The Locker Exchange

CHAPTER ONE

"I just saw someone—" I started, determined to get another glance as I stepped forward.

Then all my courage vanished.

I felt it against my shoe. Something warm. Wet.

"Baylor," I whispered, my eyes shut tight as I willed my lips not to tremble.

"What? What happened?"

"I . . ."

I didn't want to look. I didn't know what it was, but the guesses swarming my mind were enough to make me hesitate. Yet I knew I had to, and, with a daring I didn't typically possess, my eyes slowly swept the bleachers, then the cement, and finally the puddle of blood mixed in a whirlpool of soaked blond hair.

MY JEEP WAS NO LONGER ALONE. Red and blue lights flashed against the now consuming dark as Colorado police strolled around the scene of Westwood High. I crossed my arms around my chest, relying on my own warmth as I shrank into a body that shook.

"Did you find him?" I asked again as a man in a uniform walked past. I stood up from where I'd been leaning on the hood of my car; while being surrounded by the authorities wasn't necessarily the most comfortable situation ever, I needed answers. "The guy who was on the stairs."

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Hello?"

His eyes almost rolled as he turned in my direction. "No."

"No, you didn't find him?" I asked for clarification.

"We didn't find him. And we probably won't, but we're doing a sweep of the area just in case you really did see someone."

"What?" I gawked at him. "What do you mean 'really did see someone'? You think I made it up?"

"Look," he said, shadows outlining his glum face. "We got your report and all your information. Thank you for cooperating, but you should head home. It's late, and there's nothing else you can do. We have it under control."

"Wait!" I started, but he was already tilting a hat over his eyes and turning away. "I'm not lying! Wait!"

I tried countless others, asking them the same questions about the victim and the murderer, but all I got were impassive looks and short replies. My blood boiled as I finally sank into my car and slammed the door shut.

"I DON'T GET IT," I fumed, my hand clutching a silver fork. My parents sat across from me, both chasing their pasta around in an uncomfortable silence. "They said their 'early investigation' indicates she tripped and fell, but I literally told them what I saw! Why don't they believe me?"

"Honey," my mom started, finally meeting my gaze. Her irises were a smoky gray with smile creases sharpening the edges of her eyes. I'd always been told I looked like her, as we shared the same color eyes and full lips, but it was only recently that I'd begun to see the resemblance. "I know tonight was rough, and I'm sorry you had to experience any of it, but we should be thankful they don't consider you a suspect. Right?"

She looked helplessly at my father, who had just raised a bite of spaghetti toward his mouth. He lowered it and let out an awkward cough. "Right. I mean, it's lucky they caught you on the surveillance cameras in the school and the parking lot. It could have gone a lot worse than it did. Thankfully you've always been lucky, Brynn."

Lucky? They thought the fact that I'd stumbled upon a murderer and watched as he got away was lucky?

"What aren't you guys understanding? Do you think I just made it up too?" I accused, anger biting at my words.