The room is filled with an unbearable smell, as if some rat was killed here. The layer of paint on the walls has teared away from the top and gray patches of cement are appearing. Old portraits hang on two of the walls, and another has "MTS" scribbled in red chalk. Below it, we have listed numerous names.

These were all those people who we had declared as our enemies, and we noted their names so we could prank them. I remember how we filled Samantha's locker with seven cockroaches, big, brown cockroaches which Stas had stolen from her brother's insect jar, and two of them had climbed up her arms and she sat there crying out of disgust.

Since freshman year, the three of us had chosen this area as our secret meeting place, or, in other words, Point Z.

This room used to be the Janitor's resting place, but when the school building had shifted to the right due to new reconstruction plans, the room had shut down. We had stolen the keys, and turned the room into a much better form. We had brought inside a table and four small pink chairs from Kindergarten. They were too small for us to fit, so we had brought large cushions from IKEA and added them in.

Stas is already inside, typing rapidly on her phone.

"What's up?" I say, as I seat myself on a large, orange cushion.

"God knows what's wrong with this phone. I just cannot turn on push notifications." She says, still fiddling with her phone.

I arch my lips and take out my phone out of my MK bag. I open up Instagram, and scroll through my feed.

I wonder who left that note in my locker. I'm sure I had locked my locker before leaving for my English class. Maybe someone had spare keys or something. I hope it is Aaron. Well, whoever it is can't hide for long, right?

"We all like shiny things. You are shiny."

What would someone mean by that?

I notice I have 95 likes, 25 comments and 18 new followers. I open them up and keep scrolling own. Fan usernames like Gilinskygood, Jacklollyjack, TeAmoAaron cross my eyes. One of my new followers has the username ChamelionCameron, and this sounds funny. I open up her profile and randomly open a post, look at the likes, and suddenly, everything feels annoying. "Liked by SophSammy and CameronDallas".

What the big Hell. Why can't Cameron just understand there is a Tryna Wilk on earth waiting for him alone?

"Tryna?"

I look up at Stas.

"Why are we bunking the second lesson?" she asks.

"Because we wanted to. That's about it."

"You coming at Park's funeral today?" Stas says.

"I didn't know it was today. Can you pick me up? We'll go together."

"That will do. Mahogany's joining me up as well."

"Cool. Anyway, any reports who killed him?"

"No idea." She says.

"This sounds so spooky. A murder in town."

"I know, right? They say some stalker's out. Remember Lilly Rosemary? One of our seniors? She was killed three years back. They say maybe it's her killer again."

"But that sounds too off, why would a killer return after three remote years?" I say.

Stas nods in response.

||

Dustyn's friends are coming over. Thank God I planned to join up with Park's funeral, or I would have to stay locked in my room. Dustyn's group is seriously annoying. They once had a pool party at our place when it was hailing. Mom and Dad had gone out of country for some meeting, and that week was a real headache.

I peek at my closet. Stas and Mahogany would be here in twenty minutes. I choose a knee-length black sheath dress and stiletto heels along. That would certainly do. I allow my hair open, put on mascara and some cherry gloss on my lips. I shape my brows so they look a Giorgia Caldarulo high, give myself a smile of satisfaction, hold my navy satin clutch, when Stassie's silver Acura horns in our drive way.

I climb down the stairs and exit the main door.

"So let's go?" Stas says.

I nod, and she backs the car and we head for Mahogany's place. Mahogany lives two lanes away, and her house is a double-story, medium sized place, good enough for three siblings and a mother. Her father died when we were in Year seven. Stas and I had spent the week at her place, trying to console her.
Mahogany is already waiting outside, in a full shirt dress with a red waist band. She waves as we drive in and enters the back seat.

"Isn't it too cold for a funeral?" she says, rubbing her hands.

"Maybe the weather's sad." I say.

"Maybe it's scared." Mahogany says.

Stas nods, pulls the gear and begins driving faster.

We approach and move towards the gate. We are handed over flowers and cards and the three of us hold hands.

The scene is mournful. Mrs. Carter, Park's mother sits gravely at one end, mascara running down her cheeks. Seems like the world ended for her. Poor woman. Mr. Carter stands, receiving the guests. A girl, around our age, or maybe older, stands besides Mr. Carter, and I reckon she is Park's sister.
The ceremony commences and we silently sit, listening to the parent's sad speeches.

"Park was a hero; whoever killed him just did not do the right thing." Mrs. Carter says.