Cooper gazed at the highschool through his grimy windshield, his hands clutching the steering wheel with excessive force. Under his breath, he whispered: "You can do this. Just get out of the car."

It was the same speech he'd given himself every morning these last two weeks, dread roiling in his gut as he contemplated the day ahead. The staring, he could endure. He even understood it to an extent. After all, he was that guy. That guy—the one who'd found the dead cheerleader at a party. That guy—the one who'd survived a kidnapping at the hands of a serial killer.

That guy—the one who'd just become a suspect in his girlfriend's murder investigation.

He blew out a deep breath. "Get. Out. Of. The. Damn. Car."

Before he could lose his nerve, he hurried out into the cold, shivering in his hoodie and jeans. He pulled up the hood as he half-jogged across the parking lot, ignoring the multitude of heads that swiveled in his direction.

He glanced up, half-hoping to find Vincent standing at the entrance to the building, a dorkish smile on his face—completely unbothered by the hostility around them. But Vincent was not there. He hadn't been there for two weeks now.

He's still avoiding me. 

Cooper's stomach plummeted to the soles of his feet. Vincent's disappearing act was impressive, honestly, considering the fact that they were now living together. He'd taken to sleeping on the couch, despite Amelia's protests that he take the air mattress. And he was a good roommate—he cleaned up after himself, always said please and thank you. But that was it. How he'd managed to avoid any sort of significant conversation beyond that was a mystery to Cooper.

Ignoring the tight ache lodged in the back of his throat, Cooper shoved his way through the door and made a beeline down the hall, wanting only to get the day over with.

He had no idea what had triggered Vincent's reclusive behavior. Vincent had stood beside him for years—even after it became apparent that they were on very different paths in life. 

So what had changed?

"Cooper."

He flinched—and then relaxed when he caught sight of a red ponytail. "Oh. It's just you," he muttered.

Calla joined him at his locker, her eyes thoughtful as she watched him grab a textbook for advanced cell biology. He snapped his locker shut. "What? What is it now?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Cranky."

"I'm hungry."

As if on cue, she brandished a packet of Goldfish. "Your favorite?" she prompted, eyes dancing.

He snatched the packet out of her hand. "You could have led with that."

"I could have. But I enjoy watching you suffer." She brushed her hair over her shoulder, unbothered by the whispers floating at their backs. "I'm going to set the record straight, you know. Whoever set you up," she lowered her voice to match the subdued atmosphere in the hall, "they're going to regret this."

Cooper thought of Cory then, of the sound his body had made when it crashed into the floor three stories below. "I imagine Cory regretted his decisions, in the end."

She smiled softly, sending a shiver dancing along his skin. "I imagine he did, yes."

Cory had been an obstacle, an inconvenience. A problem. And because of that, Calla had removed him from the equation—permanently. 

Venus is becoming quite the problem, isn't she? 

Cooper tried to banish the thought, but now that it was there, he couldn't shake it. Because despite what he'd said—despite what he'd told her to be true—Cooper wasn't entirely sure he believed Calla when she said she hadn't played a role in his girlfriend's death.

And if that makes her a monster, then what does it make you?

Calla's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're thinking."

He scoffed, leaning back against his locker as the hall began to clear. "I highly doubt that."

"You're thinking, 'oh, but what if she did kill my—'"

"Okay!" he blurted, holding out a hand to stop her. "I get it. You're omniscient." She shifted from foot-to-foot, her eyes straying to the far end of the hall. "In a hurry?"

"What?" She frowned. "No."

"You seem..." He had to choose his words wisely. "On edge."

She made a noise in the back of her throat. But she didn't deny it. "Maybe I am."

He searched her face for an answer. But Calla had always been a closed book, even to him. "Why?"

She shot him a cynical look. "I don't know. Could it maybe be the recent murder and interrogation we just lied our asses through?"

"Fair," he conceded. "But there's something else." And I know it's not a guilty conscience. You don't have one.

She grunted. "Something else," she repeated, cradling her textbook against her chest. "It's—"

A sudden flash of light interrupted whatever she was about to say. From a few lockers down, Tom lowered his camera. He smiled. "Whoops. Sorry to interrupt."

Calla stared at him, bewildered—like a lion who'd just been baited by a bleating little lamb. But it wasn't her temper Cooper was afraid of.

It was his own.

"What is your problem?" he snapped. His hands began to shake.

Tom stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "You. You are my problem. You're a liar." He took another step forward. "And a killer." Another step. They were almost nose-to-nose now. He jabbed a finger in Cooper's sternum. "And I'm going to be the one to prove it."

Cooper's ears began to ring. And then something inside him snapped, like a pin in a grenade being released. Faster than he thought possible, he grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest locker. Tom gasped in surprise.

Cooper couldn't believe the nerve of this kid. To taunt him here, now, after his antics had probably cost Venus her life—

Someone grabbed Cooper from behind. He snapped back to the present, panting. His right hand hurt, which was mildly concerning. More concerning was the fact that Tom was lying on the ground, clutching his stomach and gasping for air.

Cooper let himself be dragged away. A familiar voice at his ear hissed, "Coop. What the hell?"

"Oh. Now you're talking to me?" Cooper gasped, twisting around to pin Vincent with a glare.

A second later, the door to their left burst open. Vincent immediately released him and took a step back, wary. 

Ms. Esperanza barreled into the hall, her suspicious eyes scanning the scene. They landed on Tom, his arms still wrapped around his middle. And then they shifted to Cooper.

"Cooper Daniels." Her eyes narrowed. "To the principal's office. Now."

# # #

It could have been worse.

Cooper had been suspended, of course. We will not tolerate violence in this school, young man. That's what they'd told him—ironic, considering his girlfriend had just been murdered at this school. 

He'd decided to keep that thought to himself.

Besides, the suspension was only for two days. His mom would still freak; that much was a given. He wasn't looking forward to that. But then again, the thought of lying in bed and avoiding any and all human interaction appealed to him in the extreme. Especially after the week he'd had.

Cooper was so preoccupied with thoughts of his suspension—and how he might sweet talk his way back into his mom's good graces—that he didn't notice the silver car until the third turn.

He glanced into his busted rearview mirror, tracking the car while also attempting to pay attention to what was in front of him. On a whim, he made a right turn, taking the long way to the Diner. The silver car followed.

Cooper had picked up a shift at the last minute, practically begging Loretta for scut work once he'd made his escape from the principal's office; he had nothing better to do with his time, and he needed to keep his hands busy. Loretta, bless her, had taken pity on him. She was one of the few people in town who seemed to believe he was innocent, and that the entire thing with Venus was a tragic misunderstanding, which automatically put her in his good book.

He frowned as the silver car followed him into the Diner's parking lot. But that wasn't unusual, he told himself. The Diner was one of only three suitable eateries in town. The other options were fast food or a forty-minute drive into the city. Relaxing somewhat, he pulled into his usual spot, and let out a heavy breath when the silver car slipped past him, heading for the opposite side of the lot.

You're paranoid, he told himself, pushing his way through the front door. The hinges screeched, signaling his arrival. Gareth glanced up from his spot behind the register.

"Hey, Coop," he greeted, unnecessarily cheerful. Several heads turned in their direction. Gareth made a show of clapping him on the shoulder as Cooper ducked behind the counter, heading for the kitchens. "Good to see you."

That tight feeling was back in Cooper's throat. Gareth had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome at work, and had vehemently denied the rumors circulating around town to anyone who would ask. "Cooper's a good student and a good worker," he always said, crossing his burly arms in a way that discouraged any further questions on the matter.

Cooper tied his work apron slowly, dreading the moment he would have to face the music outside. But then Gareth burst through the kitchen door, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hey," Cooper greeted dully, unable to help his low spirits.

"It's pretty slow right now." Gareth leaned against the sink, his arms folded. "No one here's likely to give you a hard time..." He lifted his brows. "Uh. Shouldn't you be in class right now?"

Cooper sighed. "Suspended."

"For what?"

"Fighting." He held up his fists. "Didn't you know? I'm a troubled youth."

Gareth laughed. "You? Fighting? They must have the wrong guy."

"Yeah," Cooper muttered, dropping his hands. "Story of my life."

Gareth grimaced. "It'll all work itself out."

Cooper looked at him then. Really looked at him. "Why?" he blurted, unable to stop the question from popping out.

"Why what?"

Cooper rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "You. I mean, I appreciate the support and all, man. But..." He blew out a breath, heat crawling up his neck. "Well, this is awkward. But we've never really been that close, have we? You don't have to stick up for me, you know."

"I guess you're right." Gareth looked down at his shoes, brow furrowed in a way that reminded Cooper very much of Vincent. His throat felt tight again. "It's probably my fault. Y'know, 'cause I was such a dickhead. Even before the coke. I never really thought much of you. Vincent..." Gareth shrugged. "I didn't get why you two were so close. But I do now. You're alright, Coop. And you deserve better."

And with that, he walked back onto the main floor, leaving Cooper staring after him in stunned silence.

You deserve better. If only Gareth knew the truth. Cooper had been a good guy, once upon a time. But he'd made too many left turns and ended up somewhere just south of hell. Befriending a psychopath was one thing. Helping said psychopath to carry out revenge was another.

You're wrong, Gareth. I deserve nothing.

Cooper spent most of his shift in the back, polishing dirty silverware and humming along with the radio, elbow-deep in sudsy water. He emerged once or twice to refill empty mugs of coffee. Most people went utterly silent in his presence. The only one who greeted him at all was Detective Gerald Michaels, back in his corner booth by the restrooms. But that wasn't saying much. The guy was as much a pariah as he was.

The end of his shift arrived just as the dinner rush started to pick up. Cooper was in desperate need of a shower. His hair was slick with sweat, and he smelled strangely of dish detergent, coffee, and old gym clothes. But before he could make a quick getaway, someone waved him down at the far end of the counter, away from the crowd on the main floor.

Cooper made his way over. "Stephanie," he greeted, surprised.

She gave him a weary smile, shifting uneasily on the barstool. The sight reminded him of Venus, on the night of their first real fight. She'd sat here, her hand soft and warm in his. The thought made him incredibly sad.

I'm not the one who deserves better. She did.

"Mind grabbing me a water?" Stephanie asked, unusually subdued.

Cooper nodded, despite the fact that he was technically off the clock. He ducked back into the kitchens and retrieved a glass for both of them. "Wish this was stronger," he said when he returned.

Stephanie cupped her hands around the glass. "Me too."

Cooper analyzed her from behind the counter. He'd long detested her love for gossip. How many relationships had she ruined for the sake of a good story? How many friendships? No one had ever really called her out on it, either, because she wasn't malicious about it. She just liked to hear herself talk. That's what everyone said, anyway.

Now? Cooper wasn't so sure.

Stephanie sighed miserably. "I can't stop thinking about Venus. I miss her." She buried her face in her hands.

Cooper stared down at his cup. "Yeah." He didn't know what else to say. I miss her too felt terribly insignificant.

"It's just..." She swiped at her eyes, fighting back tears. "This feels like some sort of horror movie on repeat. I can't help but wonder who's next." She laughed then. Her voice broke. "Will we even make it to graduation, you think?"

Cooper took a long time to answer. "They're saying it was an accident. Venus fell."

When he looked at her, she was shaking her head. Her eyes were red from unshed tears. "That's not what I heard."

He straightened. "What?"

"That detective," she started slowly. "The one from out of town? Beitch. He's been dragging in students to the station all week for questioning. Apparently, there's some debate about her fall." She leaned across the counter, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Between you and me?"

He nodded, even if he knew good and well there would be no between you and me. Half the school would know by tomorrow, with the information in her hands.

"Ali overheard her uncle talking. Sheriff Marks," Stephanie clarified. Cooper waved for her to continue. "Some of Venus' injuries were consistent with a fall. But apparently, she'd been hit in the back of the head pretty hard."

Cooper leaned back. He'd assumed foul play from the start. But to hear it in so many words...

"You're sure?" he asked in the same quiet tone.

She nodded. "I'm positive." She looked away then, back down at her glass of water. "Makes you wonder."

"Wonder?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Venus had been acting so weird lately. Paranoid. Like, bad paranoid." A guilty look entered her eyes. "I shouldn't talk about her like this."

"She's gone," Cooper said tonelessly. "Whether or not people talk about it won't make it any less true."

Stephanie gave him a measured look. He supposed he could have at least tried to act like the distraught boyfriend who'd just lost the love of his life. But that sort of act just wasn't in him.

He wasn't distraught. He was pissed.

"I guess not," Stephanie said finally. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that Venus was obsessed."

"Obsessed with what?" Cooper muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. One. Two. Three.

"Calla."

He glanced up, alarmed. "What?"

"Oh, c'mon." Stephanie rolled her eyes. "You two fought about it constantly. Don't act like you don't know." She folded her arms. "Venus had major beef with Calla. I'd call it an obsession, honestly. She kept asking what Calla was up to and when and who she was with."

Because of me, Cooper thought, a bolt of guilt shooting straight through his chest. Because Venus thought...well. I don't know what she thought.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly, dropping his hand.

"I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you what I know to be true." Stephane slid off the barstool and shrugged her jacket back on. And still she shivered. "Venus didn't like Calla. And Calla didn't like Venus. And now Venus is dead." 

Panic took hold of him. "Steph—"

"Calla's my friend." When they locked eyes, he was surprised to see how hard hers were. "I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize that." Her lower lip trembled. "Venus is dead, anyway. What's the point of starting a stupid rumor?"

The irony of her words nearly made him laugh. Nearly. Instead, he slumped against the counter, relieved. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

Stephanie considered him for another long moment. And then she said: "You know what the worst part is, Coop?"

Her voice was full of bitterness. It was so unlike her, Cooper could only stare as she zipped up her jacket. The hardness in her had gone; all that was left was something dark and distant and so incredibly sad, he ached to touch her, to offer any comfort he could. Because he was familiar with that sort of pain. He wouldn't wish it on anybody.

"The worst part?" he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer.

Stephanie gave him a sad smile. "Two years. We had two good years, after everything that happened." She turned away. "We were almost happy. Weren't we?"

She left then, exiting through the front door and leaving a blast of frigid air in her wake.