Chapter 2
I slam my locker shut and head off to my next class. Though I try to seem tough, I’m anything but. I force myself to take deep breathes in through my nose and out through my mouth until I’m able to think clearly. My annoyance with Ryder’s concern is just the distraction I need to calm myself down.
When I make it to Mr. Crane’s room, he’s completely out of sorts. It’s a bit shocking to see the most qualified and organized teacher on staff looking like a hot mess. His whole demeanor looks frantic as he searches for something on his unusually cluttered desk. His appearance isn’t much better, with his dress shirt wrinkled and his hair looking like he ran his hands through it about a million times until parts of it stuck straight up in the air.
Someone bumps into my shoulder, not bothering to apologize as they head to their seat. I’ve been dwelling in the doorway too long. This forces me out of my trance, and I take my seat in the back, watching everyone else walk in. I huff out a breath as Ryder strolls through the door and shows off his dimples when he spots me. His eyes don’t stay on me for long, since Jessica saunters through the door and brushes her big fake tits up against his side, saying, “Oops,” in what she was attempting to be a breathy voice. She sounds whinier than anything else. Like the pig he is, he watches her ass—which is just as fake as her rack—pass by. I know it’s shocking that a seventeen-year-old girl had so much plastic surgery, but she’s the daughter of a plastic surgeon, after all. Even her lips are stuffed with collagen.
“Mr. Frost, please take a seat.” Mr. Crane has apparently found what he’s looking for and now glares at Ryder. He’s the only one who isn’t sitting. Ryder looks away from Jessica and meets my eyes. He gives me a sheepish simper and stalks toward the back of the classroom where I sit.
I instantly throw my bag on the chair next to me and watch as Ryder shakes his head and softly chuckles, before taking a seat a few rows ahead of me.
“Now,” Mr. Crane croaks. It sounds as though he’s been crying, but I don’t believe it for a second. Mr. Crane never cared for Felicia. He even called her out a few times in class for snapchatting while he was giving a lecture. He’d been so mad two weeks ago that he took her phone away and wouldn’t give it back until the end of the day. “I know this is going to be a hard day. Felicia’s death is a devastating tragedy. Some of you have seen the school’s counselor, but I thought maybe it would be better for everyone if they were in a safe place when they shared their feelings.” It’s funny that even he doesn’t think well enough of Miss Kemper to trust her with the students’ emotions. “I know that in some of your classes the teachers have asked you to do an assignment to remember Felicia by, but I thought that might be a bit draining, so why don’t we all go around in a circle and say one nice thing about Miss Craig.” I love that he specifies one nice thing. He knows just as well as everyone else, except for the administration, that Felicia was a troll.
As everyone moves their desks into place, the classroom door bursts open and Jaxon Smith stands in the doorway. If I were ever on a dating show and they asked me about my dream guy, I’d sum it up in just two words: Jaxon Smith. Also, in my dating game show dream, my three contestants would be three different Jaxon Smiths, who all want to swim in this lake. Wondering why? Here are some reasons:
1) Abs. Washboard. I can do my laundry on them and get out all the tough stains or make some more.
2) He had headgear in middle school. Meaning, he isn’t perfect. At some point in time, he knew what it was like to be a normal human being.
3) He has the most delicious-looking lips. They’re plump and luscious. Perfect for kissing, among other things. At least, that’s what Felicia used to brag about.
4) He also doesn’t wear polos and khakis or baggy jeans and layered wife-beaters like most douches at our school. He prefers jeans that hug his rock-solid butt and t-shirts with inspirational quotes. Today’s is, Yes I Can. Simple and sweet.
5) He’s the captain of three sports teams: football, lacrosse, and soccer. He’s an overachiever. I don’t particularly like sports, but have you ever seen them practice and go for a water break? These guys take their shirts off and drizzle the water down their bodies. Uh, yum.
6) He also reads classic literature. I once overheard him say how Shakespeare was so good at making dick jokes for his time. Sure, it was a bit of a shallow comment, but it still proved he’s cultured.
7) The thing I love most about Jaxon Smith would have to be his hypnotizing amber eyes. They’re the color of a warm brandy. When he looks at you, it’s as though his eyes are burning into yours. I personally don’t know because he’s never looked at me in a million years, but he did look past me once at Felicia, who was standing behind me, and I remember feeling intoxicated.
I’ll admit my perception of Jaxon Smith is a little biased, and I’m definitely giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to literature, but I really don’t give a shit. He’s a dreamboat, and I want to be his captain. Instead, I don’t even get to be one of those people who wave from land as the ship sails away.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Crane,” Jaxon says as he looks around the room for a seat.
“Just have a seat next to Lake, Mr. Smith.” Mr. Crane normally would chide students for tardiness, but I guess today is going to be different in more ways than one.
Jaxon keeps his head down and heads my way. I feel like I’m going to start hyperventilating. Jaxon Smith is going to sit next to me. I’m living in a dream world where Jaxon Smith is going to be sitting next to me and Felicia Craig can’t do a thing about it.
I quickly move my bag that sits on Jaxon’s chair and throw it on the floor. Jaxon looks at me and gives me a small smile before angling the chair toward the group like I have. He throws his bag on the desk and looks straight ahead.
If I die right now, I’ll die a very happy woman because he gifted me with that small stunning smile.
Holy hell. Jaxon Smith is sitting right next to me. My life right now is epic. I can’t breathe. I—what’s that smell?
My nostrils flare, and I cringe as the rancid scent attacks my senses. It smells of sweet sweat and B.O., which comes from the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Though I should be disgusted, I’m living on cloud nine.
“Let’s begin?” Mr. Crane announces as he gives us all a halfhearted smile.
I try not to look over at Jaxon again, attempting to breathe nonchalantly. You know, no deep breathes or quick ones. I definitely don’t want to be a heavy breather like Irene Delany from my AP Physics class. She sounds like a creepy stalker anytime Ryder glances in her direction.
Mr. Crane’s eyes scan the classroom before they narrow in on Jessica. She isn’t even trying to hide the fact that she’s on her phone texting. The girl has no shame. “Jessica, why don’t we start with you?” Mr. Crane says with a curled lip.
Jessica jumps in her seat and drops her phone onto the desk. She glances up at Mr. Crane. “What?”
Her response causes a few snickers from our classmates.
“Do you have anything nice to say about Felicia?”
Jessica looks at him blankly for a moment before her eyebrows shoot up as though a lightbulb goes off in her empty head. “Felicia was my best friend.”
Someone chokes out a cough, but aside from that there’s complete silence.
“Is there anything else?” Mr. Crane gives a tight smile. I don’t know what he expects after picking Jessica to lead the conversation.
“You said we had to say one thing,” Jessica says, confused.
I try not to bark a laugh, but I can’t help it. Luckily, my laugh is masked by a brash snort that comes from beside me.
Mr. Crane’s eyes narrow in on Jaxon.
“Something funny, Mr. Smith?”
The edge of Jaxon’s lip perks up.
“Would you care to share? You and Miss Craig were an item, correct?” M
r. Crane says.
“I guess you could say that.” Jaxon lounges back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s startling. Jaxon looks like he doesn’t give two shit about Felicia, when just yesterday his arm hung around her shoulders as they strolled into the school, looking like a power couple. They even had a nickname: Felxon. It wasn’t catchy or anything like Kimye, but that never stopped my peers from hash-tagging the shit out of it anytime Felicia and Jaxon were tagged in a photo.
“Do you have anything nice to say about Miss Craig.”
Everyone is on edge at this point, waiting as Jaxon taps his chin like he’s debating what to bring to an end-of-the-world party.
He surprises us all as he smiles brightly. “Nice?” He barks out a laugh. “Felicia didn’t even know what the word meant.”
“E-excuse me?” Mr. Crane stammers. We all look at Jaxon in shock at his callousness. Even I can’t believe it.
“Felicia was a cruel bitch, and her favorite drink was the tears of those who suffered her wrath.” Jaxon’s preaching to the choir. “She only cared about how powerful she could be. She ruled this school and everyone in it like we were her slaves. You can’t tell me anyone will actually miss her. All these hysterics are for show. Now we can all live our lives the way we want without fear of a Felicia Craig backlash. I mean, she killed herself,” he said. “Just shows how selfish she is.”
Before I know it, a low murmur spreads over the classroom. Everyone knows what he said is true, yet no one—not even me—expected him to say something so mean about the girl he supposedly adored.
Mr. Crane clears his throat. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
Everyone’s tense except for Ryder, who looks like he’s going to explode into confetti if he doesn’t laugh. Though, he has more self-control than Jaxon, who just rolls his eyes and pulls out his cellphone from his bag, blatantly ignoring all of the eyes imploring him.
I casually stretch in order to peek over at Jaxon, who suddenly makes eye contact with me. I can’t look away, and he doesn’t either. My face heats as he gives me a lazy smile. Holy balls, that’s sexy.
“Lake?” Mr. Crane’s voice forces me to turn away from Jaxon.
I want to hit my favorite teacher for ruining our moment, but at the same time, I don’t think that I can last much longer ogling him.
“Y-yes?” I stammer.
“Do you have anything nice to say about Felicia.” Mr. Crane’s voice sounds strained with frustration.
I glance around and think about it. For the first time today, I feel bad. Felicia and I had a relationship that rivaled two battling pop starlets who call each other bitter bitches on hidden camera. Yet, we never pretended to make up, even for the fans. But not even her boyfriend is pretending to feel sorry for her death. It’s almost pathetic. I’m starting to pity her, and I don’t pity anyone.
I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Felicia loved animals.”
“Oh?” Mr. Crane’s interest piques.
“Y-yeah. She used to volunteer at an animal shelter when we were kids.”
I can just imagine what my classmates are thinking. The gossip and bullying from years ago, how they all thought I was obsessed with Felicia, echoes in my head. My peers would laugh at me, taunt me in the hallways for the first two years of high school. I was the butt of every joke because the second Felicia shunned me, I spent a full month trying to ask her why she did it. People thought I was pathetic, and Felicia ended up brushing it off, saying I was crazy in love with her. No one would talk to me in any manner other than to make fun of me. For all of freshman year, it was torture. Sophomore year, I fought back with sarcasm and disinterest. After another year, the tormenting stopped and people, for the most part, left me alone. Well, everyone except for Felicia and Ryder.
“Felicia liked cats,” Ryder speaks up, drawing the attention away from me. I breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s why she was so catty.” The whole class tries not to laugh, but it only makes the giggles louder. I feel vulnerable and weak. Ryder, the guy I loathe, just saved me from utter mortification. But I decide against thanking him when he winks at me. Even though the whole class is laughing with him, he’s laughing at me. I want to punch him in the dimple.
“All right, that’s enough,” Mr. Crane shouts, drawing everyone’s attention to the front. “Pop quiz.”
The groans are loud and obnoxious, but I’m just grateful we stopped talking about Felicia. I chance a glance at Jaxon again, and our eyes meet. I don’t know why, but for a fleeting moment, I feel bad that no one, not even her best friend or boyfriend, cared that Felicia is dead.
Chapter 3
“I’m home.” My voice echoes through the house.
“In here, kiddo!” Dad calls from his office.
The house is quiet. It’s the norm since my brother, Linc, moved away two years ago. Our house used to be filled with laughter and joy, but after Mom died when I was eleven, nothing’s been the same. My dad buried himself in his writing, and my brother decided he wanted to become a hunter and live in Alaska. The only other family member I have that lives anywhere near us is my aunt, Dorothy. While I love my dad, Aunt Dorothy is the only person I’m able to confide in. I’m debating contacting her later today and telling her about this bullshit, but I know she’s busy. She runs my grandparents’ old bed and breakfast on their ranch. It’s an off season, so she’s trying hard to come up with ideas to lure customers in.
We rarely ever have visitors, so I’m surprised when I walk into Dad’s office and see we have guests.
Sitting on the opposite side of my father’s hand-carved desk is none other than Cherish Valley Falls’ own Sheriff Frost and his deputy, Mike. Cherish Valley Falls is a small town in the middle of nowhere California. The population is about five-thousand people and only two gas stations. There are at least three markets, all of which fight over customers. didn’t think much of the cop car in front of our neighbor’s house since he’s a cop himself.
“I see we have a few guests.” I stress the last word as I lean against the doorway with my arms crossed.
Dad sits in his big old comfy desk chair with his feet propped up on the table and his arms folded behind his head. Though he looks like he’s relaxed and comfortable, I can tell from the hardness in his blue-hazel eyes that he’s anything but. “They were just leaving. Weren’t you, gentlemen?”
The sheriff stands from his chair and gives my dad the stink eye. My dad and the sheriff have never been friends. In reality, they’ve hated each other since high school, but their loathing intensified when Dad got Mom pregnant right after college. The sheriff was my mom’s high school sweetheart, after all, and even though they broke up at their high school graduation, Dad said the sheriff’s anger had more to do with losing her to a geeky fanboy than any lingering feelings for Mom.
Though Mom and Dad were married because he preggoed her eggo, they were soulmates. It seemed like they were born to love each other. Not to mention, there was more than one occasion when my brother and I walked into our house as kids and right back out after we heard our mother’s screams as they were in the throes of passion. Gag me with a spork.
“Actually, I would like to have a word with Lake,” the sheriff says.
“As her legal guardian, I will have to refuse without her attorney present.” My dad gives him a shit-eating grin as he lies. I’m eighteen, but I doubt the sheriff knows that.
The sheriff glares at my dad, and I watch as his deputy stands to his feet. Mike looks tired, as though it’s been just as long of a day for him as it has been for me—maybe even worse. I’ve known Mike all my life, since he was my brother’s best friend throughout their childhood, and he looks worse today than when he shattered his knee ruining his dream to play in the NBA. We mean no harm. We just have a few standard questions for Lake.”
“Why?” I ask.
The sheriff look
s at Dad, and then at me. “You were mentioned in Felicia Craig’s suicide note.”
I blanch at that.
“I think that’s enough,” Dad snaps. “And once again, she will only speak when she has our lawyer present. How about I show you two out?”
“We can see ourselves out.” The sheriff grumbles at my father and then eyes me for a brief moment before he storms out of the room. Mike cringes, shakes his head, and then follows. I feel bad for Mike, especially for him having to come here. We used to be like his second family. But when my brother left us, Mike didn’t have a reason to stop by anymore.
“I was mentioned in Felicia’s suicide note?” I plop right into the chair the sheriff vacated.
“Apparently so. She claimed that her relationship with you was one of the reasons for her death.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what exactly it said. They just told me you being mentioned in a note was a bit suspicious.”
“She killed herself.”
“I know,” Dad responds, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it.
“I didn’t kill Felicia,” I say.
“I am well aware of that. They, however, are not. Though for now, her death is considered a suicide.”
Jeez, this day can’t get any worse. I can’t even go anywhere without overhearing a conversation about Felicia, but Mr. Crane’s group chat has proven no one gives a shit that Felicia is dead. It’s just the trendy thing to cry about.
“They knew that you both used to be friends and wanted to know why you weren’t anymore.” Dad balls up a piece of paper on his desk. “I told them to get lost. He wants to determine cause of death before the media determines the cause themselves.”
I know that isn’t all that happened. There’s still some red on my dad’s face, meaning he was probably yelling before I came in. Dad’s so riled up that when he shoots his scrap paper ball into the trash, he ruins his dunk streak.
Dead Girls Don't Keep Secrets Page 2