My hands grip my red plastic lunch tray; surveying the room for any signs of Midnight, Fox or Eilon.

"Hey, Kit why don't you come sit with us?" her voice echoes through the whole school cafeteria. I'd know that voice anywhere. Blonde hair flicked over her shoulder. Fake grin with sharp teeth looking like a wolf ready to attack. I grip the sides of the tray tighter, my knuckles white.

"Come on Kitty-Cat, we're your friends," Lila flashes a grin, her voice sinister. Feeling weak and succumbing to peer pressure, I take a step in her direction.

"What have we even done?" Bonnie asks, her eyes and thumbs still glued to her phone screen.

"You've been so ghosting us lately," Bella whines, biting her lip.

"This is wasn't Aster would have wanted," Rosie pipes up, "You hanging out with those weirdos."

"Well, Fox isn't a weirdo," Amanda giggles. She was always the giggly one.

"Not a chance," Lila chuckles, "He totally isn't into you, Kitty."

I lick  my lips; nervous. I take a breath and stand my ground. "So? I don't care. He's just a friend. He'll never love you, Lila, only a saint would be capable of that. Besides, I'm over your toxic cult. I've found real friends for a change. And sure, they don't fit the cookie-cutter, but at least they care."

I turn, leaving Lila with her mouth hanging open, finding Eilon at his usual table, alone.

"That was cool," he says," fidgeting with his glasses, "you know you're not quite as bad as I first thought, Catherine."

"Bad? What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"I mean, you know, cool girl who think she's above everyone else," he says casually.

I sigh. "I get I sucked. But I'm learning. And hey, at least I'm not quite as bad as you thought."

I had always seen Eilon as a weird nerd. Too smart and strange for his own good. But now that I was getting to know him, he was smart, funny and kind. Why was I so obnoxious before? Why was I like Lila and oblivious to the world around me. At least I was waking up from that coma now. Was Aster like that? Is that why someone killed her?

Shivers run up my spine and I shake the feeling off. If this was serial could I be next? If Dad was the first victim and Aster the second; I was the missing link tying them together.

***

I trudge up the stairs of the silent house. Sam's in his room ignoring me. Ever since Dad died he seems to have forgotten I exist, instead locking himself in his room. Typical teenage boy, I guess, but Sam was never like that.

I plonk down on my bed and take out "Lucy's Demise". I Aster did plan this, than I should find out what happens. I'm absorbed in the book. Lucy's kidnapping and eventual murder.

But Aster couldn't have planned a kidnapping, could have she?  Her own kidnapping and murder? It was ridiculous. A lump rose in my throat in sudden realisation. I hoped this wasn't a prank. Aster was a master of pranks. It started in the first grade, when I was having a sleepover at her house and she placed cling wrap over the toilet. That one didn't work, it was far too obvious, but she never gave up trying. 

In second grade, she put soy sauce in my coke. It resulted in me spitting the concoction in her face. In third grade, she bought us doughnuts, but covered mine in baby powder. I ended up choking and stealing the key to her diary. In fourth grade she drew a spider on the toilet paper. I screamed so loud I woke up Elsie who was only three and was sleeping at the time. Fifth grade brought her fooling me into eating a caramel-dipped onion in disguise as an apple.  In sixth grade she jumped out from behind a wall dressed as a clown and scared the living daylights out of me. Seventh grade and toothpaste was switched for shaving cream. On and on every year. I was always the butt of the joke. I guess that's what made us best friends April Fool's Day was her favorite. She skipped it this year, though, said she had to focus on school work, with all the exams coming up. Naturally, I believed her. This year had been busy. But what if that was a lie? What if she was really planning something big. Like this.

If this was a prank, she had taken it way too far.  She needed to come home. This wasn't Tom Sawyer, when they attended their own funerals. This was real life.

I hear a key turn in the lock downstairs. Mom's home. "Guess Jonathan's over his mid-life crisis!" she calls up the stairs. "He sent a postcard." I can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs.

She swings my door open. "Kit? You okay?" she asks, sitting down on the bed beside me. I curl into her arms. "Dad. Aster. Everyone around me's going. What if I'm next?"

She strokes my hair, tucking it behind my ears like she used to when I was younger. "I know it's hard. It's hard for all of us. And no-one your age should have to go through all that. But it's okay, no-one's going to kill you, Catherine!" she laughs, "You should be careful, but you'll be fine."

I feel her warmth and softness; she's suffered a lot lately too. She had to watch Dad take his last breaths. She's never talked about it, but I know she's hurting. She's empty and hollow inside, like all of her got scooped out. Dad got scooped out and now she's just an empty shell.

She gets up, "I'm going to go and make dinner," she leaves the room, but throws something at me. I turn it over. A postcard with a warm, weathered photo of a Hawaiian beach with dated red and yellow scrawled writing with a white shadow.

I flip the postcard over, scanning over the message. I freeze, thrilled at the idea of clarity about Dad's death.