Remember those childhood days when you would fall sick and Mom would allow you to skip school? And you would spend the day lying in your bed, a sour taste of medicine in your mouth.
Well, that happened to me after the funeral. Maybe it was the weather, because I suddenly felt so unwell that I had to skip school for two straight days. I'm missing Aaron. I desperately wanted to find out if that note was from him.

Now, I inspect my bedroom. The white wallpaper is losing its glitter and the black floral rows on it are almost matt. I seriously need a new MAGCON wallpaper. The way too high double bed looks as if the angle is wrong, plus the bed bench is some centimetres away from where it should be. The door to my closet creaks whenever I open and close it, and the mat in the bathroom needs to be replaced.

When I was thirteen, and when things were better with my family, Mom would often visit my room and the housekeeper was punctual with keeping my things right on place. Since the last two years, Mom has only payed two visits. One to check on me when I had bad cramps and was unable to eat or move, she came in to ask if I was any better (which I was not), looked at the painting of Cameron Dallas beside my bed, told me to "stop going crazy right now" and went. The next time she came was a month back, and that was a mistake. She was supposed to enter Dustyn's bedroom.

I get dressed for school, leave my hair open, put on some light make up, but make sure the lipstick looks classy enough to satisfy myself. Wish my lips looked more like Giorgia. But never mind. I know I'm pretty and if Cameron sees me someday, he'll propose me.

Okay, that was a stupid thought. I take that back.

||
I park my Kia in the school driveway, two cars away from Aaron's car because there's no space around. A pink Toyota and a black Volvo have taken up my places.
I step out and peek at the sky. The sun is way too bright, without any cloud cover. That's rare here in Omaha, Nebraska. Two eagles soar in the sky and there's a voice of a nightingale singing in the fore background.
I need my sunglasses.
I open the back door of my car. I keep all sorts of stuff here. There's even an extra black Wilk hoodie which I saved from the merch last year. There's an extra pair of vans, my make up kit, a hair brush (which used to be in the dashboard but I was running out of space so threw it back) plus a few Mars bars. They must have melted by now. Poor things. I rummage through the mess, when my hand accidently hits something soft. It falls besides my pink vans.
It's a small tea pink satin cloth covered around something. I don't remember putting something like that in here. Out of curiosity, I pick it up and unwrap it.

I stand still. This can't be... not in my car.

There's a hand on my back.
I turn around. It's Aaron, a shocked look on his face. His green eyes squint at me, and his other hand in his hair.
I try to manage myself but it seems impossible.

"What happened?" He says.

"What happened." I answer, dumbly.

"You screamed so loud, I swear the birds next town flew away."

Did I? I was too shocked to notice that. I'm still shaking.

What would a bunch of hair be doing in my car?

"You okay?" Aaron's still standing there. If he actually found time for me, did it really have to be like this?

"Yeah." I mutter.

"I was inside my car when I heard you scream. I thought maybe something was wrong. "

"Something's actually, seriously wrong." I gulp. I shouldn't be telling him.

He raises a brow. "What's up?"

I'm sure he noticed my hesitation because he continues, "You can share stuff with me, you know, if you need my help."

"Nothing." I mutter, lock my car, squeeze past him and run towards the building. Sorry Aaron, but I can't.
This is terrible. I possibly can't remove the image of those small red hair inside that cloth.

||

I get out of my car and head for the Police Department door. I once again peek at the satin cloth in my hand. It sounded quite spooky, spookier than Hogwarts when the lights go out, or spookier than Narnia when Jadis is out. I hadn't told anyone about any of it yet. Not even Stassie or Mahogany. I needed to know whose hair they were and what they were doing inside my car, but what I was curious about the most was, who put them in there?

"Yes?" The woman sitting at a desk near the entrance addresses me. I paddle towards her.

"I found something strange in my car. Want to report it."

"Are you sure it's a major thing, because our investigation team is already busy lately."

"Any officer would do, it's just I need some research regarding what I found."
The woman looks at me through her glasses. She has sharp green eyes and her golden locks look unbrushed. She is biting her pale lips from one side.

She clutches her pen, raises a brow, and then says, "Aren't you Tryna Wilkinson?"

"Yeah?" I say, confused. How does she know me?

"Oh well look who we have here! We had been looking for you from three days, honey."

What? The police looking for me?

I stare at her blankly, while she makes a quick phone call and directs me towards the second door in the room.
"Mr. Hudson is looking forward to see you."

She opens the door for me, and I enter the room, my eyes bulging in fear.
I can already tell my hands are going cold. It always happens to me, if I'm either too excited or too tensed. Like, I had gone all cold and shaky when I had seen a notification on Instagram saying "Cameron Dallas liked your post" but then I had noticed it was "CameronDallxs" , and I had actually wanted to kill the person. Another time was when Dad and I were flying to Paris and I was 10, taking my first flight ever, and had gone blue out of fear.

What did I do? I'm sure I didn't steal anything from Tiffany's with Mahogany. Mahogany used to slip diamond rings and lockets into her pockets without letting the salesmen know. She was even caught once by a CCTV recording, and had to change sheets for some hotel as a penalty.

Neither did I drive while I was drunk, nor did I hit any car. Plus I am sure I did not bully anyone at school lately.

The room is all white, as if this is some psychiatrist clinic or a room for cancer patients.
A man in his thirties sits on a seat, wearing a grey suit. The woman who directed me in excuses and goes out. Mr. Hudson gestures towards the seat in front of him.
Reluctantly, I move and sit, squeezing the cloth tightly in my hands.

"Miss Wilkinson, we had been looking forward to get your statement recorded."

My statement recorded?

As if reading my confusion, Mr. Hudson tilts his head. "You know about Park Carter's death, right?"

What do I have to do with Park's death?
Nevertheless, I nod.

"And, do you know he died on the Sunday before the previous week?"

Well, yeah, Stassie told us that. I nod again.

"Were you around Margaret Ln that day?"

I recall the previous weeks. The Sunday before the previous one, I had taken my car for an Air Conditioner service to a garage on Margaret Ln. Was Park killed... there?

And the police was suspecting me?
I was definitely not going to show them the hair I found. It would seem as I'm trying to use those to cover up.

No, maybe they just need a statement, like, if I knew something.

Never mind, the look on Mr. Hudson's face supported my first thought.