WARNING

This chapter deals with racism. I want to remind you that Alexa is black, and I want to portray her experience with racism as one of the only poc people  in this fictional community.

Let's not forget that racism STILL exists in our world (sadly). The more we portray its existence, being with any person of the poc community (African-Americans, Hispanics, Asians, Latinos, Arabs, etc), the more we bring awareness to this problem.

The views/expressions/language used in this chapter are NOT my personal opinion or take of the world! I'm Hispanic and I've had horrible experiences with racism (it isn't pretty at all, it's gut wrenching).

With that being said, the word 'n---er' is used in this chapter in its entirety. My purpose is not to offend anyone, so if you feel uncomfortable with one of my characters saying the word, please tell me. I will censor it if this is the case.

Happy reading, loves ♡

09
ALEXA KING
-Present-

Levittown High
September 17, 2018
12:10 p.m.

I DON'T LIKE TO think about Sebastián's Beginning of Summer Bash.

What was supposed to be one of the greatest parties of our lives, the best the riverbank had ever witnessed, turned into a literal nightmare. Even before the booze began to kick off and the make out sessions displayed themselves in every corner, something wasn't completely right. I don't know how to explain it, other than relying on superstitions.

The day began with the sun basking the whole town golden yellow, as oppose to every other rainy morning. Then, at night, the usual cold wind was absent and, in its place, rain began to pour down - big, fat droplets in company of thunder and lighting. As we prepared for the most awaited party, handling the strange climate change as best as we could, there was a heaviness in the air, something dark and gloomy clouding whatever excitement we had for the upcoming summer.

It's as if the universe itself knew what was bound to happen, the inevitable conclusion to Melody's life. Levittown, a town so corrupted by its own darkness, seemed to have a life of its own - and that abstract life was warning us. But, like we did to Melody when she returned, we avoided the change in the ambience, preferred to hold some kind of normalcy for the sake of having something normal to hold onto. And the decision to ignore, to pretend that everything was normal, was worth more than a life.

Our parties down at the riverbank symbolized our immortality, the energy and youth that was coursing through our veins. It was a shout to the world, a big 'fuck you' to the outsiders who deemed us 'strange', the one thing that assured our existence in a world that never wanted us. If this was any other day, any other alternate reality where Melody is alive, we would've celebrated our miserable back to school yesterday.

We would be a couple of seniors entering school with sunglasses, the ache pounding in our heads, alcohol still running through our bodies - memories of the night before flashing back to us, snippet by snippet, until the whole experience was painted for us. But, our tradition is tarnished forever.

Now the riverbank is witness to what happened to Melody that night. It's the bearer of those last moments before her disappearance, an accomplice to what was done to her. It no longer represents our access to the outside world, the link we had with those who are afraid of our small town, a piece of the world that was ours and no one else's.

We're falling from our thrones, landing in high expectations and even higher demands.

All those good memories we cultivated while growing up are gone and replaced by all the darkness that surrounds us. The riverbank used to be immune to this town's twisted atmosphere, the dark aura draping us like a blanket, but it seems that the darkness can corrupt even the purest of places; the sacred.

It's a stranger.

While the riverbank is the bearer of what happened to Melody, the party is the keeper of my guilt. Even as I think of it now, I can feel myself getting tipsy, drunk in the rush of the moment - colors blinking everywhere, the fast motion of bodies pressing together on the dance floor, her grey eyes twinkling as she tells me to do something about it, his lips on mine, and then her disappearance. They're just glimpses into the past, strung together by the remnants of my then blurry hangover.

As I walk through the main hall of Levittown High, the party is all everyone talks about. It seems to be the topic of interest, the point where everything changed for the worse. They look at me with sympathy, the furrowing of the eyebrows and the downward curve of their lips a way to show me their pity. Some of them have surprise written all over their expressions, bulging eyes and agape mouths as if to say, 'how dare she come here after everything that's happened'. A rare few are glaring, their skeptical nature surrounding them with this high standard superiority.

I hear their whispers as they form a path for me, bumping with each other so they don't get to touch what I've become. The rumors are all around me, squeezing and squeezing at my neck until I feel like dying:

"She was, like, killed by one of her friends. It's obvious."

"Nah, Melody killed herself in the most gruesome way."

"Some say that, like, she was involved in a satanic ritual or something. Supernatural shit."

Every conversation that circulates around this narrow hall is making me dizzy. They all go from rumors that seem believable to absurd ones. But rumors in Levittown, although unbelievable, come from some sort of truth. If you extract the exaggerated details, the extravagant way in which the story is told, the misunderstandings and the intended direction in which the person wants said story to go, you'll most likely have the complete and pure truth.

I swallow a lump down my dry throat, the pain it brings resembling the one caused by a broken heart. My attention is no longer on the whispers but straight ahead, where the hall stares at me with mock amusement. It seems longer without Melody by my side, and I just have to urge my feet to move quicker. It feels as if the walls are closing in on me, bringing the students closer to look at me, something that's on display for them to scrutinize about. The suffocation is unbearable and, for the first time, I feel like escaping, running out of here into another city, another name, another life.

I hug the binder tight against my chest and keep staring ahead, ignoring their expressions of hate. Rows of beige-colored lockers cover the majority of the wall to my right, the stark black numbers shining on each one. Outside, it's pouring. There's a pitter-patter as the droplets hit each of the windows to my left, a sound that's all too familiar in the morning.

As I walk deeper into the school, I enter a hall that's covered by lockers on both sides. Then, I hear Polly's voice close behind me. She's intentionally speaking this loudly to piss me off and, somehow, it's working.

"I mean, it's obvious it was her," she says, high-pitched voice ringing through the small space. "That's what their kind do."

My kind.

"Please. Everyone can see that from a mile away," Tara, her best friend, says. "She's the one that found the body. I mean, come on."

Polly giggles, a soft sound that seems too innocent for her. "Melody was a bitch, but she wasn't that much of a bitch. She deserved a good slap, not death." She coos, knowing very well that I'm listening. "I guess it's in her blood. Y'know, with her mommy being a -"

I look at them over my shoulder, body rigid in front of the double doors that lead to my locker, hands clenching into tight fists. The darkness is coursing through my blood, imprinting itself on my skin, nasty as it grows in my chest. My veins are swelling with each dangerous palpitation of the heart, and I feel myself wanting something I shouldn't desire.

Hearing about my mother does that, especially if it comes from someone else's mouth; someone that's not my father. It brings the worst in me to life.

They're quiet as they look at me, expectant for my next move. Polly quirks her blonde eyebrow, daring me to say something, and I'm eager to oblige. The darkness is too strong to control by this point, so the image of my fists connecting with her face doesn't look so terrible. But, then, she mouths it, the word forming in her pink lips with perfect precision. The word that always quenches whatever part of me that's dark; the one that floods my chest with pain and my mind with shame.

'Nigger.'

It resonates in my mind, over and over again, loud and clear and dark. All the energy from before vanishes and it's replaced with my everyday numbness. I continue to walk and leave them behind. But, as the double doors swing as they come to a complete stop, their laughter stays with me.

I approach my locker, but before I can insert the correct pattern, my gaze lingers on Melody's locker. Polaroid pictures of a smiling Melody are plastered on it and around them are supportive messages from people who don't even know her. I narrow my eyes at it and regret switching my locker last year to the one that's next to hers. With trembling hands, I open my locker and throw its door hard against Melody's one, filled with pictures and doodles and stupid messages.

I ignore the decoration we made to its inside a few months ago and grab my Biology book. Just when I'm about to close it, my eyes meet the one photo I love the most: Melody and I sitting on blue swings, dressed in short summer dresses, laughing at a joke long forgotten, the sunny day reflecting a pleasant summer afternoon. It's the second picture taken by Catalina that day, her smudgy finger on the top right corner. It dates back to June 27, 2018, a day before her disappearance.

With my forefinger, I trace the printed date, its surface feeling foreign against my gentle skin. A sigh escapes my lips, heavy and long, as I place the picture back to its spot. The round mirror hanging from the door stares back at me, a striking replica of the girl I used to be. My face is smooth and clean, without blemishes or pimples. My eyes, though, look tired and out of life. No surprise there. Life is death right now.

I pass a finger on my plump lips and understand why other girls tease me. Everything about me is big: big lips, big hair, big ass, big tits. Girls in this town are straight hair and fair skin, colored eyes and slim build, sugary voices and small features. Then there's me - the complete, grotesque opposite.

The bell rings, signaling the beginning of lunch break. As the mass of students piles up all around the hall, scurrying and bumping into each other, I slam my locker shut. They forget, if only for a second, that someone is dead and that I was there to see the dead body. Instead, they talk about cheerleading try-outs, who's-dated-who, and their summer affairs with such simplicity. It's hard to keep up with them; they're moving forward while I stumble backwards, trying desperately to piece together all the scattered broken pieces.

I become one with them as I search my way to lunchroom - unnoticed, forgotten, something not worth their precious time. Their blatant disregard for me should be comforting, but there's a part of me that rejects it. There's a part of me that wants to be seen. A part that wants to be taken seriously.

Once in the cafeteria, I stand awkwardly next to the entrance, searching for any familiar face among the known strangers. A head full of long dreadlocks appears from a middle table and I see some of my friends grouped together, eating their lunch silently. I walk toward it, every gaze settled on me, and sit down in front of Micah.

Their gazes shift to me for a second, their attempt to smile weak and wavering. I know what we're all thinking: it's not the same without Melody here. They continue to eat their lunch in silence, in the middle of a room filled with curious eyes and rumor-filled mouths, everyone trapping us in a circle with no room to think, to express ourselves, to breathe. And, as this all happens around me, I can only think of one thing.

He's not here.

A popping sound is heard throughout the room, and I recognize it as the speakers used for announcements. The room goes dead silent, only the movement of the ceiling fans is heard. It's as if everyone's waiting for the same thing, expecting the obvious.

"Good afternoon, Levittown High," a male voice says, the sound echoing throughout the lunchroom. "This is your principal speaking to inform you of upcoming events. Before we get to that, I want us all to take a minute of silence for our beloved student Melody Trinisky, who passed away two weeks ago due to terrible events."

I grip the sides of my plastic seat until my nails hurt from the pressure. They talk about her death as if it was an inconvenience, something that occurred because of natural causes. They're scared to know that some killer lives among us, terrified to know that it can happen again. It's better to assume than to know the truth.

Logan, who sits on the left end of the table, scoffs and throws the barely eaten slice of pizza on his tray. He reclines back on his seat, arms crossing on his chest.

"May she forever rest in peace," the principal says, interrupting the eerie silence that surrounds us. "Now, there's a couple of announcements I have to make before lunch period ends," he mumbles and it sounds like he's searching for something, perhaps notes. "Ah, here. Football try-outs are being held this Friday, twenty-first of September after school. Go Tigers!"

The jocks make a raucous, screaming the word 'Tigers' over and over again. Sebastián, who's in front of me, pushes his full tray back and glares at them.

"Cheerleading try-outs will be held this Thursday, twentieth of September at four o' clock. Go Tigers!"

Catalina pushes her seat back and stands up, her cheeks damp from all the tears flowing down. She turns around, her wavy hair flipping back, revealing a bruise on her neck. It's gray, turning purple, and Catalina soon notices where I'm looking at, so she hides it with her hair again. I frown but don't say anything. That bruise can mean anything: maybe she had an accident or the bruise is the result of a lover's kiss. Whatever it is, I shouldn't get involved.

She leaves without saying a word, and Nari follows after her.

"Last, but certainly not least, welcome to our seniors!" he yells, exhilaration dripping from his voice.

If he says 'go Tigers' one more time...

"Go Tigers!"

"Un-fucking-believable," Logan mutters, passing both hands across his face.

The nausea revolves around my stomach, threatening to come out. The bile that's creeping up my throat is toxic, acidic, painful. I can almost taste its entirety. It subsides when I catch a glimpse of his blonde hair.

Christopher enters the room with a bunch of football jocks behind him. They all sport a blue and white jersey with the initial of their names on their left. He's talking to them, a wide smile gracing his lips. They laugh at something he says, slapping each other's shoulders and filling the lunchroom with joy. All the conversations are about Melody, the sadness enveloping the whole school, but there they are, laughing and joking around as if nothing happened.

Christopher may be flashing toothy grins and creating jokes, but something in his eyes is off. It's like the happiness he's showing doesn't reach them. There's no spark or trace of a good night's sleep.

Our eyes meet for a second, blue ones concentrating on me with a glint of mischief, and it's enough. It's always enough. He's enough.

He detaches his gaze from me to the jocks and says something to them while tilting his head in our direction. As he casually makes his way to our table, I notice how most of the girls are staring after him, just like I am.

"'Sup," Christopher says, sitting down next to Sebastián. As he takes an apple from Nari's tray, he turns to Logan. "Dude, no offense, but you look like shit."

"You smell like shit, too," Micah mumbles, scrunching his thin nose.

Logan glares at them. "Fuck off."

Sebastián sighs, dreadlocks moving around his shoulders. "Cabrón, you have to clean yourself."

My eyes roam around until they inevitably end on Christopher. He's already looking at me, an amused smile quirking on his beautiful lips. His eyebrow arches up. It's like he's expecting me to do something, but I don't know what. All I can think about is his touch, the way it can brush on my skin and feel like bliss. A piece of heaven that's only for me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my sadness getting in the way of your day?" Logan says, the bitter undertone in his voice toxic. "Did your girlfriend die?"

Sebastián's jaw clenches and his hands, which are now on the table, turn into fists. "You're the number one suspect," he says through gritted teeth. "You are giving them reasons to believe that you killed her. It's all in the newspapers." His eyes squint, forming into a glare as they concentrate on Logan. "You, jumping from party to party, getting drunk, getting high, hooking up with random girls. What do you think they believe?"

Logan's expression softens, and his shoulders slump. "This town has always been driven by gossip," he says, putting his hands on the table. "So, we can all agree it ain't a suicide?"

I sigh. "Detectives are already questioning potential suspects. Mr. Ellis questioned me after the funeral."

"You are the one who found her, after all," Micah mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows at me. It must be hard to have your father on a case that's so delicate, so I don't let his remark affect me as much.

"Man, that don't mean anything. I've been questioned three times already, one of 'em by Mr. Ellis."

"Because you're the prime suspect," Sebastián says under his breath, fueling the anger within Logan.

"Fuck off," Logan spits, his eyes clouding with something dangerous, something that promises to cause chaos; the darkness. "I'm only the prime suspect 'cause I'm her boyfriend." He smirks when Sebastián's shocked expression contorts into one of pain.

Logan then turns to us, leaning on the table to look at us closely. "We have to figure this out before anyone gets hurt... worse than now."

What does he mean by that? Can he possibly know about the letters? My insides turn cold and alert, the nibbling of my bottom lip aggressive enough to cause pain.

Christopher quirks an eyebrow, completely unbothered by everything that's being said. He's forever the carefree type, and I find myself falling even more. "Who's going to get hurt?"

"Us," Logan whispers, looking around the cafeteria and then at us again. "The police are already questioning me, they questioned Alexa once." He looks at me, a glint of something passing through his dark eyes.
"They're going to question you guys next."

Christopher shrugs. "I'm not worried," he mumbles, munching on the apple. "Why should I be? I know I didn't do it."

"You know that, but they don't." Logan pauses, hesitates for a moment as he looks around the room. "We don't know. All I'm saying is that we have to be careful. They're desperate to find suspects 'cause they don't have evidence. They will throw us in jail without a second glance 'cause we don't matter."

My heart starts its uncontrollable beating, the knowledge that I have something so crucial to prove everyone's innocence igniting my guilt. But, what if one of them is guilty? The letter warns me about what will happen if I share the information with anyone. It tells me that I can't trust anyone. Some killer lives among me and the thought of it makes me shiver.

"Well, then, we're fucked," Christopher says, his indifference prominent, resting on his relaxed shoulders. There's something in his eyes as he looks at all of us, amusement glinting on them as they land on me.

Micah scoffs. "Nice choice of words, idiot," he says, folding his arms on his chest. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Christopher says, shrugging. "I don't know what to believe." He stands up and takes a packet of Marlboro cigarettes out of his pocket. "See you guys later."

With a silver lighter, he lights the cigarette that's trapped between his teeth. In one swift movement, he stuffs the lighter in his pocket and takes the cigarette between two fingers, blowing some smoke before walking outside.

I stare at him until he's out of sight, concentrate on the way some strands of blonde hair move from side to side. I find myself wanting to share the smoke that leaves his gentle lips; find myself desiring to be wrapped around his body, be the muse for his calm and alluring aura. My eyes close and a sigh escapes my lips.

It's unbelievable - how all we seem to care about is our resentments and anger, instead of what happened to Melody. It's as if the darkness is reaching to us, catching us on the middle of all the pain and madness, breathless, begging for something to prevent the pain. And, for the first time, I consider the possibility that one of my friends killed her.

•Word count: 3,552•

Is this chapter good? Did you like it? I'm having some doubts, but at the same time, I like it. Ugh, I don't know.

Feel free to correct any grammatical errors, but be kind about it. Tell me what you think of this chapter.

If you like the chapter:

vote, comment, share.

Show me love ♡ Next chapter out soon.