Ingrid's alarm blares, the girl groaning while fumbling for her phone. The pain in her head seemed to intensify when she opened her eyes. Upon sitting up, the room felt like it was moving. "Good God, how much did I drink last night?" She noticed that she wasn't in her dress from last night; what happened? The sudden urge to empty everything that sat in her stomach bubbled up, the girl happily obliging to her own demands. What was left of her 'wild night' splattered onto the hardwood floor below, long gone out of her system.

Sidestepping the vomit, Ingrid, not bothering to change, makes her way into the bathroom, grabbing a pill of Tylenol. She pours herself a glass of water to help ease it down, before taking the pill and heading out the door. Flynn, of course, is waiting outside, this time with a plate in his hands. "Toast. I know when I have a hangover, it's the only thing I can stomach."

"You were at the party last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Do you want me to fill you in?"

"Please."

And so, Flynn begins to unravel the mystery of what happened that crazy Wednesday night. Then the memories started flooding back, one by one. Slowly but surely, she was starting to remember the night she had.

"I really was out of control last night, wasn't I?"

"You weren't the worst drunk I've seen. You should see Everett, my brother; he cries every single time."

"I don't normally apologize for anything, because everyone deserves to hear the truth, whether they like it or not, but I'm really sorry for making you put up with me."

"You don't need to apologize, Ingrid. I'm not looking for an apology."

"Then, what are you looking for?"

"A friend."

"That was really cheesy and lame."

"There's the Ingrid I know."

Ingrid just laughs, walking around to the driver's side of Flynn's truck. At least he wasn't mad about everything that had went down the previous night. "I was really making out with Daniel's brother?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

"Maybe I should get drunk more often."

"Do you really want to become a teenage alcoholic?"

"I mean, it beats being sober. Life sucks."

"I'm not going to let you become a teenage alcoholic."

"You suck."

"That's not what you were saying last night."

"Yeah, well, that was the alcohol talking."

"But it says what you're thinking."

"Guess what? I never think. I just do."

"That explains a lot."

"Is it just me, or have you gotten a lot meaner since the last time I've seen you?"

"To be fair, I'm running on little sleep and no coffee. I was responsible enough not to get drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I feel like you're being really specific there."

"I was worried that you would do something stupid, and you were literally about to do someone stupid."

"Listen, buddy, I don't tell you how to live your life, so don't tell me how to live mine."

"You tell me how to live my life all the time. A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Whatever, Mr. Buzzkill."

"Alright, Miss Hypocrite."

Ingrid and Flynn break out into laughter as they pull into the school's parking lot. Hangover or not, today would be interesting.

Flynn and Ingrid had since finished their coursework for the day, and were now sitting in some fast-food restaurant that Ingrid loved so much, waiting for their order to be brought to them.

"And then, you were like, 'I want to go upstairs with him.'" Flynn retells, shaking his head in disbelief. "But I stood my ground, because I didn't want you to get hurt."

"I still can't believe I almost went all the way with Chance Jefferson." Ingrid sighs, putting her head in her hands. "I'm such a loser."

"I wasn't going to let you make that mistake. I'm pretty sure Chance has ruined a lot of lives at these parties."

"Did Daniel happen to see any of it?"

"No, I don't think so. He and Lexie were on their way out when I got there. They were in this big fight about something, I don't quite remember."

"Good, because I'm supposed to be fake-dating you. Wait, if I'm supposed to be fake-dating you, and I made out with Chance, does that mean I fake-cheated on you?"

"You really hurt my feelings. I think I'm going to cry." he mocks, pretending to wipe away a tear.

"Hey, what's the craziest thing I said last night? I'm pretty sure I said some wild stuff." she asks out of the blue, shielding her eyes in case she didn't quite believe what she would hear.

"I don't think you remember this, but you told me that you think your dad killed someone."

"Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you that when I was sober. My dad's most likely a murderer."

"Just because he left you when you were a kid doesn't mean he's a murderer."

"It's because he left when I was a kid. He left so quickly and so sloppily and fled the country with his twenty year old secretary. Now, what was going on around that time? The Lisa King case. Therefore, my dad killed Lisa King."

"You need physical evidence to bring someone to justice."

"Yeah, I know, but did you like my use of therefore?"

"It was refreshing, yes."

"So, how am I going to bring him to justice? It's been over a decade since they ruled the death an accident."

"Did your dad leave anything behind when he left?"

"Yeah, I think so. My mom has it all in a trash bag in her closet."

"Okay. We'll go look at that after we eat."

"Speaking of which, it's taking a long time for it to get here. We got here ten minutes ago, and we still don't have our food."

As if the fast food fairy had heard Ingrid's complaint, the fast food worker brings their burgers and fries to them. After he left, Ingrid starts to laugh. "Maybe complaining's the way to go here."

"I mean, our food did get here after you complained."

"I'm magic. That's got to be the only explanation."

"Or, the food just so happened to be ready when you complained."

"I think I'm going to stick with the first one."

"I figured you would."

Ingrid grins, shoving a handful of fries into her mouth.

Back at the Armstrong household, Ingrid lugs a black trash bag into the living room, where Flynn was waiting, sitting on a dusty old recliner.

"This is the bag of stuff my dad left after he skipped town. I'm not touching any of it. If you want to, go ahead, but I want nothing to do with him." she mutters, dragging it over to him.

Right as Flynn went to open it, Ingrid's mother, Rachel, unlocked the front door, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees Ingrid, Flynn, and the bag. "What are you doing?"

"Hanging out with my friend, Flynn." Ingrid replies, shrugging at her mother's question.

"Not that, Ingrid. What are you doing with that bag?" 

"Nothing."

"Is that the bag your father left behind?"

"Maybe."

"Sit down, Ingrid. There's something I need to tell you." Rachel sighs, her hands going up to her head as if she had a headache.

Ingrid makes a face, but does as her mother instructed, sitting on the floor by the bag. 

"Do you want me to stay for this? I understand if it's just something between you." Flynn pipes up, rising from the chair.

"You can stay. It's better that both of you hear this."

Flynn sits back down, sharing a glance with Ingrid, who was just as equally confused. She shrugs at him as her mother begins to speak.

"Ingrid, your father was, and still is, a bad man. He was abusive while we were married, and I'm fairly certain he was having affairs with half of the town. With your brother's wedding coming up, he may be coming back into town. If he does, we can get him arrested." Rachel begins, piquing both Flynn and Ingrid's interests.

"For domestic violence?" Flynn asks, trying to get a better picture of what could potentially happen in the near future.

"No, it's too late for that. I'm talking about second-degree murder."

"Mom, do you believe he killed Lisa King?" Ingrid exclaims, jumping to her feet.

"Yes, I do, and there's evidence in that bag. I'm glad I caught you two before you opened it."

"What's in the bag, then?" her daughter prods, sitting back down. 

"Let me finish, Ingrid. Your father came home one day, covered in blood. He wouldn't tell me what happened, or how he had gotten blood all over his good work shirt. He just told me to get a trash bag. So I did. He offered no explanation, just threw his shirt in the bag, along with his pocket knife, which was also covered in blood. He threw some other things in the bag, too; I don't remember what exactly. He showered, got dressed, and then he was gone. On the news that night, the top story was the police finding Lisa King's dead body." the woman explains, a mournful sigh following.

"I thought they ruled it an accidental drowning?" Flynn questions, trying to wrap his head around her story.

"They never performed an autopsy, which was strange. There's no possible way Shane could have made it look like an accident when he came home with blood all over him."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he killed her." Ingrid mutters, rolling her eyes.

"If he didn't kill her, he must have killed someone else. I just think he killed her because of the timing. He fled the country right after the police discovered her body."

"Maybe he paid off the coroner so that they didn't perform the autopsy." Flynn suggests, glancing over at his friend, who was shaking her head in disappointment.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised. Shane's always been shady."

"My life's turning into a teen drama, except nobody's got rock hard abs or a secret twin." Ingrid groans, lying face down on the carpeted flooring.

"What a bummer. I guess I have to go do some shady stuff to make your life more interesting." Rachel responds, mocking her daughter.

"Mom!" 

"You say your life's a teen drama, so I was going to help the cause."

"I can't do anything without you making fun of me."

"I'm a mom, it's what we do."

"Well, you're embarrassing me in front of my friend." she grumbles, sitting back up.

Both mother and daughter glance over at Flynn, who was just listening to their playful banter. "Mrs. Armstrong, if I may, can I just say that you're just like your daughter?"

"I appreciate your observation, Flynn, but don't call me Mrs. Armstrong again. I've gotten rid of that cursed last name for good. You can call me Ms. Harper, it's my maiden name."

Flynn's face reddens as he realizes his mistake, to which both Rachel and Ingrid laugh.

"You're a true Newfield boy." Rachel chuckles, sitting down on the couch and taking off her shoes, revealing her swollen, aching feet.

"How do you know I'm a Newfield?" Flynn gasps, his eyes widening in surprise.

"You look and act just like your dad."

"You know my dad?"

"I went to high school with both your mom and dad. I even babysat Everett when he was a baby."

"Mom, you know the Newfields?" Ingrid exclaims, a look of disgust crossing her face.

"Amy was a wild child. Brian, on the other hand, was your average boy next door, kind of like Flynn. Shane wanted to date Amy, but Amy couldn't be controlled. The summer between junior and senior year, Amy and Brian had a fling that resulted in Everett. They got married right out of high school, just like Shane and I did."

"Huh. Interesting." Ingrid mumbles, somewhat impressed with the knowledge her mother held. Her world was changing with every passing moment, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. Her dad was potentially a murderer, and the Newfields were chummy with her parents. This summer wasn't turning out the way she expected, and she wasn't sure if she was okay with it.