I was awake. Later that Saturday, when the sun had risen into the morning and Mom called us to have breakfast, I was still awake. I wondered if she and Dad had stayed up, too, talking about my juvenile delinquency or my bad dreams, whichever seemed a more pressing issue. I also wondered if Ronan was aware that he now had all the Wi-Fi privileges because I really had been kicked out. Quite a few things had crossed my mind while I was trying to forget my nightmares, trying to fall asleep.

First, I thought of when I was younger, a six- or seven-year-old with an energetic heart that would not be put to rest. Dad had to sit with me until I fell asleep, when Mom was too tired from cooking and cleaning, and gardening, and looking after my baby brother and me during the day. Usually, he would read me bedtime stories about princesses, but sometimes, sometimes he sang me to sleep with old songs from his youth. He didn't know any lullabies.

O-O-H child, things are gonna get easier.

I tried singing one to myself that night, but it wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't.

The next significant thing to walk the planes of my thoughts was Justin, which seemed like a bad idea considering, but this was a specific significant thing. It was our first date.

We were going to go to the movies because it was half-price Tuesday, and he had the car that evening, even though he was technically only a learner driver at the time. I made the mistake of letting my mom do my make-up, so I looked even more like a doll than I did at the Valentine's ball four days prior, but Justin, he looked so cool, like he had found his outfit in a fashion magazine. Heck, he still looked like that; so cool yet so warm.

I remembered how the line at the cinema was so long that by the time we had reached the front of it, it was 8:20 and the movie had already started. So, Justin had this idea of ordering popcorn and Slushies and sitting on the hood of his car, watching the infinite night sky, and sometimes each other. When it got too quiet, he told me a joke or talk passionately about rugby and how he was hoping to get a scholarship. And when it got too cold, he threw his jacket over my shoulders, held me in his arms and fed me popcorn and Whispers. There was hardly anything for us to talk about; we were strangers beneath the quarter of a moon, but talking seemed so irrelevant back then. Before we knew it, 11p.m. was sending us home.

At some point, I chose to get up out of bed. After breakfast - the cacophony of spoons clinking against porcelain cereal bowls - I was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, thinking about Justin. When the dishes were done, I called him, because not hearing from him was driving me insane. And then I was redirected to his voicemail - the first, second and third time.

Justin here, you've reached my cell, but I just can't talk right now. But don't worry, I'll get right back to you when I can. You know what to do after the - beep.

"Huh," I mumbled to myself like I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. He probably got grounded, too, or he's still sleeping. At least, that's what went through my head before I got dressed, stuffed some things - verbena, wolfsbane, pepper-spray - into my bag and arrived at the front door. I was making a big deal out of it.

Half outside, I informed my parents, who were currently invested in the food channel, that I was going out.

"Before six," my dad saw fit to remind me.

"I know, I know," I said dutifully as I closed the door. I did my best to appreciate that I was still allowed outside; it was one of those rare Raven Hills days when the sun wasn't bent on baking you like a potato and you could actually embrace the sunshine.

I took to the pavement expeditiously and then dialed Lou's number. Thankfully, she answered.

"Hey, Leslie," she said, though her voice sounded far away, "what's up?"

When I listened in, I heard, unmistakably, the sound of splashing water. "Are you taking a shower?"

"Giving Gazzy a bath," she elaborated. "He's not happy with me."

Gaston (or Gazzy) was Lou's lemon and white English cocker spaniel puppy, and the creature that would replace me as her best friend - it was inevitable.

"Ooh, can I bribe you?"

She laughed, "Depends on the bribe."

"I'll help you wash him for a lift," I said.

"To Justin's?" she asked all intelligently.

"Yeah - am I that predictable?" I was shocked at the thought, and vaguely disturbed.

Lou made a half-hearted chuckle, "Give me five minutes."

"Alright, I'll be outside." I could almost promise that, considering she lived about eight minutes away from me and I had already been walking for five.

It sometimes slipped my mind that Louella was the mayor's daughter, or that her house was the mayor's house, or that the mayor's house was simply stunning. You could see it from the front gate; the cobbled path that led you into the yard, then curved between their swimming pool and their manicured hedge garden, to the patio of a two-story masterpiece. Sure enough, Lou buzzed me in at the gate and met me on the stoep five minutes later. Gazzy was whimpering at the front door, but he wouldn't be allowed outside now for at least an hour.

"So, what did he do this time?" asked Lou, after blowing her puppy a sympathetic kiss through the glass pane on the door.

"Nothing," I scratched my head. "We were in the Hills last night."

Her eyes bulged and she took a deep breath, "Last night as in after curfew?"

I confessed, "Yes."

"The Hills?"

"Yup."

"Where people die?"

"Same place, yeah," I said, my cheeks burning red with a kind of embarrassment.

"Is Justin dead?" She looked astonishingly mortified herself.

"No!" I said quickly. "But I think he might be in trouble. I think he needs my help."

Lou tilted her head in thought. "Okay," she muttered, "but my dad cannot know - no one can; you could get arrested."

"Uhm, yeah," I didn't plan on saying anything more than that as I followed her down to the car.

We drove, and then Lou cussed. It was wholly unlike her, but under the circumstances, she was forgiven. When we arrived at the Levines's - well, drove past it is more accurate, until I convinced Louella to circle back - there was a police car parked outside their gate. To be honest, I wasn't even sure how I had convinced her, since my only reason to go back was: "We'll be okay; I just have a feeling about it."

"Leslie, this was a horrible idea." I was starting to think that of all my ideas lately.

It was the second time we were sitting awkwardly and suspiciously behind this old willow tree, the second time I was watching this family that seemed perfect, but were perfectly abnormal, perhaps crazy. Then again, who was I to talk?

"They have to leave at some point," I reassured her, "don't worry."

There were five figures in the yard. Of the Levines, I counted Aunt Lena, Uncle Gunther, Teylor and Justin. He was in one piece, thank God, just vividly annoyed, vexed, and I guess it was due to the argument he was having with the fifth figure in the yard, who was none other than Deputy Michaels himself.

"Looks serious. I think you were right about him being in trouble."

Everyone had stopped talking, our breaths hooked in our lungs, when Dept. Michaels suddenly stared our way, and nodded. I glanced at Lou for a second, as nervousness took root under our skin.

"Down," I whispered, and we sank into our seats.

"Did he see us?" she asked fretfully.

That was a question I could only answer by seeing for myself. Maybe he'd seen us, maybe he hadn't - maybe he was walking towards the car right now. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my chin, just so I could see over the dashboard, and to our relief, he was stationed beside his car. By then, the Levines had already migrated into the house, so I watched him closely as he got ready to leave, and I was so sure that we were in the clear. Now, I was wrong.

Something hit one of the windows and the sound travelled through the car. Lou and I pretended that we didn't just shriek like little girls and peered into the back of the car expectantly; it sounded about the size of a small stone or branch, but we saw nothing of the sort, nor a mark of evidence on any of the windows. Then it happened again - two knocks and closer this time - and we sat back down promptly. It was neither a branch nor a stone, but two fistfuls of young, white knuckles; one fist for Lou and one, apparently, for me.

"Hi," said the one on Lou's side of the car, wearing a grin that was something between charming and pretentious. He also had this black trench coat on, which was unorthodox for 16° weather - even if it was below average for Raven Hills, it definitely wasn't cold.

Wait... are we about to be mugged? I thought when I forgot about what he was wearing and saw the expectation in his eyes, not that I could guess what he was expecting.

When I turned to face the man next to me - well, he was about our age, but 'boy' didn't seem appropriate to describe him - I picked up on an entirely different vibe: disinterest. So, what was he doing there? But again, who was I to talk?

"Sup," I nodded.

He didn't reply, just like Lou didn't reply when the other man introduced himself. "Excuse my lack of manners, I'm Aleksander Mikhail - or Alek for short - and that," - he pointed - "is Heath Mikhail."

"Me-kale," I ran the word softly over my tongue.

"Deputy Mikhail is my brother," he continued; it was becoming clearer that neither of us were going to introduce ourselves. "He asked the two of us to make sure no one sketchy followed him here."

He must have been nodding at them...

"We're not sketchy!" Lou protested, finally.

"Regardless," that was Heath, "you really ought to leave."

The nerve of this guy, chasing us away! 'Sketchy' as we may have looked, we were there for a reason, a perfectly harmless reason that had nothing to do with Deputy Mikhail, so he could take his incomprehensibly sexy mullet and -

"We'll be on our way soon," I said - I didn't really know where I was going with the other thing. "I'm just visiting a friend, he lives here."

"I can assure you, he has other things to worry about right now."

His tone was so nonchalant, so sharp, and I furrowed my brows, wondering, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ignore him," Aleksander advised. "What he meant to say was that the Levines were at the police station all morning and probably wouldn't want any company right now. Maybe you should come back tomorrow."

Lou and I ogled the two of them through the gaps in each window, where she had opened them by a thumb's length. We would have come up with some way to argue, but the deputy's horn interrupted our thoughts and called our acquaintances away.

"Tomorrow, Leslie," Aleksander said to me.

Leslie, he had said. And words were lost on me.