Maybe he was in love with you?"

I almost laughed. "I never even talked to him before."

Dakota sighed. "The heart works in mysterious ways, young Padawan." I grinned, thinking back to us binge-watching all of the Star Wars movies before The Force Awakens premiered.

"I'm...I'm not scared that they think I did it," I admitted. "I'm scared because that poor kid thought of me before he died. He didn't think of his parents or his friends or himself...he just thought of me."

"Who knows, maybe you're long-lost relatives," Dakota suggested. I shook my head. Dakota nodded and signaled the waiter for the check. "Let's get out of here," she offered, "and go visit Liam." I grinned at the thought of seeing my boyfriend. Dakota signed the bill--even after I persisted that I would pay since I dragged her out there--and took my hand and led me out of the little coffee shop. The boy from before stared at us exiting, causing me to shudder. I saw Dakota turn her phone on and text Liam: Avery is sad, and then I couldn't read the rest.

Liam lived in a cottage-like house at the very edge of the town. We lived in a suburb within Philadelphia called Eldbourne, and Liam's quaint little house was on the very edge of our town's border. His house was out of the way but still one of my favorite places to go. There was a woods right behind his backyard and a creek ran through the multitudes of trees and flora. He took me on a picnic out there on our first date two years ago.

Dakota was about to knock on the door when it flew open. Liam wrapped his arms around me and hugged me. It wasn't until we were out on his back porch that I allowed myself to sob into his jacket. His blue eyes looked lugubrious as he gazed down on me and stroked my hair. Dakota went inside and got me a blanket and some water.

We were reclining on a red-cushioned bench, watching the trees sway back and forth with the breeze. "So Carson didn't kill himself?" Liam said after a while, straightening his unkempt brown hair. I wished my hair was straight like Dakota's or even just a tad calmer like Liam's, but instead it was this black, fuzzy mess ("You're hair is amazing, shut up," Dakota constantly told me).

"Apparently not," Dakota said, still shaking.

"So, what happens next?"

"You don't think I did it?" I inquired softly.

Liam stared at me. "Of course you didn't do it, Avery. Why would you even ask me that?"

"It's just...I don't know," I replied. "This isn't even like I was his best friend or girlfriend. I didn't know him, so I don't even know who could've done it."

"Maybe we should do our own investigation," Liam suggested.

"Let's let the cops handle it," Dakota replied. "I'm not gonna get Avery in any more trouble than she needs to be."

I'm already in enough trouble, I solemnly thought, but not as much trouble as Carson was.

Dakota drove me home when we finally departed Liam's. She hugged me tightly before I closed the door to her car and exited. She rolled down the window. "Hey, Avery?" she called out before backing out of the driveway. She had told me earlier that should would drive my car home from the coffee shop and then walk down several blocks to her house. I, again, opposed the idea, but she assured me everything was okay.

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna get through this," she promised, "and I'll help you out wherever you need it. Okay?"

I smiled broadly but crestfallen all at once. What can we do to stop the police coming after me? What if poor Carson never gets his killer caught? "Thanks," I said instead. "I'll see you on Monday." She repeated the farewell, waved a pale arm--that seemed to only get more wan due to her nervousness--and drove away.

I had finally regained my composure when I walked into the house. "Mom? Dad? I'm--"

I was interjected when the wind was knocked out of me at the sight that I saw. Mr. and Mrs. Harris were sitting across from my parents in the living room. Mr. Harris's eyes were bloodshot as he wiped tears from his face, while Mrs. Harris seemed like all the life had gotten sucked out of her. It seemed as though if I went over to console she would crumble away and get carried away by a short gust of wind. "Oh, Avery," Mom softly said. She clutched her tan arm onto my father's dark, shaking one. She got her blonde hair from Grandma--who didn't talk to her until right before her funeral because Mom married a black man--which I was desperately jealous of. Mom was beautiful and Dad was forever stoic. In that moment, however, they looked like an absolute mess, but not as utterly destroyed as the Harris family. "Audrey and Michael here came over to give you something."

"W-what?" I asked Mom instead of the Harris family.

"C...Carson left this for you," Mr. Harris said. He reached over the couch and picked up a cardboard box. On the top the name Avery Carter. I couldn't seem to will my feet to move towards the mourning parents.

"I'm...I'm really sorry," I stammered out. I couldn't think of what else to say.

My mother came to my rescue. "Avery, honey, why don't you take the box into your room and come back down later?" Nobody else said any opposition to the idea. My mom picked up the box when she realized that I was paralyzed on the spot. She walked it over to me, leaned in to kiss my cheek and whispered, "I didn't tell them about earlier." I gratefully nodded and took the box from her, nodded to my dad, and rushed upstairs.

I clutched onto the box like it was the Holy Grail as I collapsed onto my bed. I didn't know Carson, I didn't know Carson, I didn't--

"Oh my god," I said to no one in particular other than to make sure that I was awake and that this was real. I dropped the lid of the box to the side and scooted away from the box. I had pushed away several odd objects to reach the object of my dismay--a dilapidated teddy bear, a necklace with a peace-sign charm, a little harmonica, and a disposable camera with no film. In my hands I clutched several pictures of myself. Me walking down the street, me opening the door of my house, me driving down the road.

And underneath all of the clutter was a note that said: I killed Carson Harris. Stay out of my way or you'll get hurt too. There was a bloody bullet stuck to the note, dried blood tearing the paper apart.

I didn't think about how Carson's parents came to have the box, or who the killer was, or how they got the bloody bullet out of Carson's body.

All I could think of was that the killer knew who I was.

And they were going to kill me if I tried to find out the truth.