Murder Mystery | Herophine story

Chapter Five

Josephine

Friday, September 28th 6:45pm

Friday evening is a relief. Katherine and I are settled into her room watching Vampire diaries on Netflix. It's our latest obsession, and I've been looking forward to it all week, but tonight we only half pay attention. Kathrine's curled up on the window seat, tapping away on her laptop, and I'm sprawled across her bed with my kindle open. 

All anybody could talk about at school today was that Tumblr post. A bunch of kids had the link emailed to them last night from some "Dylan's News" Gmail address, and by lunchtime everyone had read it. Kate helps out in the principal's office on Fridays, and she heard them talking about trying to track whoever did it by the IP address. 

I doubt they'll have any luck. Nobody with half a brain would send something like that from their own phone. 

Since detention on Monday people have been careful and overly nice to me, but today was different. Conversations kept stopping when I approached. Kate finally said, "It's not like people think you sent it. They just think it's weird, how you guys got questioned by the police yesterday and then this popped up." Like that was supposed to make me feel better.

"Just imagine." Kat's voice startles me back to her bedroom. She puts aside her laptop and raps her fingers lightly on the window. "This time next year, you'll be at Yale. What do you think you'll do there on a Friday night? Frat party?" 

I roll my eyes at her. "Right, because you get a personality transplant along with your acceptance letter. Anyway I still have to get in."

"You will. How could you not?"

I shift restlessly on the bed. Lots of ways. "You never know." Kathrine keeps tapping her fingers against the glass. "If you're being modest on my account, you can give it a rest. I'm quite comfortable in my role as the family slacker."

"You're not a slacker." I protest. She just grins and flutters a hand. Kathrine's one of the smartest people I know, but until her freshman year she was too sick to go to school. She was diagnosed with leukaemia when she was seven.

After so many years in and out of the hospital, Kat never fully learned how to participate in life. I do that for the both of us: join clubs, win awards, get good grades so I can go to Yale like our parents did. 

Kat goes back to staring out the window with her usual faraway expression. She look like a daydream herself: pale, with dark-brown hair like mine but startling amber eyes. I'm about to ask what she's thinking when she suddenly sits up straight and cups her hands around her eyes, pressing her face against the window. "Is that Hero Fiennes Tiffin?" I snort without moving, and she says, "I'm serious. Check it out."

I get up and lean in next to her. I can just about make out the faint outline of a motorcycle in our driveway. "What the hell?" Kat and I exchange glances, and she shoots me a wicked grin. "What?" I ask. My voice comes out more snappish than I intended. 

"What?" she mimics. "You think I don't remember you mooning over him in elementary school? I was sick, not dead." 

"Don't joke about that. God. And that was ages ago." Hero's motorcycle is still in our driveway, not moving. "What do you suppose he's doing here?" 

"Only one way to find out." Kat's voice is annoyingly singsongy, and she ignores the dirty look I give her as I stand up. 

My heart thumps all the way downstairs. Hero and I have talked more at school this week than we have since fifth grade, which admittedly still isn't much. Every time I see him I get the impression he can't wait to be somewhere else. But I still keep running into him.