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MICAH XAVIER had never been to a funeral before. Which, he was well aware, was not something that he was to claim bragging rights of [ he didn't ]. He just didn't know what to expect, that's all. Both sets of his grandparents were still very much alive, and the only family funeral he had ever attended was that of his younger sister's goldfish Goldie, and no, he didn't count that as a proper funeral, because it wasn't [ Thea had poked holes into an old shoebox and buried Goldie face up in it; Micah was certain that if the fish wasn't dead before, it surely had to be when it entered the 'suffocation box' ].

He knew the dress attire was black though, which is why he stood directly in front of his bathroom mirror, trying desperately to tie up his tie, of which he had to borrow from his father. He couldn't remember the last time he wore a tie; it was most likely at some family wedding of some distant relative he couldn't remember the name of. 

Micah's hands kept fumbling over each other as he tried to tie the piece of fabric around his collar, but it came to no avail. Accepting defeat, he let the tie hang loose around his collar, and he took one last look at himself in the mirror, at himself in his all black suit. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes heavier than he could ever remember.

He looked stupid. He was well aware of that fact. But he didn't even know why he had to wear black anyways; he was pretty sure that if Beatriz had been allowed to be in charge of her own funeral, she would've made everyone wear some shade of pink in their outfits, and banned all blazers [ she thought they made people look unnecessarily boxy ].

Then again, if Bea was in charge of her own funeral, she probably would've cancelled the whole thing. Probably would've made everyone go clubbing instead, and have a drink in her honour, regardless of the fact that they weren't legally allowed to drink yet. That was much more her scene.

Micah couldn't tell which he'd hate more: having to wear all black and mourn over his supposedly dead friend, or have to go out clubbing and act as though nothing happened. 

Oh well. He was about to find out, anyway.

Pushing open the bathroom door, he straightened his collar, his tie still hanging down his neck, and he went into his bedroom, ignoring the cries downstairs from his mother. 

He knew they were meant to leave in no more than five minutes, he understood that perfectly. He just wasn't sure if he was ready yet. He certainly didn't feel ready, anyway.

Bea would've told him to man up, most likely. Would've dusted off his disgustingly boxy shoulder pads with a grimace on her face and reached up on her tippy toes to ruffle his hair, and then give him a sort of pitying pat on the back. She was good at making him feel like a younger brother, even if he was a lot taller than her, and older than her by a few months.

He turned around to face his bookshelf, though there were no actual books on the shelves, but rather vinyls. Ones that he had saved up to buy, birthday gifts, thrifted in shops here and there. Micah walked towards it, dragging his hand across the vinyl covers, until he stopped on one, pulling it out.

The words 'Fleetwood Mac' were emblazoned on the cover, and Micah opened it to reveal a vinyl record, the centre of it painted leopard print [ curtesy of Beatriz, naturally ]. With the exception of his one Beyoncé vinyl, this had always been Bea's favourite of Micah's extensive collection, and he could recall the times that she'd spend dancing around his room, using a vodka bottle as a microphone while dancing to 'Dreams'.

He checked the time on the watch on his wrist. 11:26am. Four minutes.

He opened his record player, placed the vinyl onto it, and guided the tonearm to start playing the track. The tempo of 'Dreams' began bouncing against his bedroom walls as he sat on the edge of his bed, looking straight ahead as he listened.

It was almost like she was still there with him, listening alongside him, slurring her words as she giggled and danced. Almost, not quite.

Looking back on it, MARCELINE CAMPBELL wasn't exactly sure what she should've expected when she arrived at Marlyewood a year ago. Certainly not to be attending one of their best friend's funerals, that's for sure.

She sat waiting on her porch in a black dress, her tights slightly ripped from an occasion she couldn't exactly remember, her doc marten shoes scuffed and her laced untied. Her parents couldn't make the funeral; they had some sort of work party that they had to attend, which had meant that she had to find someone to hitch a ride with. And lo and behold-

"Get in, motherfucker!" FOSTER MOLINA's voice burst through the silence. He was sat in the front seat of BELLAMY LOVETT's car, a cigarette dangling from his hand, which he held outside of the window. Bellamy was in the driver's seat, offering Marceline a friendly smile as she unlocked the door, allowing Marcelina to scramble into the car.

"What took you guys so long? My hair would've gone grey had I waited any longer," Marceline sat in the backseat, and found themselves greeted by the small smile of MILES VANDERWAAL, who, similar to that of Foster, held a cigarette in his hand. He offered her the smoke, to which she politely accepted, taking a drag before handing it back to him.

"We would've been quicker, had someone not forgotten the flowers," Bellamy turned around in her seat to glare at Miles, who offered her a shrug. 

"Whoops?" He replied, and Marceline smacked him around the head, just as the car pulled away from the curb.

"We're meeting Micah and Sammy there, then?" Marceline asked, looking through their bag for a lip liner that they could use. "Hey, Bells, you don't have a lip liner I could borrow do you?

"Yeah, course, look through my bag," Bellamy said, ushering at Foster to stop exhaling the smoke from his cigarette in her car while handing her small handbag over to Marceline in the back. "We're meeting them there, I think. Micah's with his family, and I never got a response from Sammy, so I have no clue what he's doing."

"God, your friend group is a wreck without Bea, huh," Foster said, blowing the smoke from the cigarette out of the car, as to meet Bellamy's wishes. "Are we entirely sure we've ever seen Sammy functioning alone without her?"

He looked in the rear-view mirror to see how the pair in the back would react, though one glare from Marceline shut him up.

"It's not like we've been managing exactly either," said Marceline. "I mean this is what, the first time us three have met in the past couple of weeks? Or even spoken?"

That shut everyone up. There was truth in Marceline's words, and Foster's at that matter; since Beatriz was announced dead by the local police department, the group had barely interacted each other. The grief was a common factor shared between the remaining five of the friend group, but they all chose to cope in different ways, and the disparities in their coping mechanisms meant they drifted apart.

The rest of the journey was silent. The only sound to be heard was the gentle chug of the car, and the occasional exhale from both Miles and Foster, who were still smoking their respective cigarettes.

As they pulled up at the cemetery, Bellamy cleared her throat. "We're here now anyway, let's just go and see if we can find people."

The group all got out of Bellamy's car, Foster taking the cigarette from Miles' hand to simultaneously put them both out, using his shoe to snuff out the butts of the cigarettes. Miles held a bouquet of flowers in his hand; pink tulips, Bea's favourites.

"And the cavalry arrive," A voice called out to them from the distance, belonging to Micah. He stood  next to SAMMY HICKS, both of the boys dressed in all black. Notably, Micah's tie remained undone, and hung loose still around his neck. 

"Is he glaring at us?" Miles whispered to Marceline, who glanced over at Micah before shaking  their head.

"No, the idiot didn't put on his glasses, again," Marceline said, rolling her eyes.

A smile spread across Bellamy's features as she too spotted her best friend, running up to him. Micah met her halfway, hugging the girl tightly. When they parted, a frown spread across Bellamy's features as she noticed the tie hanging still around his neck, tugging on it gently. "Seriously?"

"What?" Micah said cheekily, a small smile spreading across his features. "You know I'm incompetent."

"No, you're just lazy," She said, rolling her eyes, but still reaching up to help him tie his tie around his neck. "Anyone else here?"

"Yeah, couple of others, think I saw KJ and Birdie somewhere."  Micah said, ruffling Bellamy's hair once she finished tying up his tie. He then moved to go and say hello to the rest of the group, dapping up Miles and Foster and offering Marceline a side hug.

"Hey, where's Sammy gone?" Marceline asked, looking behind Micah for the other boy.

"He's right behind me, is he not?" He turned around to try and spot Sammy, but he was no longer there. He had vanished into thin air. "Fuck."

"He taking it well?" Foster asked, though he already knew the answer. They all did.

"As well as he can, I think. He didn't speak to me much. We sort of just stood there in silence. Spoke a bit about Bea. You know, she would've hated this shit. Still doesn't feel real." He trailed off, and Marceline offered him a hug, which he accepted gratefully.

They were all close to Bea, but there was no doubt about it that both Sammy and Micah were the closest to her. Sammy was Bea's best friend, her closest confidante, and while nobody could really understand how the two actually ever became friends, they were attached at the hip. As for Bea and Micah, the pair were like siblings; Bea often stayed over at his house, choosing the sanctuary at his over the silence at hers, and while they bickered like brother and sister, they also made up like it.

"It's okay, Mic," Marceline said soothingly, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "Doesn't feel real to any of us."

"I know. It's just-" He pulled himself out of Marceline's grip. "She's disappeared. Into thin air. And she's been pronounced dead."

"What are you trying to say?" Miles said quietly.

"I don't know," Micah said honestly. He looked as though he were about to say something else, but his face warped into one of disgust as someone walked past the group. Marceline turned around to see who he was looking at, and her face mirrored his; in front of them walked Rosalia Delores, Bea's mother. She wore a red dress, and had a leopard print fur coat wrapped around her shoulders, despite the heat outside.

"A fucking funeral and she's dressed like she's out clubbing," Miles scoffed, shaking his head.

"Is that any different to an average night out for her anyway, though?" Foster said, looking on at her with distaste. 

Bellamy, ever the voice of reason, lightly hit both boys on their arms. "She looks sad. Maybe Bea's death's hitting her harder than we think it is."

"She couldn't give a shit about her when she was alive, why does she care so much now?" Micah said. "Leaving Bea home alone to go out clubbing, calling her daughter a waste of space, and how could we ever forget when she forgot about Bea and went on a holiday with her boyfriend to Ibiza?"

Everyone remembered that; Bea had entered a spiral soon after. The thirteen year old girl had assumed her mother had gone on another of her outings, though it transpired that Rosalia had in fact booked last minute discount tickets to Ibiza, party city, and had planned on leaving her daughter home alone for two weeks without so much as a care [ and Bea most likely would've had to fend for herself, had Bellamy and her family not taken in her in ].

"She's allowed to mourn," Marceline replied. "She was still her daughter."

"Let's face it, Marce; our parents cared more for her than her own mother did," Foster said, and nobody could deny that that much was true.

Bellamy looked down at her phone, checking for the time. 12:08. "Let's drop it now, okay? Procession starts in seven minutes," she said. "Should we make our way over?" 

The group looked over to the grave where Bea was to be lowered. A group of people stood around it, many of their heads hung low.

"Whatever," Miles said, walking ahead, stuffing his hands in his pockets before leading the group over. Marceline interlaced their hand with Bellamy's before the two girls followed him, shortly shadowed by Foster and Micah.

"This funeral's bound to bring more trouble than good," Foster said to the boy as they walked behind the other three.

"Oh absolutely," Micah replied simply.

In the corner of the cemetery, away from the crowd that had started gathering for Bea's funeral, Sammy stood alone, away from the graves and the depressive manner that swallowed the air. He didn't want to be around it all, not just yet, anyway.

The whole thing hadn't quite sunk in yet. How was it possible? How had she just vanished without a trace, without so much as a final goodbye?

He didn't want to believe it. Perhaps that was the primary issue. Sammy turned around to see the crowd of people that had started gathering, and he watched as the group he had been standing with moments prior walked towards the grave. 

No one would understand his pain, he was certain of that. None of them knew Bea like he knew her. None of them understood her like he did.

"Hey," A voice from behind him jolted him out of his daydreams. "Everything okay?"

He turned around. SARA MOON was stood behind him, her bangs half covering her facial features as she looked sympathetically on at him, her Mary-Jane shoes in pristine condition, as expected. 

"Um, yeah," Sammy replied, now facing her. He avoided eye contact with her, his eyes darting as he looked around him.

"You sure?" She said sceptically, eyeing him. He raised an eyebrow in response. "I'm just saying, you wouldn't say it was 'okay' but still be fiddling with your hands." She pointed down at his fingers.

Shit. He hadn't even realised he'd been doing that. Damn Sara and her observations.

"Oh, um-" There was no way he could cover this now. "I was just cold."

"In this weather? As the sun beats down on us?" She raised an eyebrow. He shook his head. Well, it was always worth a try.

"Right. Yeah," Sammy sighed. "I just- I don't really want to be here right now."

"I'd be willing to put money on the fact that no one wants to be here right now," Sara said, shrugging. "We're just here because-"

"Bea would've wanted us all to be."

"Well, yeah, I guess."

Sammy laughed, almost out of self-pity. "But that's the thing. Bea wouldn't have wanted all these fucking strangers here. She wouldn't want Connor Taylor, quarterback of the football team, or Mr Maguire, the maths teacher, and fuck, Neveah Jacobs shouldn't have even gotten a fucking invite! None of these people gave a shit about her when she was alive! They weren't there for her! They-"

"Sammy. Breathe." Sara had taken a step closer to him. Her hand now rested on his shoulder, watching him intently as his eyes widened as he ranted to her. "It's okay."

His eyes flickered shut involuntarily as he took a deep breath, aiming to calm himself. He could hear Sara's voice in the background, telling him to calm down, telling him to relax. He knew she was trying to comfort him, and he was grateful for it, though he wasn't entirely sure how helpful she was actually being. Either way, the deep breath seemed to help considerably, as when he opened his eyes, his breathing was no longer shallow.

Sammy nodded appreciatively at Sara. "Thanks," He said, almost feebly. He didn't really know what else to say, in all honesty.

"Yeah, no problem," Sara said, clearing her throat. "Want to go now?" She indicated at the crowd that had started gathering behind them, and Sammy half-shrugged in response.

"I mean, we kind of have to, don't we?" He asked, and Sara half-nodded in response. "In that case, let's go then."

He walked in front of her, and after taking a couple of steps, he turned back. "You coming or not, Moon?" And Sara could almost spy a smirk playing on his features. Almost.

Shaking her head, she walked ahead to join him, and they walked over to Bea's grave in silence. Yet it didn't feel awkward; it felt almost comfortable.

"How late is she?" 

"I mean really, how pathetic of her to even show up!"

"Bea hated her guts, why is she even her?"

LAVINIA MONTGOMERY heard the whispers swirl in the air as she walked through the grass, her heels sinking into it slightly as she approached the funeral procession. She didn't intend to be late; really, she didn't. But traffic, as usual, was a bitch, and so was her father, nowadays, so the ETA of 12:00 managed to shift into 12:05, and then 12:10, and then 12:15, until she finally arrived at 12:18.

Monty felt numerous pairs of eyes following her, stalking her every move. She could feel them practically burning on her skin, imprinting on her. She hated it.

"What are you all staring at? It's a funeral, you fuckers, pay some fucking respect to the dead!" The voice of Monty's saviour belonged to BIRDIE VERLICE, the mayor's daughter. Said Mayor Henry Verlice shook his head at his daughter's words.

"Robin! Language!"

Birdie merely rolled her eyes in response before moving to stand next to Monty, nudging her side gently. "You okay?" She asked her friend, who shrugged.

"Hard to be okay with all these eyes on me. And..." She trailed off, indicating at the grave in front of them.

"Yeah, I get what you mean. It's so weird that she's gone. She sort of seemed immortal." Nobody ever thought Beatriz Delores would die. That was the simple truth. She was a certain type of person who everyone knew would go on to be great, the type of person that just had so much ahead of them.

The two girls stopped talking as the funeral procession began, and they watched on as Bea's grave was lowered. It was silent amongst the crowd; the only noise to be heard were the loud wails that belonged to Rosalia, who was crouched onto the floor as they all watched on.

"It feels like we're intruding, doesn't it?" Another voice whispered from behind Monty and Birdie. The two girls turned around to see KEANU JACOBS standing behind them, his hands in his trouser pockets, watching on with a sad expression on his face. "Like we should just leave her to mourn alone.

"You've met Rosalia, right? This is like a theatre performance for her, like one of her shows," Birdie said. "She likes having everyone around. She'd hate being alone."

"Still. Doesn't quite feel right."

"None of this does." Monty said simply.

"You're right there," KJ responded, moving now to stand beside the two girls. "Is your dad gonna say something about Bea then, Birdie?"

"Yeah, he has a speech ready. I think so, anyway."

Birdie watched as people around the grave started throwing bouquets onto the now covered ground, all an array of colours. Red, white, orange, blue, but especially pink. Sammy was the last one to throw a bouquet on; Birdie watched as Miles walked up next to him and nudged him with the bouquet of pink tulips he held, letting him throw them instead.

"And now, for a speech," Birdie's father started speaking, clearing his throat. "About the deceased."

"Here we go," Monty said, standing up straighter, almost trying to crane her neck to see the mayor deliver the speech.

"Beatriz Delores was a special kind of girl," Henry Verlice started. "The kind of girl that won't be forgotten in a hurry. She was vivacious and bubbly, smart in her own way, and it's best we don't talk about the girl's knack for being in the right place at the right time." That elicited stifled laughter from the rather large group.

"But above all, Beatriz was one of a kind. Unique. But in the same breath, she was one of us. And she forever will be."

"Micah, turn off your phone," Miles nudged his friend as the procession came to an end. Henry had finished his speech, and now they all stood in silence, standing over Bea's grave. Thinking. Mourning. "Who the fuck is messaging you now, anyway? Practically everyone in town's here."

Micah took his phone out of his pocket, and checked. "Unknown number..." He trailed off, reading what the message read. 

"Everything okay, Micah?" Bellamy said, peering over his arm. "What's the message say?..." She had read it as well, and her face paled.

"Well fuck, can either of you spit it out?" Foster said, joining the group now.

Micah read it out loud for them all to hear.

Queen Bea gone 4 good? Seems so.
And seems like you all have a lot of secrets you're too scared to share.
Too bad I'm around now. You ready to play?
— B.

Foster's eyes widened. "Well, fuck me."

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Elodie Speaks . . .

The first chapter of 'Wicked Game' is officially here! I tried to include every character in this chapter, & if you feel like your character wasn't mentioned a whole lot, please don't stress! This is merely an introductory chapter [ as can be told by my writing ] & as the story progresses, they will have a lot more features in the book!

'B' has officially been chosen, so I have an important-ish question...should I contact the creator of the oc who I will make 'B', or would you rather I keep it a surprise?

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR THE CAST — if you haven't already, PLEASE finish your opinions / love interest opinions! This is crucial for the dynamics within the book! If you fail to complete either of the above, I will have to resort to either making a dynamic myself between characters or just pairing your oc off with someone you didn't put down, simply because you didn't describe their dynamic. PRETTY PLEASE get this done ASAP [ pref by tomorrow ], thank you! 

I'm so sorry for the long wait, but thank you so much for sticking around and reading & supporting this fic! I'll see you all in the next chapter!