The Shooting Star Killer

chapter 3

Back parking lot, Colton texted. There was only about five minutes left of class, and Holly's history teacher had finished the lecture ten minutes before that. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Holly pocketed her phone. Holly's cornfield blue eyes wandered around the classroom, not focusing on any particular acne coated face.

Students were crammed by the door, waiting impatiently for the bell to ring. Two of the more troublesome students slipped out, only noticed by the students who refused to snitch. Other teens hung near their seats in the class, glossed over eyes lazily scrolling on their phones.

These kids here aren't loyal enough to me, Holly thought, deciding against leaving early and risking a detention. If it wasn't for Mr. Archer's old age and forgetful nature, she'd have already started her weekend with a suspencion.

It was a Friday, and the class was buzzing with excitement -- not just for the weekend, but for a party on Saturday. Holly heard students say it was a no-invite needed, but she had no idea who the birthday kid was. Two boys -- a senior named Jed and a junior named Luka, both overly confident to the point of exhaustion -- had asked her to go, citing that there would be 'killer' drinks there. Though, Holly didn't trust too-confident near-adult men near her drinks. Much less the killer kind.

The bell rang, it's pitch low and eerie from years of work without replacement. Grabbing the light, black backpack, she was ready to go. Holly's chair screeched as she stood up, walking towards the door with her arms resting at her side.

The hallways were an encholophics worst nightmare -- the small, narrow path was brimmed with students of all types. Slow, group walkers, quick loners, pairs of students, all who wanted nothing more than to rush home. Loud talking killed any silence that could exist.

Holly took her time skillfully navigating through the high school halls, putting special care into not rubbing against the grosser, smellier side of the student body. When possible, the students in Holly's way moved, jamming their sweaty bodies up against each other to give her more room to walk. I guess pretty privilege is real, Holly thought as the corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

Once she was outside, the overpowering smell of axe cologne and cheap perfume gone, Holly made her way to the back parking lot. When Holly had first made it to the school, during her tour, Isla, a short, hotheaded sophomore, told her that all the parking passes were taken -- as she flaunted her own. The blonde junior had decided pretty quickly that she was not a fan of the girl.

Students roamed around to their cars, idly leaning against them as they talked about shopping or going out. Dumbass Colton didn't tell me which car was his, Holly thought as she roamed around the parking lot, looking at dim windows, searching for Colton's baggy eyelids.

A car beeped. Holly's blonde locks bounced as she turned her head swiftly, following the sound down the row of old, cheap cars. A dirty, 2010 Honda rolled down their window. Leaning a bare arm outside the window, Colton's teeth glimmered in the sun.

"Hop in, sweetcheeks," Colton said brashly, letting out a loud laugh as Holly rolled her eyes.

Holly plopped down in the passenger's seat, shoving her backpack onto the ground next to her feet. Immediately she noticed a girl in the back, a thick laptop on one side of her and a neon pink backpack on the other. She had two thick pink buns on the top of her head, doll like eyes, and a petite figure. She was certainly a freshman.

"She your sister?" Holly asked Colton, leaning back into the soft car seat. Even with shorts that violated the dress code, Holly felt like someone put her in an oven. Having come from LA, she was more than used to the heat, but inside Colton's car was only humid, wet air that clung to her skin and forced out sweat.