Shaky hands met the cold metal door handle. The sun offered little opposition to the frigid air surrounding her jittery frame. Unstable as she was, she turned the handle and faced her dreaded return.

This school was the last place Amy Gardener wanted to be. Every tall figure that passed resembled Camilla. Every glimpse of brown hair brought Amy back to that day. Every eye she met held a darkness that haunted her. It was inescapable.

In this space, where Camilla could emerge from any direction, Amy was in constant danger.

As she came upon her locker, she came upon a crushing realization. Her two closest friends would not meet her in this hallway like they once did. They would not find her at lunch with bright eyes and warm smiles anymore. They would never again share their after-school car rides with blasting music and horrendous karaoke.

Amy's heart ached. Tears invaded her vision. It's not fair, she thought. They both deserved to live long, happy lives. They did nothing wrong.

I could have saved River. I could have stopped them before they took the call or followed them outside. I could have called the police. I could have fought to break into the truck. Maybe River would have been recoverable.

As Amy opened her locker, photos of her with her best friend caught her eye. Tiffany. Why did you have to go, too?

She weakly gripped the year-old picture as a tear cascaded down her cheek. Even though Tiffany was a grade below Amy, they quickly became inseparable. They both played the flute in marching band, and soon—with much convincing on Amy's end—Tiffany joined the crew in theater. It was there Amy introduced her to River. They had been a close friend of Amy's before, but when Tiffany joined, she glued the trio together.

Droplets fell against the laminated surface. In all the time Amy knew Tiffany Stewart, she had been the most cheerful and positive figure in Amy's life.

Trembling fingers clipped the picture back into place. I know you didn't commit suicide, Amy thought. You were scared after River died, but you were not hopeless. You never were.

A group of chattering students walked near her. With burning ears, she hid her face behind the locker door. As they passed, she wiped her tears away using her sleeve. After several unsteady breaths, Amy's eyes stopped welling.

Not here. I can't be vulnerable here. That's what Camilla wants to see, but I won't give her the chance. I won't give anyone the chance to see me crumble.

She wants to scare me enough to keep me quiet? Then, I'll be fearless and louder than ever.

Amy slammed her locker shut and marched down the hall. A pair of girls met her green eyes with knowing expressions.

The girl closest to Amy gazed fiercely. With her dark eyes, deep golden skin, and burgundy hair, she commanded attention. The shorter blonde at her side nearly fell invisible next to such a firm presence. Amy could not keep her eyes away.

The taller girl, too, kept her stare locked onto Amy's as she veered in her direction. Once directly in front of her, Amy was forced to a halt.

"Amy Gardener," the mysterious student greeted. "I'm glad we could finally meet with you."

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Attempting to focus in her first class of the day was difficult enough given the recent events at Edwardsville, but it would not compare to the trouble she would face in her second class of the day: her drama class.

Even before deciding to return to school, Amy had prepared herself to see Camilla. She knew she would have to face her during this class in particular, and she convinced herself she would be able to do it.

As she approached the classroom door, she paused. Her stomach churned. Despite what she told herself before, every muscle in her body resisted entry.

I told myself I would have the courage to face her, Amy thought. I need the courage to face her.

Still, her hands remained paralyzed at her sides. But, still, I can't. I can't face her in this class and be forced to keep my mouth shut.

Hesitant steps pulled Amy back from the door. I can't go in, she concluded. I can never come back.

Her fist clenched. I can never come back.

She spun around to flee only a moment before the door creaked open. Amy froze in place. From the edge of her vision, her observer, too, went still. She slowly turned, and as the door shut, Camilla Green came into view.

Amy's heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes studied every movement, every breath of Camilla's, as though she would pounce. Amy watched as lips curled into a smirk. Camilla tilted her head, light eyes gleaming.

With poised steps, she stalked towards Amy. Camilla inched closer. Amy's breaths turned shallow and quick. Danger, her mind alerted. Run.

As survival instinct replaced all reason, she broke into a sprint. Her legs, short as they were, brought her hurriedly to the exit doors. A frantic shove released her into the cool, fresh air, but she didn't stop running.

She carried herself until her shoes hit the asphalt of a parking lot. Amy's knees shook beneath her as she paused and scanned her surroundings. Camilla was nowhere in sight. Even with fading adrenaline, Amy identified each potential hiding spot—a nook in the school walls, a nearby pillar, a black truck.

Her rapid breathing ceased.

The truck's windows were not tinted, so she could see no occupants. Still, her stomach ached. Images flooded her mind, images of blood soaking the backseat, of desperate handprints smudging the windows, of stained knives and rope.

Amy stumbled towards the truck. Her sweaty palms tugged at the door handle, but it was locked. She yanked with greater force and growing desperation, but it still did not budge.

With a brisk pull, her fingers slipped, flinging her to the pavement.

Amy gasped. Her chest heaved from the impact, but she scrambled back to her feet. Fury brought her fists to the back window with a thud. The glass did not budge. She shouted and slammed her knee into the door.

Metal creaked as a dent formed. Amy shoved herself from the firmly locked door, her ears ringing. She gazed back through the windows, much too easy for her to see through.

They're not tinted, she realized. This is the wrong truck.

She backed away, panting as she eyed the damage. The flaw was easily noticeable, even at a distance. The black paint darkened as it sunk into the depths of the newly-formed pit. It hardly seemed something Amy was capable of doing.

There were no apparent witnesses in the parking lot. She could only pray there were no cameras as she fled the scene.

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"Have you seen Amy yet?" Michelle asked, joining Camilla at her locker.

"Not yet," she lied. "She didn't even show up to drama class."

"She's here, though," Michelle insisted, furiously swiping on her phone. "Look, Meagan said—"

Camilla shut her locker, responding, "I'm sure she's here. But someone like her—starting these absurd rumors about me—is not going to risk facing me. She couldn't even show her face for a week after she spread the damn misinformation because she knew she was wrong."

Michelle shook her head. "She's a coward."

Camilla laughed humorlessly. "You think so?"

"Of course I do. She knows what she's doing is an invitation for a beating."

Camilla blinked. She knew Michelle had a temper, but she rarely saw her friend's violent side. Because Meagan wasn't there to oppose the topic, Camilla was free to lean into it.

"A beating?" she repeated as the students walking past came out of earshot. "From who?"

"At this point," Michelle said, "I'm ready to take her on. Clearly, she was too cowardly to face you; she wouldn't lay a finger on me."

Camilla's eyebrows raised into an incredulous expression, but Michelle maintained her irritable demeanor as she continued, "Anyone who has something to say about you can go through me first."

In Michelle's blue eyes, Camilla caught a glint that instilled in her complete trust. Her friend's face spoke words that even she would not speak. Though Camilla had never observed her in such a state, her loyalty was evident and incomprehensibly strong.

"They'll have to go through me, too," a deeper voice said. As Camilla turned, Jared's warm gaze fell upon hers, his eyes holding a similar shine.

Camilla smiled, asking, "Do you even know who we're talking about?"

"I don't have to know," he responded. "I'll protect you—defend you—regardless."

"Isn't that sweet," Michelle cooed. Her head tilted, eyes roaming behind Jared's back.

"It is," Camilla agreed, following Michelle's gaze.

"It's what a good friend would do," Jared said. His eyes were so intense that he stole Camilla's stare.

Camilla fluttered her lashes and leaned towards him. "I don't think you know enough about my situation to be considered my 'good friend.'"

Michelle departed down the hall and Jared took his opportunity to lower his face even closer. "If we're not friends, then what are we?"

Very few instances managed to fluster Camilla, and Jared speaking to her this way was no exception. Still, he was more forward than she had anticipated. It was enough to raise her eyebrows but not too much to sway her.

She reached for his arm, gently squeezing his bicep. "You tell me."

As though his boldness was not prevalent a moment ago, Jared's face reddened. Camilla noticed his chest—rising and falling more quickly before—had gone still.

She could only imagine the thoughts tumbling through his mind.

He must have been confused. After all, it was only a year ago that Camilla had broken up with him. With his busy schedule and hers even busier, their relationship went from steady to on the rocks.

Jared noticed it more than Camilla. "Is everything alright?" he would ask. "Are we okay?"

And she would force a smile, reassuring him that she loved him and they just didn't have much free time to spend with one another. Though the latter was true, Camilla's relationship was the last thing on her mind, even when she found time to herself. In certain moments, she enjoyed toying with him—like dangling a treat over a stray dog—and she relished her public image as a cheerleader dating a football player.

However, she felt satisfied ignoring Jared most days and irritated when he begged for her attention. At times, he confronted her, but it was futile. Camilla was an expert at evading blame with excuses and threats of leaving. Jared was only good at submitting to her.

Eventually, Camilla became so annoyed with his persistence that she wanted to hurt him. Rather than inflicting physical pain as she wished, she chose to end their relationship—an action she knew would affect him more and for longer.

The results were satisfactory; Jared was devastated for months while Camilla embraced her freedom with glee. After all of the issues hidden within their relationship, he still wanted her back. He concealed it well, eventually wedging his way back into their friend group, but she was not blind to the way he winced when their eyes met, as though it pained him to see her.

Camilla made an effort to make eye contact more often.

Jared had the whole summer before their junior year to detach, yet he returned with a greater drive to recover their romance. From brief conversations to subtle flirting, football games became his favorite times to nudge his way back into her life.

Camilla was shocked initially, but that wore off as amusement in its place. Soon, she flirted back. She had no intention to revive what she ruthlessly killed off, but clearly Jared had no clue.

Still, he would not oppose her seeming reciprocation. Any progress was good in his eyes, so Camilla continued to play the puppeteer.

His eyes trailed her hand as it fell from his arm. His lips were parted slightly, as though in awe. Jared inhaled to speak, but sudden ruckus from down the hall snatched Camilla attention.

A flurry of students swarmed the source of the sounds, from which emerged voices she faintly recognized but at extremes she never experienced before.

It was a fight.

Camilla tore from Jared without hesitation and ran towards the chaos. There was a reason she recognized those voices.

Students crowded her view, but she caught glimpses of the scuffle. Shoving past as best as she could, Camilla got close enough to see two girls, now wrestling on the ground. As swollen fists flailed, one clasped and tugged onto red hair, revealing a crimson face.

Amy strained and shouted as punches overpowered her. She attempted to fight back, but her efforts were weakened by her opponent's ruthlessness.

Camilla's tingling sense of gratification was short-lived as the second girl came into view: Michelle.

Now, Camilla felt the need to flee. She didn't want Michelle making her look worse or even spreading the rumors further.

As though he heard her thoughts, Jared barged past the students and took hold of Michelle. Even he momentarily struggled to restrain her, but she was soon too far to reach Amy.

In a fit of adrenaline, Amy scrambled from the floor, almost collapsing as she rushed back to Michelle. Jared tried to jerk her from the blow, but Amy was quicker, landing a solid jab on Michelle's nose. Finally, a teacher arrived, pulling Amy away, and the fight ceased.

"She killed them!"

Camilla's blood ran cold.

"Camilla killed both of them!" Amy screamed, thrashing against the teacher's grip. "She killed River; I saw it! I know she killed Tiffany, too!"

As more teachers interrupted the scene, urging students to leave, Camilla remained frozen. Students whispered and looked around with concern. Every glance in her direction made her sick.

She knew Michelle only wanted to defend her. And, certainly, she wanted to rely on her friends' loyalties. However, this instance was much different. Had she known Michelle would commit to their earlier conversation, Camilla would have never entertained it.

For now, Camilla wanted nothing to do with Michelle.

As her peers dispersed to their classes, she merged with them, leaving both of her friends behind.

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"We do not tolerate violence at Edwardsville High School," the principal asserted, shifting his stare from Amy's mother to her daughter. "As a third-year student, Miss Gardener should already know that."

As much as Amy avoided eye contact with him, she could not bear to look at her mom. It was bad enough that Amy had gotten in trouble, but her mom had to leave work—still wearing scrubs—to pick her up.

Amy nearly begged to walk home, but it was useless. The principal demanded a stern conversation.

Her mom nodded, replying, "She should know that. This behavior is completely out of character for her. I'm sure recent events have contributed to that."

The principal sighed. "It's been a difficult week for everybody, but that doesn't excuse her actions."

"No, it doesn't. I can assure you, we will have a conversation at home."

He nodded. "You'll have plenty of time for that. Your daughter is being suspended for a week."

Although Amy didn't see her mom's face, she saw a fist clench from the corner of her eye.

"I understand."

The drive home was short and silent. Still, her mom clutched the steering wheel with whitening knuckles.

Immediately upon parking the car, Amy rushed out and hurried to the door.

"Amy!" her mom called. She did not answer and instead entered the small house.

Her mom was close behind, running to catch up. "Amy!" she repeated.

Amy was in the middle of her bedroom doorway when her mom caught up, clasping her shoulder to stop her.

"Amy Gardener, what is wrong with you?"

With fury, Amy jerked from her mother's grip, yelling, "What's wrong with me? All these 'recent events' you spoke about to explain what I did, yet you don't know what's wrong with me."

Her mother's eyes flitted between her daughter's with little recognition. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"But I do! I understand. I know so much more than I ever should have known, and it's killing me!"

Amy's breaths bordered hyperventilation as pent-up tears poured down her face. "I can't let her get away with what she did. If I have to spend every last bit of my oxygen testifying to what I saw—to what she did—I'll gladly let myself suffocate."

The door slammed in her mom's face, and Amy's dreadful sobs followed in its wake.