Thanks to my terrible luck, half the jocks in the school were gathered around Parker’s locker. Amidst their boisterous laughter, Parker stood in the center, doing an impression. The high-pitched, squeaky tone of his voice indicated it was an unflattering portrayal of Mrs. Gable , the excitable AP English teacher.

I was surprised that he could manage such a spot-on impression when he was usually napping during that class. Applying eyeliner to her bottom eyelid, Hilton bragged to her fellow cheerleaders about her family’s planned vacation to Paris over winter break. She caught sight of me in the mirror, her conceited smirk falling from her face faster than the speed of light, and slammed her locker shut, her scarlet red curls bouncing on her shoulder.

Following her gaze, Parker smiled and waved me over, calling me by my actual name instead of Byrne, sickie, or another borderline offensive nickname. His friends had mixed reactions to my new style: most of the boys, like him, ogled my chest or legs while the girls either shared Hilton’s disgust or surveyed me in stunned silence. The freshman boys were less blatant with their stares, sneaking tiny glances in hopes of not upsetting their older teammates.

Parker squeezed my waist, as though challenging his friends to dare to flirt with me in his presence. It was like a dog marking its territory. I detested the idea of being a human fire hydrant for a pack of slobbering idiots who did most of their thinking with the sticks between their legs.

“Told you that you wouldn’t recognize her,” he boasted to his friends. “Good choice on the skirt, babe. It was my favorite from yesterday.”

“Taylor, you look great. I love your boots...” said Amity, her voice faltering as she noticed the harsh glare on Hilton’s face directed towards me.

Hilton scrunched her nose. “Parker, what the holy hell is this?”

He shrugged. “Tessa took me up on my offer for a fresh start. What, are you jealous?”

“Of Make A Wish? As if,” she snarled. “You could put her in all the designer clothes you want but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s a loser.”

“You sound jealous to me, Claire,” he said, amused by her resemblance to an angry cat. “You’ll need another date to my party. I have to take the sexiest girl and right now, that’s not you.”

I was taken aback by Hilton’s anger, thinking that she might actually turn into a harpy and rip off my head. She was adamantly against the idea of me attending Parker’s post memorial party or joining their clique, which meant hanging out with them at lunch.

When Parker proposed putting my inclusion up to a vote, she refused, claiming that it was not a democracy and their school had a specific, rigid social order. He used his power as self-proclaimed ‘king of the school’ to disregard any of her objections, implying that she could either accept me as the newest member of their clique or plummet from her own high position on the social ladder.

Hilton and I had been enemies since second grade but the animosity between us did not mean I approved of Parker’s actions. No matter how much I wanted to yell at him for being an arrogant jackass, I kept quiet, needing to be on his good side for my plan.

My morning classes were incredibly awkward, with everyone more interested in me than the lessons. Even the teachers themselves were distracted by my sudden makeover. Not wanting to lose her queen bee status, Hilton settled for icy stares behind my back if someone complimented me.

When the bell rang for lunch, my hopes of joining Will, who was prevented from speaking to me by Parker, were dashed by him dragging me to the stoner pit. I struggled to feign interest in his constant bragging about his prowess on the football field and offers from colleges to attend on a scholarship. My attention drifted to the girls, who were discussing the latest gossip and flipping through fashion magazines.

“Have you ever been to a fashion show, Tessa?” asked Amity, detecting my boredom as Parker droned on and on about a difficult catch from a game last year.

“Like she knows anything about fashion,” snorted Hilton. “The only reason she’s dressing like this is because Chace picked out her clothes.”

“Actually, it was a girl named Cindi with an I. She was really specific about that,” I replied, earning a few giggles from the other girls.

“You are such a fraud,” she said, unwilling to give me a chance. “After Chace’s party, when you’re too scared to let him touch your granny panties, he’ll realize that too and you’ll be back where you belong with the other bottom feeders. You’re never going to be me.”

The thought never crossed my mind. “I’m not trying to be you. I’m just...people can change. Why are you so threatened by that?”

The page on winter fashion trends was jaggedly torn from the magazine. Her cold ice blue eyes pierced through me, sending a shiver down my spine.

“No one is a threat to me,” she hissed. “I’m at the top and I will stay there for the rest of my life but you? You can try to be like us but at the end of the day, you’re a nobody. You’re as worthless and pathetic as the rest of your family.”

My fists clenched. “Insult my family again and I’ll give you a free nose job, Hilton.”

“Why don’t your parents just save themselves the trouble and send you to the loony bin like that freak you call a—”

Hilton was cut off by my fist colliding with her face. She cried out in pain as I shook my hand to relieve the stinging pain in my knuckles.

Two of her minions came to her aid, helping her up from the stairs and holding a tissue under her nose to stem the bleeding. The boys were laughing hysterically, Parker commending me for my impressive punch.

“MOM!” she screeched, her voice echoing across the courtyard.

A familiar hand gripped my shoulder. Without saying a word, Dr. Baxter led both me and a sobbing Hilton to the principal’s office. I kept my eyes on the tiled floor, not daring to make eye contact with him.

I had only been in the principal’s office a few times over the past four years to drop off papers from teachers and my parents or to receive an academic award. It was the first time that I was in the office for being in trouble. Considering I punched the principal’s daughter, I expected a lot worse than a verbal warning.

Principal Hilton was a spitting image of her daughter and dressed in a similar manner except that it was toeing the line between risqué and professional. Seeing her daughter in tears and holding a bloody tissue to her nose, she jumped up from her chair and moved around the polished wooden desk to comfort her.

Dr. Baxter pulled out one of the chairs and I sat down, awaiting my inevitable expulsion. Hilton was struggling to speak through her sobs and the throbbing pain in her nose.

“Sweetheart, what happened? Do I need to call the hospital?” asked the principal, frantically grabbing more tissues from her desk.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hilton point a thin, shaking finger at me. “She boke by nose!”

“Claire, sweetie, just sit and I’ll get Nurse Simpson to take a look,” she said, calmly.

After telling the elderly secretary to call the nurse, Principal Hilton returned to her desk. Her eyes rested on me but instead of the harsh gaze that I was receiving from her daughter, she looked puzzled. It was as if she had never seen me before in her life.

“I’m so sorry, dear. All these students to watch over and I can’t keep track of every name. Are you a recent transfer?” she asked, treating her like a stranger.

“Cecile, this is Tessa Byrne,” replied Dr. Baxter, his hand on the back of my chair.

She let out a derisive giggle. “Of course it’s not. I know Teresa. She’s...oh goodness, it is you. Don’t you look lovely? I didn’t recognize you out of your...usual attire.”

“Mom, by nose!” exclaimed Hilton, angered by her mother finding herself more interested in my appearance than her daughter’s injury.

“Yes, yes. Now, why don’t you tell me what this is about? Claire, sweetheart, don’t speak. You’ll make the injury worse.” Her pale blue eyes flickered to Dr. Baxter. “Brendon, I assume you saw what happened.”

Dr. Baxter explained that he had been reprimanding a trio of freshman pranksters, the same ones I bribed the previous day, when he heard Hilton scream in pain. He had not seen what caused the fight but spotted Hilton with her hands over her nose and me rubbing my bruised knuckles. His assumption was that I was angered over something that Hilton said, a complete understatement.

She clasped her hands together. “I see. Well, you’ve always been a good student, Teresa and-”

“Tessa,” I corrected.

“Right,” she said, more to be polite than apologetic for continually forgetting my name. “There’s no need for this to become a giant mess. It was one little incident that got out of hand. Apologize to Claire and we can forget it ever happened.”

“No,” I replied, tensely.

Her smile was far from comforting, as fake as most of her body. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to apologize to your daughter,” I said, drawing the line at insulting my family. “She deserved it. She was making fun of my family...my—I told her that if she didn’t shut up, I’d break her nose and that’s why I punched her. I’m not sorry for that.”

Principal Hilton was at a loss for words. “We do not tolerate violence at this school, Tessa. I don’t wish to suspend you for injuring a fellow student and I’m sure you don’t want that in your permanent record. Simply apologize.”

I nodded towards her dramatic daughter. “Then tell your daughter to apologize too. She’s not an innocent victim. If she hadn’t opened that giant hole she calls a mouth, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Cecile, may I speak with you privately? Girls, wait outside, please,” said Dr. Baxter, intervening to defuse the tension between myself and Principal Hilton, who pursed her plump lips at my blunt honesty.

He ushered me and Hilton out of the office to have a ‘private discussion’ with her mother. I leaned against the wall, expecting to hear noises straight out of a sex tape. Pressing my ear against the door, I attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation, wondering if Dr. Baxter was going to defend me or suggest that I get expelled as a way to weasel his way into my mother’s heart since he would no longer be my teacher.

I dodged Hilton’s hand and her bright red nails brushed against the door. Keeping one hand over her nose, she continued to swipe at me like a cat, angrily muttering under her breath. Her impaired speech made it difficult to understand her but I was able to get the basic gist of what she was saying while struggling to scratch out my eyes.

She lowered her hand when the door swung open. Dr. Baxter stepped out of the office, telling her to wait inside until the nurse arrived to check on her nose.

“You can get back to lunch, Tessa,” he said as Hilton flipped me off and slammed the door.

“What’s my punishment? Detention?” I asked, then thinking of a worse fate. “Do I have to do her homework for a month?”

Hilton could be heard screaming at her mother, between cries of pain. “I convinced Principal Hilton to let you off with a warning. We both know that you’re not a bad kid and you would never have hit Claire unless she provoked you.”

If any other teacher had defended me, I would have given them a simple thank you but Dr. Baxter was a different story. He struck me as the type of person with ulterior motives. I trusted him about as much as Hilton, even less since I had suspicions about him from the night of Belmont’s party.

“What do you want?” I asked, fearful of the answer. “Don’t say you helped me out because you’re a good person. You’ve watched her and her little minions bully me for years and now you step in...so what do you want? I’ll tell you right now that my mother is off limits.”

“This had nothing to do with her. I’m a teacher looking out for one of his students. I see you took my advice about the jacket. The skirt’s a nice touch,” he said, a trace of a smirk on his lips.

I was unsure what I found more unnerving: that he was openly flirting or that he was practically admitting that he attended Belmont’s party.

How could no one mention seeing him at the party? His presence would have caused girls to lose their minds and crowd around him, hoping for a dance. I could think of fifty reasons why he would attend a high school party, each more troubling than the last, but while I was willing to pursue my suspicions that Parker had a hand in Belmont’s death, I was not as comfortable with accusing a man who could make teenage girls and grown women wet themselves with just a wink.

By Friday afternoon, I realized that I had overly ambitious expectations for my plan. I had hoped to pry some details from Parker about the night of the party but I only gained a long list of highlights from his football career that began at the age of five. My sole accomplishment over the past two days was gaining a new nickname: Knockout, for nearly breaking Hilton’s nose.

Though his friends became morose when speaking about Belmont, none of them seemed willing to discuss that night. Out of the tight knit group, I made the most success with was Amity, who opened up when not glued to Hilton’s side.

During gym that morning, while Hilton was getting her nose checked (“I’m gonna kick your ass, Byrne!” she reminded me whenever we were within a foot of each other), Amity told me that Parker and Belmont had gotten into a fight, after the latter muttered a few drunken insults.

She had been waiting for Hilton to return with more beers when she saw Parker shove Belmont to the ground. From the slurred words exchanged between them, all she heard was Parker threaten that Belmont was not going to rule the school forever. Noticing her fiddling with her necklace as she worried over Parker discovering what she knew, I promised to keep it a secret between us.

I was lying on my bed with Elena as Belmont drew on my whiteboard with markers. The memorial had been moved to his home to allow the entire town to mourn his death and he wanted me to be prepared to meet his family and other important members of Belmont Falls. I had not yet brought up the fight between him and Parker, thinking it was best for a private conversation.

He taped pictures, printed out from my laptop, above the person’s name. Tapping the red marker on the whiteboard, he snapped me out of my daze. The tip of the marker pointed at a picture of a middle-aged man with slicked back ebony hair, graying on the sides, and stony, dark eyes, Charles Belmont written underneath in giant red letters. Dressed in a crisp black suit, he was the very definition of an imposing businessman.

From left to right were photos of the Belmont family: Katrina Belmont, a British woman in her early forties who could be described as nothing less than a classic beauty with her cat-like green eyes, button nose, high cheekbones, and shiny ash blonde locks that fell into loose curls at the middle of her back; Rosalie Belmont, a twenty one year old who resembled her mother yet had her father’s frosty gaze; Rhys Belmont, Rosalie’s adventurous twin; and Bradley Belmont, a dark-haired boy the same age as Ryan.

I had never met any of the Belmonts in person, unless one counted seeing their pictures in the newspaper. It was not much of a surprise that our paths never crossed since our houses were on opposite sides of town and our families led very different lives.

“What’s with the question mark next to Bradley?” asked Elena, taking a bite of my peanut butter sandwich.

“My mom’s having another baby,” he said, preoccupied with fixing his mother’s crooked picture. “Don’t know what is yet, don’t really care either. That’s not important. Byrne has to know what she’s dealing with if she’s going to this memorial. Charles Belmont, my father.”

I gasped, my hands over my cheeks. “No way,” I said, feigning shock, as Elena giggled quietly.

He tapped the whiteboard again. “This is serious, Byrne. Pay attention. He’s a Grade-A asshole. He cares about money and his business. Just stay away from him. He’ll probably be too busy at the office to attend the memorial.”

Hearing his bitter tone, I could not help feeling the tiniest bit of sympathy. Though we had barely spoken to each other before his death, it was common knowledge that Belmont despised his father. I remembered in second grade when we had to write about our parents’ careers and he received a timeout after calling his father a ‘buttface who only cared about work’.

Expensive cars, credit cards, and one thousand dollar a week allowances were not enough to mend their lack of a relationship. I used to think that he was exaggerating how terrible his father was but with his son’s recent death, I could not recall any instance of him being emotional over losing a child. Every news interview showed his mother sobbing uncontrollably, unable to string together a sentence, while his father maintained the same stoic expression in the picture.

Belmont had a much better relationship with his mother, who he spoke of with a uncharacteristic fondness. He forbade me from speaking with her, not wanting to put any additional stress on her or the baby. His bitter tone resurfaced when speaking about his two older siblings, the supposedly perfect twins.

I heard plenty about the twins growing up, teachers calling them the pride and joy of Belmont Falls. They were known for having won numerous academic and athletic awards, being co-valedictorians, and attending a prestigious university. Rosalie was the straitlaced, rule-abiding of the two, groomed to take over her father’s company upon his retirement. Rhys, on the other hand, had a motto of living life to the fullest, participating in extreme activities like mountain climbing and skydiving.

“If we’re lucky, he’ll be working out down in the basement. Wait until you see him shirtless,” whispered Elena, making Belmont scowl in disgust.

“Talk about my brother when I’m out of the room. This is more important.” He tapped the marker under Rosalie’s picture. “Avoid my sister. She’s like your mom. She can sniff out a lie from a mile away.”

I sat up, crossing my legs before his eyes could peek under my short skirt. “Am I allowed to talk to anyone?”

“Rhys won’t be a problem. He’ll bore you about his latest trip where he scaled a volcano or something. You can talk to my little brother Bradley,” he said, writing notes about each family member. “Bet my dad and Rosie are working on some business proposal right now. The company matters more than me. Let’s move onto who else to avoid because you are a terrible liar. Chief Parker and his wife.”

Belmont pointed the marker at two pictures beneath his parents. Parker was a perfect mix of his parents, inheriting his father’s chiseled chin and burly frame and his mother’s round, chestnut brown eyes and light brown complexion. Despite his father’s genial appearance in the photo, Belmont cautioned that it was a façade and Chief Parker could be an intimidating man.

His wife, Alexandra, was similar, retaliating with the viciousness of a lioness protecting her cubs if someone badmouthed her son or husband. Her petite stature made the change from a doting housewife that more chilling.

Belmont spent another twenty minutes giving me details on members of the police force, most of them barely able to tell their left from their right, and other prominent members of the community.

“She’s going to your house, not infiltrating the White House,” said Elena, dismissively.

“Sorry if I want her to be prepared, Ellie,” he replied, drawing devil horns on Rosalie’s picture. “If we’re going to find out what my ex-best friend knows about my death, she needs to know how to talk to these people. His mother is going to be attached to his hip and if she can’t talk to him, maybe she can get info out of the cops or—”

He stumbled backwards, bumping into the whiteboard. Getting up from the bed, I grabbed him, to prevent him from falling to the floor, and felt a tingling sensation up my arm. Brief images flashed before my eyes.

“W—what the hell was that? Do ghosts get dizzy if we don’t eat?” he asked, snatching the peanut butter sandwich from Elena.

“You’re remembering that night. It happens when you’ve been a ghost for a while,” I said, unable to remember a single image. “Elena had visions about a week after her accident. This is good. It could help us figure out who attacked you on the bridge. I saw what you did when I touched your arm. Did you get a better look?”

Belmont shoved the entire sandwich into his mouth, muttering “Not much” between bites. From my experiences with Elena, I knew that the images were just blurs the first few times. She never had a clear memory of the accident that took her life until almost six months later and the memories appeared at random moments.

He remembered a blurred tattoo on a wrist and red and green fingers seizing his throat. Elena joked that his murderer enjoyed fingerpainting. Picking up the whiteboard from the floor, she reminded me that, according to my mother, the memory flashes were a collection of moments from their last day alive, not constrained to their deaths.

I decided to take an optimistic approach, hoping that the tattoo and colorful fingers belonged to his murderer. Later that night, Will picked me up for the memorial, still uneasy with my new clothes. He shyly complimented me on my long-sleeved, black dress with lace sleeves.

“Will, I know you struggle with change but I haven’t really changed that much,” I said, attempting to get past the awkwardness. “I mean, even if I wasn’t wearing this, I wouldn’t go to Belmont’s memorial in a hoodie and jeans.”

“I’ll get used to it.” His shaky tone was not convincing. “I just—well, maybe if you told me why you decided to take Parker’s offer…”

I fixed the strap of my heel. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“That doesn’t help and I want to believe that you’re not becoming one of his fangirls but you’ve never punched Hilton before,” he acknowledged.

“Punching her isn’t related to hanging out with Parker,” I argued, though he was not wrong. “She’s had it coming for years.”

“I heard guys talking about it in the locker room.” He threw me a sympathetic glance. “It was about...person who shall remain nameless?”

I nodded, a giant knot in my chest. “I did tell her to shut up so really, it’s her fault.”

Will gripped my hand, giving me a small sense of comfort. Just thinking about the incident in the stoner pit with Hilton dampened my mood but I was broken out of my melancholy when we arrived at a golden gate with the letters B and H plastered into the metal.

Belmont Hills was the gated community that housed the richest families in the town and growing up, the children not privileged enough to live inside such a pristine neighborhood made it a game to sneak past the gates. In my childhood, those who managed it were caught by the security guards before making it past the rose gardens, the most troublesome being sent to juvenile centers.

The guard at the gate, an elderly man who looked like he had one foot in the grave, was cordial, asking for a form of ID to match their names to a list given to him by Rosalie.

“Nelson...your father’s a cop, ain’t he?” he asked, speaking with a thick Cajun accent.

“H—he was but uh not anymore,” said Will, scratching his ear. “He passed away a few years ago.”

It was my turn to comfort Will, holding his hand as he teared up from the memory of his father. The guard nodded glumly and praised Will’s father as a good man.

“Never caused any trouble and nice to everybody, no matter what. The chief lost a great podna that night.” He handed back my license. “Byrne...your mama teaches my grandson how to draw. You as good as her?”

“I’m getting there,” I said, kindly.

“Daddy’s still digging, huh?” he inquired. “When he gets back, tell him ol’ Carl wants to keep having that talk about those mummies, cher.”

I fumbled with putting my license in my purse. My father was the last person I expected to visit Belmont Hills. He was not fond of the Belmonts, finding them arrogant for plastering their family name on every building and essentially controlling the town. When I questioned if Carl met my father at a local bar, he shook his head, explaining that my father visited the gated community often, typically after arriving home from a dig site.

“I wonder why your dad comes here. It sounds like he’s friends with that guard,” said Will, driving down the street.

“No idea,” I replied, adding it to a long list of questions. “He wasn’t meeting the Belmonts. He hates them more than he hates oranges. Maybe the university sends him to get funding from the old rich people.”

Belmont Hills was exactly as I pictured in my mind: lavish mansions with the same model of cars, down to the year, parked in the vast driveways. The Belmont mansion stood out at the end of the street, perched on top of the highest hill behind another golden gate.

After handing our licenses to a second, antisocial guard, we drove up the winding road. Will commented that its Victorian style, differing from the modern design of their neighbors, reminded him of a house from a horror movie we watched in his bedroom. Several cars were parked in the driveway and most of our classmates were outside, either waiting for their parents or too anxious to enter the enormous mansion. The moment we stepped into the mansion, Elena and Belmont walking behind me, I saw a poster-sized photo of him on an easel.

“Names?”

Rosalie was at the front door with a tablet. Her expression was that of someone forced to attend a boring business meeting, not a girl who lost her younger brother.

“We gave our names twice,” I said, confused by her almost robotic behavior.

“It’s called being cautious,” she said, in a monotone voice. “Names?”

“Tessa Byrne-Reyes and Will Nelson,” I replied, pointing at myself then Will. “We uh went to school with your brother.”

She kept her eyes on the tablet as she tapped it with her finger. “I asked for your names, not your life story. Food and drinks are in the room to your left and we’ll begin the service within the hour. Bathrooms are on every floor. Don’t touch anything or you’ll be promptly taken from the premises. Move along,” she said, shooing us away to speak with an elderly couple.

“Told you,” muttered Belmont.

In each room, video screens on the walls played slideshows of pictures and home movies, from when he was a newborn to this year. Guests were scattered around the ballroom where caterers were offering foods like shrimp puffs and tiny blocks of cheese on toothpicks. I began to decline a glass of champagne until Parker entered the room with his parents. If I was going to have to endure another hour of his accomplishments in little league, the champagne was necessary to keep me sane. Parker looked unusually grumpy, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His mother whispered in his ear, greeting passing guests every so often.

“See? I was right, Tessa. They have cucumber sandwiches,” said Will, picking up a silver tray.

An amused Amity joined us by the table. “Have you never seen those? You’re so funny, Nelson. Tessa, you look adorbs.”

“Oh uh thanks,” I said, taking a sandwich from Will. “Have you been here awhile?”

“Yeah, my parents are talking to Claire’s.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You missed major drama. Parker wasn’t going to be allowed into the memorial.”

I secretly glanced at Belmont. “That’s weird. Why wouldn’t he be allowed? They were best friends.”

“Well, you can never tell with Rosalie because she’s a robot but for a second, I swear she looked pissed at him,” she said, going into gossip mode. “Mrs. Parker almost smacked her in the face when she told him to leave. Maybe they’re mad that with Fin gone, Parker is head of our clique now. It’s like a shift in power or whatever, you know? Oh, you have to come with me. Mr. Hilton wanted to talk to you.”

“T—to me? Why?” I asked, thinking that it was a trap.

Taking me by the arm, she pulled me through the crowd. I imagined that Hilton’s father was much like his wife, shallow and dimwitted yet fiercely protective of his daughter. The possibility that Hilton convinced him to smack me around as revenge occurred to me and I scouted potential exits out of the room.

The Hiltons were speaking with another couple, likely Amity’s parents, and Principal Hilton scolded her daughter for drinking two glasses of champagne in the span of five minutes. Hilton ignored her, too busy glaring daggers in my direction. Mr. Hilton, a handsome, extremely tanned man in a dark blue suit, grinned as Amity, fighting against my attempts to return to Will, ambled towards them. He was considerably older than his wife, by at least fifteen years.

“Amity, here you are. Your father was telling us about you applying early to UPenn. An excellent school. Ah, I see you brought Tessa with you. Wonderful,” he said, sounding like a stereotypical rich person from a cartoon.

There was a momentary silence as he extended his hand. Ever since the day that I ‘disfigured’ her daughter’s face, Principal Hilton had been frigid towards me. She never used to address me in the halls in the past but now, whenever she passed me, she made a point of saying my name in an icy tone, eerily like her daughter. She scrunched her nose when I shook his hand, slightly letting down my guard.

“Truly wonderful to meet you in person, Tessa,” he said, his pleasant nature making me wonder how he raised someone as vile as Hilton. “The last time I saw you, it was at the fourth grade art exhibit on parents’ night. You’ve got talent like your mother. Cecile and I love seeing her works at the gallery.”

“Yes, you’re Celia’s daughter, aren’t you? I can see the resemblance. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re usually dressed...differently,” said Mr. Sousa, taking a glass of champagne from a passing caterer.

His flippant remark caused his wife to nudge his side and reprimand him in Portugese. It was close enough to Spanish that I could get the gist of it but I played dumb, acting as if I did not understand a word.

I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I get that a lot...the thing about my mom.”

“I’m sure you girls have a lot to talk about but I was hoping for a moment alone with you, Tessa. Would that be alright?” Mr. Hilton asked, cordially.

Alarm bells rang inside my head at his request. I was now more certain than ever that his friendliness was an act to get me alone and have some hired hitman bash in my brains. With all eyes on me, I had no choice but to accept his offer.

As I followed him outside, I thought of the action movies I had watched with my father late at night, while my mother thought I was fast asleep, and how the main character, guy or girl kicking ass in their leather jacket and combat boots, fought their enemies. I doubted that I could learn how to break a man’s arm in a matter of seconds but with him pushing sixty, it would be easy to knock him to the ground and run back to my house.

A disturbing thought crept into the back of my mind: he could be hiding expert fighting skills and a ripped physique behind that grey hair and dark blue suit. He stopped in the middle of the rose garden and sat on a stone bench, patting the spot beside him.

“Have you thought about it?”

I realized that he had been speaking to me during our walk to the garden. “Sorry?”

“What you’ll be doing after high school,” he said, sensing I was lost in my thoughts. “Cecile’s been very busy lately, keeping track of where every senior has been applying or if they even plan to pursue a higher education.”

“Oh. Yeah, I uh—well, I want to go to college,” I said, firmly holding my purse strap. “I’ll probably go somewhere local since it’s cheaper. I’m hoping for a scholarship but everyone does, unless they’re really rich.”

He nodded solemnly, despite not sharing her money troubles. “I’ll admit that my daughter doesn’t care much about her future beyond what outfit she wears day to day but you, I can see that you’re a driven young woman, Tessa. You’re top of the class and involved in the community through the recreation center with your mother. I suppose you want to be an artist like her. I saw that you applied to the Academy of Fine Arts in New York. It’s a fantastic school.”

“Yea, it’s...my mother wanted to go there but even if I somehow get in, tuition is a lot of money,” I admitted, a bit embarrassed. “I applied to see if I could get in, really. It’s not a realistic goal.”

“When you do and I know that you will, I would be happy to give you the money.” He smiled at the incredulous look on my face. “I have a vested interest in the arts and its young talent. My mother was an artist herself, a true gift that I never inherited unfortunately. Don’t think of it as charity, Tessa. I do the same for your mother and her friends each year. Charles has wanted to demolish that gallery for ages but I keep it afloat with my donations. I’m afraid he doesn’t share my appreciation for the arts. I do have one condition for the loan. When you become a famous artist, I get credit for the discovery.”

“Wow and I thought you were going to bash my head in with a brick for punching your daughter.” Only I could ruin this moment by reminding him that I hurt his flesh and blood. “Forget I said that. You really don’t have to—I mean, I appreciate it. Going there is like a dream...come...true...”

The bright red roses in the hedges behind him darkened in color, turning black as coal. As Mr. Hilton offered me his business card to call him at his office to discuss the potential loan, I was distracted by a soft rustling in the hedges. I jumped up from the bench when a pair of milky white eyes stared back at me.

“Tessa?” he asked, concerned. “Is something the matter?”

The eyes did not leave mine, boring into my soul. “I uh—I think I had a bad shrimp puff. I should probably—I’m sorry, Mr. Hilton. I really want to keep talking but—”

“If you’re feeling ill, there’s a bathroom on the first floor, just past the ballroom,” he said, pointing to the nearest doors.

“T—thank you,” I said, struggling to stay calm when blood fell to the ground in a thick string of drool.

I hurried out of the garden, clutching my stomach as if I had a bad stomachache. Hearing a series of growls, I quickened my pace and ignored the pain in my ankles from the high heels. The growls grew louder but when I turned my head, there was nothing behind me except the shrinking garden in the distance.

A shriek escaped my lips as something slammed into me with the force of a train. It sent me crashing face first into the ground. Two hands, slimy and smelling of rotting flesh, pressed against the back of my head, followed by a heavy weight on my back.

Whatever had me pinned let out a disembodied growl and drops of blood dripped onto my shoulder. No matter how much I twisted my body, nothing budged and the hands tightened their grip on my head, their sharp nails digging into my neck. My sobs were muffled by the dirt.

“Tessa!”

The weight was dislodged from my back and someone helped me up from the ground. Elena had her arms around me, holding me in a tight embrace. Belmont was standing beside us, a fallen tree branch in his hands. Across from the three of us was the same creature that attacked Katie on the night of the party, now sporting a gash across its cheek.

“What is that thing, Byrne?” he asked, his eyes wide. “How do we get rid of it?”

I held my side. “I—I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe its weakness is tree branches.” He raised the branch like a baseball bat. “You want some more, you ugly—”

A black blur jumped down from a nearby tree, striking his head. He fell forward and in his place was another creature, this one more slender. The two creatures stared at each another, growling at various pitches and lengths. My fright-induced panic made me think that I understood them.

I imagined that the slender creature said something similar to ‘our orders’. Belmont swung the tree branch at the creature’s legs, causing it to stumble, and grasped both my hand and Elena’s before sprinting towards his house. The creatures were gaining on us, moving with the speed of a cheetah.

As I hurried through the back door that led into the kitchen, I bumped into a firm, muscular chest, my eyes meeting Parker’s. The creatures were repelled from the doorway and hissed at me before vanishing into the ground.

“Tessa, why were you—” His gaze fell on my arm. “What happened? You’re bleeding.”

There was so much I wanted to say but all that came out was silence. Elena refused to let me go, her arms fastened around my waist. Belmont looked like he was about to hug both of us until he stopped himself, instead choosing to give me a curt nod.

“Was it one of their dogs?” he asked, wrapping a paper towel around the wound. “Bradley must’ve forgotten to lock the gate. They can get nasty unless you know how to handle them. Let me help you.”

Trying to lift me was tough when Elena was latched onto me and he joked that I weighed a little more than a feather. I managed a weak smile as he carried me to the bathroom, sneaking past the guests in the ballroom. He sat me down on the counter and opened the medicine cabinet.

“You’re in a better mood,” I said, in an attempt to make small talk. “I uh heard what happened with Rosalie.”

I winced when he pushed up my sleeve to examine the scrape. “I’m over it. Rosalie’s a...well, if I say how I really feel, you might smack me. She liked to accuse me of wanting to get out of Fin’s shadow. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Her family’s the elite, the best of the best. You don’t think I’ve heard what kids say about me at school? How I don’t care that he’s gone?”

“To be honest, it doesn’t seem like you do,” I confessed, taking the chance to get answers.

He dabbed a wet towel on the scrape, wiping away the blood. “Of course I care. He was my best friend since diapers. I guess I’m the type that grieves for a little then moves on. Everyone wants me to be holed up in my room, crying my eyes out, but that’s not me. Why should I act like someone else to fit their idea of grief?”

“Can I ask you something about that night?” I asked, nervously.

It was now or never. To protect Amity, I lied about seeing the fight between him and Belmont at the party.

“We were fighting about Dr. Baxter,” he said, placing a bandage over the scrape. “The creep snuck into the party and I caught him and Claire making out in the back of his car. She thought it was such a scandalous little secret but Fin knew all about it. He always knew our secrets, no matter how well we hid them.”

I looked at Parker in disbelief as he confessed that Hilton and Dr. Baxter began seeing each other towards the end of junior year. Belmont had not learned the truth until mid-July, having caught them at the Falls one night, but instead of exposing the illicit affair, he kept it to himself for future blackmail.

Hilton wanted to wait until she turned eighteen before revealing the relationship to her parents, hoping that the reaction would be less harsh if her parents believed it began between two consenting adults. For once in his life, Belmont was completely silent, avoiding Elena’s repulsed glare.

Since it was Belmont’s party, Parker attempted to convince him to force Dr. Baxter out before someone saw them together but Belmont disregarded his concerns. He considered the affair harmless, a fun hookup until Hilton went to college. Parker pushed him roughly after he joked that I was his next potential victim, Belmont noticing that Dr. Baxter was staring at me that night.

Elena was about to strangle her ex-boyfriend/former best friend. “H—how long was Baxter at the party?” I asked, holding the back of her denim jacket to keep her from launching herself at Belmont.

“From the beginning, I guess,” said a hesitant Parker. “After I went looking for the jackass that threw a beer at me, I saw him leaning against a tree. He was watching you and Nelson and talking on the phone. It was probably one of his buddies...to tell them that he found another underage girl to hook up with besides Claire.”

“Did he stay for the whole party?” I questioned further, despite his discomfort.

He sighed in frustration. “I don’t remember that whole night but I know he left with Claire after she caught him staring at you when you were leaving with Nelson and Katie. Last I saw him, she was offering to wear her ‘sexy outfit’ for him back at his place. Anyway, like I said, we were fighting about him being there. It was two drunken idiots yelling at each other. When I said that thing about Fin not ruling the school, I meant that everyone was getting fed up with him using our secrets against us.”

Listening to Parker talk about his version of the fight, it made me second-guess my suspicions. My gut told me that even if the fight was over Hilton’s immature decision to have a relationship with her teacher, it did not prove his innocence.

The fight was one part of that night, taking place before Belmont was attacked on the bridge. Whether it was Parker’s jealousy, too much alcohol, or a combination of the two, there was still a chance of him being the murderer. He admitted his possible motive when he revealed that Belmont knew his friends’ secrets, leading me to believe that Parker had secrets that he wanted to stay buried.

Before I could question him more, Rosalie was calling the guests into the drawing room. I followed Parker out of the bathroom, thinking of ways to get him alone at his party. He stopped halfway down the hallway, poking his head through an open door.

Rhys and Bradley were sitting on the floor, surrounded by pieces of wood, tools, unopened cardboard boxes, and toys. Bradley waved at the two of us, introducing the room as the baby’s playroom. Rhys decided to let Bradley help him build a crib instead of spending the day in his room, using the activity to distract his youngest brother from the recent death in the family.

“Two colors for one room? Bold choice,” I joked.

Rhys lifted a laughing Bradley onto his shoulders. “Bradley thought it would look cool. He said the baby can decide which color they like when they’re born.”

“It must’ve taken the painters a long time,” I commented, hiding my apprehension. “This room is huge.”

“No, we got it done quick. Oh, I know that look. Don’t think us fancy rich people can paint a room? Well, I’ll admit that it took a lot of prodding from me but I thought it would be fun for all of us. Say what you want about my dad and Fin not getting along but they were both stubborn as hell. They took the longest to convince. Fin was supposed to help us out but he couldn’t miss a party.” His smile faltered. “Bet he would’ve chosen differently if he knew what was going to happen, huh? Let’s go, champ. We better get down there before Rosie chews off our heads. Rocket ship time.”

Making engine sounds, he sped out of the room. Parker shook his head, teasing that Rhys never aged past five. He continued towards the drawing room while I stayed behind, the red and green walls taunting me like warning signs.

“Don’t say it, Byrne,” whispered Belmont.

I turned towards him. “The red and green fingers...it could’ve been from paint.”

“Elena said that those memories might be from earlier that day,” he said, as if it settled the matter.

“Do you and your family like to strangle each other for fun?” I countered, angering him. “Your brother said that they were painting that same day and you were supposed to help them.”

“I remember seeing them paint before I left for the party. Thinking that my best friend might have killed me is bad enough.” His fists clenched. “Don’t say—no, I’m not doing this. Not today.”

Belmont stormed out of the room. I chased after him, expecting to find him outside destroying rose bushes, but he was in the doorway to the drawing room, listening to his family members speak about him.

Bradley was sitting on Amity’s lap, drying his eyes with his sleeve. The family’s speeches reflected their different personalities. Rhys spoke about a mountain climbing trip he once took with his brother and how they planned to travel through Europe the summer after graduation.

Both Rosalie and Mr. Belmont showed little emotion, treating him more like a coworker and not family. Mr. Belmont’s speech was terse and I was uncertain if he felt nothing for his son or was bottling up his emotions for fear of showing weakness.

His mother, sporting a tiny baby bump under her dress, hardly held herself together, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. When she spoke after her husband, the room was able to hear the pain and loss in her voice. She stuttered and stopped every few seconds to catch her breath, torn up over the death of one of her children.

“H—he was my special little boy,” she stammered. “I loved him more than anything in this world and—I wish I had kept him from leaving that night. If I had put my foot down, maybe he’d still...st—still be here instead of—I’m very sorry. Ex—excuse me.”

No longer able to contain her sobs, she left the drawing room, Rhys trailing after her. Belmont’s eyes were shut tightly, an attempt to hold back his own tears. Remembering how he responded the night of his death, I was waffled over giving him a hug but this time, he did not push me away though his hands remained at his sides. I stepped away from him when I caught Bradley looking at me oddly and pretended to fix my dress.

“I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I never thought I would live forever or some delusional shit like that but when I died, I didn’t think my mom would still be around,” he mumbled, his sadness not enough to garner Elena’s sympathy. “Seeing her like that...I don’t like it. I have to find out what happened that night but not for me...for her. I can’t let her think that I died because of some stupid accident.”

“We’re going to find the truth, I promise,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“I want to talk to her...to my mom.” He opened his eyes. “I know she can’t see or hear me so can you do it?”

Mrs. Belmont had retreated to her bedroom. She was standing by the windowsill with her crumpled handkerchief, staring at a vase of flowers. The flowers had six wide, white petals with brown streaks down the middle.

“Those flowers are pretty. Are they lilies?” She was startled by the sound of my voice. “S—sorry, I um...I wanted to check on you, Mrs. Belmont. I could see how upset you were when you were talking about your son.”

“It’s quite alright, dear.” She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “No, they’re not lilies but very close. Asphodel. My mother used to grow this in her garden when I was a little girl. There’s something...mesmerizing about them, don’t you agree?”

As I looked at the unique flowers, I began to forget why I was searching for her. “Yeah, they’re really...” Belmont pinched my arm. “They are really nice. My name’s Tessa, by the way. We’ve never met.”

“Oh, the daughter of Belmont Falls’ prized artist,” she said, a common phrase that was turning into my new nickname. “That’s what Benedict calls your mother. I’ve seen her work. She is very talented and I hear you’ve got that talent as well. You went to school with my Finley?”

Thankfully, she was unable to hear Elena’s uncontrollable laughter and Belmont shouting, “Shut the hell up! It’s not that funny!“.

Suppressing a smile, I nodded. “Yea, I uh knew him. We weren’t best friends or anything but we’ve been in classes together since second grade. My mother says that—” I was distracted by Elena chanting “Finley, Finley, Finley” in a taunting manner to a red-faced Belmont. “That the dead never leave us. If we listen, we can hear what they’re saying.”

“I’d give anything to hear my little boy speak to me again,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “What do you think he’s saying to me?”

I recited what he told me as we walked up the staircase, subtly stepping on Elena’s foot to stop her chanting before she became the first account of death after becoming a ghost, thanks to Belmont bludgeoning her to death with his mother’s heels. As Elena resorted to now mouthing ‘Finley’, I assured Mrs. Belmont that he did not want her to blame herself for his death and that he loved her.

Those few words cheered up his grieving mother.“How do you know? Can you hear him?”

“W—well, no,” I replied, taken aback. “I um...knowing how much he cared about you, I think that’s what he’d say.”

“I’d like to believe that too,” she said, not looking directly at me.

My entire body tensed when I heard a scraping, like nails on a chalkboard, outside her window. One of the creatures was climbing up the side of the house. I was relieved that for some reason, it was unable to enter the house though I could not tell that to the pee about to trickle down my leg.

Making eye contact, the creature dragged a sharp nail across the window, writing Tessa in the glass. Belmont rushed to shield his mother when the creature slammed its fist, shattering the glass into a million pieces. I bent down beside her, checking if she had been hurt.

“M—Mrs. Belmont, are you okay?” I asked, pulling a piece of glass from my hair.

“Yes. That must’ve been a very large bird,” she said, trembling from head to toe. “I should go find my son. He’ll be able to repair the window. Thank you very much, Tessa. I hope we can talk again.”

“Anytime you want,” I agreed.

“Excellent. I look forward to it,” she said, leaving the room in search of her son.

“Can ghosts pee themselves? I’m pretty sure I’m proof that they can,” gasped Elena.

“We’re getting out of here now,” I said, terrified that the creatures would come back for a round three. “Screw Parker’s party. It’s not worth getting attacked by those shadow things.”

Belmont was unconcerned about the shadow creatures, wanting to spend more time with his mother. I dragged him down the stairs by his shirt collar, reminding him that the creatures were able to harm him and if he did not want to end up in a ghost hospital, a term I said with enough confidence to be believable, he needed to leave his house.

I was almost out the door when someone shouted my name. Will grasped my wrist.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I wasn’t sure if you were with Parker. Everyone’s heading over there for his party,” he said, indicating the students leaving the mansion. “I know I said I wouldn’t mind going but—”

I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to be home. “No, forget the party. Take all the cucumber sandwiches you can fit in your pocket and let’s go.”

“O—okay.” He abandoned his half-eaten sandwich. “I don’t need the sandwiches but leaving is good. Yay for leaving.”

A young man with swept-back golden blonde hair was inspecting the inside of Will’s car. I remembered him from the night Belmont and I sneaked out to the Falls, the officer who had pulled his body from the water.

“Can I help you, Officer Garren?” asked Will, likely knowing his name from his father’s days in the police department.

“Will, good to see you,” he said, shutting the door with a smile. “I didn’t realize this was your car. We got a call at the station that a Lexus at the Belmont memorial was carrying...illegal substances.”

Will pointed at his old sedan. “Does that look like a Lexus to you?”

“I’ve never been into cars so I figured I’d check every one before Mr. Belmont threatens to take my badge. Standard protocol says I have to do a search of any people on the premises. Is that all right?” he asked, walking towards us. “I’d hate to do it but if Chief Parker catches me slacking, I’ll be demoted to doing paperwork.”

Officer Garren performed a quick search, halfheartedly checking Will’s sleeves and pockets before doing the same to me. He brushed back my hair, observing the cut on my neck.

I winced when his fingers grazed over it. “I uh tripped.”

“Don’t get in the car,” he whispered, checking under my left sleeve.

“Wh—”

“Looks good to me,” he said, letting go of my sleeve. “I knew you two weren’t trouble but if I went straight to the chief’s son, he’d have my head. Get home safe.”

Will opened the door on the passenger side but I was too preoccupied with Officer Garren’s words. I passed it off as my mind playing tricks on me, exacerbated by the knot twisting in the pit of my stomach, as Will drove home. I was only partially listening to his story about Amity flirting with him after too much champagne.

“I know it was the champagne but I felt bad when she started flirting with Dr. Baxter. Not that he minded...you know him,” he told me, shuddering. “He loves the attention. Tessa.”

“Yeah, such a creep,” I said, staring out the window.

“Tessa.”

After my conversation with Parker, just thinking of Dr. Baxter made my skin crawl. “I heard you, Will. Can we not talk about him?”

“Tessa. Itty bitty baby Tessa,” he said, mockingly. “Stupid, naïve Tessa. Thinks her little friends can help her. Stupid Ellie and Fin...just as stupid as her.”

Elena and Belmont were sitting in the backseat, gaping at the rearview mirror. “What did you s—”

Will’s eyes were no longer dark brown, but milky white. He stamped on the gas pedal, speeding the car down the street.

“Master, oh master.” He spoke in a deep, guttural voice. “Damn all men, oh never-ending.”

“Will, you have to listen to me!” I shouted, shaking him. “Stop the car!”

“Stop the car!” he repeated, cackling.

“Get out of him or I swear I’ll-”

His hand wrapped around my throat. “Itty bitty Tessa can do nothing. Master says be a good girl or a little bird will fall to the ground. No one to save all from evil. Tessa, here I stand. I see Tessa, her eyes...eyes now doomed.”

He slammed his head into the seat and his eyes returned to normal. “Will, look out!”

I gripped the wheel, helplessly turning it as the car hurtled towards the railing of Belmont Bridge.