Soft pop music filters around me in the cafe air, along with the scent of dark roast and sugary syrups. I take another sip of my iced coffee, decaf since it's the afternoon, and stare at my computer screen that's open to a blank word document. The blinking cursor taunts me, wondering when I will ever start to type. I probably should get started on my European history project but I just can't bring myself to focus on French geography at the moment.

Again, my mind circles back to heaven to my former teacher. There's something that I'm missing. I just can't figure out a way of getting the information I need.

"I think we've been going about this all wrong," I say.

Zoe looks up from across the table. Her hands stop moving across her keyboard, and I feel a pang of guilt or not being as diligent as she is. Even worse, I'm supposed to present my part of the assignment to my group tomorrow when we meet at the Arboretum to work on our assignment. Looks like I'm in for an all nighter.

"What do you mean," Zoe asks.

"There's got to be something I can do to find out about Miss Laybrook," I say.

Zoe shrugs, sipping an iced chai tea. "If I were you, I'd check the school records."

I sigh. "We obviously can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Last I heard, hacking is a crime." I stare at the cafe wall, raptured once more by my thoughts.

"Maybe we should try to figure out if she's had any previous work experience."

I hadn't even thought of that. On my search bar, I enter Miss Laybrook's name. The results show a list of three schools she has worked at. Zoe leans forward, and I spin my laptop around so she can see the screen better.

"Three schools in the span of 5 years? That doesn't seem good."

"No," I agree. "Maybe she had problems with her other work. Do you think we could talk to any of her former students or coworkers to find out what might have happened?"

"If we can track them down," says Zoe. "I'll see what I can find this weekend."

The door leading behind the counter swings open, and Brian strides out from behind it. He smiles and nods in our direction, and Zoe waves to him.

"Hey," he says, passing by our table. "Just getting off work now." He shakes his iced drink around, and the ice clatters against the plastic sides of the cup.

I glance at the time. It's almost six o'clock.

"Must be nice to get free drinks," Zoe says. "Do you want to sit for a bit?"

Brian glanced between us and the door, then says, "I can stay for a couple minutes."

"How long are the shifts here?" Zoe asks. "I was thinking about applying to work here."

Brian frowns. "I can ask my manager, but I don't think we're hiring. But the shifts are two hours for anyone under eighteen."

If he ends at six, then that means he starts work at four. That rules him out as Evan's killer.

"Is it pretty easy?"

He shrugs. "Easy enough, though some drink orders get pretty complicated." He pauses as he takes a sip of his milky-tan coffee. "It's fun though."

"Do you still have people from school here though," Zoe asks. "I have to be honest, I don't know if I can have a job where I see people I know on a daily basis."

"Well, that just comes with the job," Brian says. "The drama club used to come here a lot." His eyes turn distant as he stares into the corner. I turn around following his gaze to the table he is looking at. "Everyone has their usual orders," Brian continues. "You get used to the customers you see on a daily basis."

"What was Evans' order?" I ask.

Brian laughs humorlessly. "A double roasted iced mocha with toasted marshmallow cold foam. In the winter he just got it hot."

"That sounds delicious," Zoe says. Brian nods, though he seems a little more guarded than before.

"Were you close?" I ask. This seems like the prime opportunity to get more information about Evan information that wouldn't have been shared in a group setting. I suddenly realize that maybe I went about finding facts all wrong. I should've been more individualistic when speaking to his friends to prevent groupthink from overshadowing the info I was given.

"Fairly. We hung out sometimes after school." A long pause stretches, filled with the breezy wrap part of the song currently playing. "He was weird though. Too weird to be around all the time."

"How so?" asks Zoe.

"He sometimes was just really amped up and eager to get on with things. He got these crazy notions like 'let's go graffiti the park.' I had to talk him down. Sometimes I even drove him home because he seemed to sway on his feet. I was worried he'd crash if he rode his bike home. Other times he just seemed really moody. He snapped at everyone, especially his girlfriend." Brian sips his drink, nearly empty now.

"Did he have bipolar disorder?" asks Zoe. I feel a twist in my gut. This is far too close to home for me.

Brian glances at me. The knife twists deeper in my gut. Does he know? Am I reading too much into that look or does he know? Anxiety prickles the palms of my hands.

"I, uh, don't think so. He wasn't in counseling or anything."

Unless he didn't tell you.

"To be honest I think he was on something... something illegal. Or at least a substance he shouldn't have been taking."

"Like what?" Zoes eyes widen. "Like Xanax?"

Brian nods soberly. The last of his coffee gets tipped down his throat. "The others can only think good of him. But really, the guy had issues"

That's what Isabella was saying.

"Well, it was good talking to you." He stands and tosses his cup into the nearest trash can. "See you around." He leaves the coffee shop, and the bell chimes behind him.

"What do you make of that?" Zoe says, dumbfounded.

"I think I made a major error," I say. "This whole time, I should've talked to people who knew Evan individually to get more honest and candid information."

"We can still do that," Zoe says.

Yeah. The question is how.

"Perhaps Evan was doing drugs after all," Zoe comments

A sinking feeling shifts in me. I can't stand that he had those in his pocket when he came for the date, when he died. Could he have known he was meeting me? Was it all a planned setup?

Did I accidentally take some pills with him and blackout, leading to the murder?

Anxiety spikes, tingling in my system. Every nerve feels staticy and on fire.

Oh no. That's the worst theory yet.