I stand in front of my mirror, carefully removing daisies from my hair.
I do this with great caution and a hint of sadness, for I quite like the way the daisies look in my hair. Furthermore, I like who put them there-Harry and Wesley.
It almost seemed as if the deceased children from the cemetery were a little family, all stuck in the same boat. I think of how Harry almost treated Wesley and Em like siblings he never had. He told me he never wanted his parents to adopt him a sibling when he was alive-has that aspect of his personality changed since his death?
I know that as an only child myself, I've always wished for siblings. Maybe a sister or a brother to keep me company when my parents are busy or annoying. I don't exactly know why my parents never tried for another child. I guess one was enough for them, and I understand that. Every family is different, ours just happens to have stopped growing with me.
I line up the daises on my dresser. They look so simple-delicate white petals surrounding a sunny yellow center. Yet, they are so beautiful, each a little different from the rest, despite their uniform design.
I pull my hair off my shoulders and tie it in a ponytail.
If I could help every single one of those dead children cross, I would.
-
On Friday afternoon, I am invited to another party.
I cross my arms over my chest at Max and Jenna, raising my eyebrows.
"No," I say flatly.
"Why not?" Jenna asks, pushing out her bottom lip in a mock pout.
"I just got out of being grounded, I don't need my parents getting mad at me again."
"We'll make sure you don't get too drunk." Max smirks.
I sigh.
"Why do I have to come?" I ask.
"Because it's at my place, and I insist," Max says, smiling.
My interest is peaked. Perhaps by going to this party I can find out more about Max and his family-and their possible link to Harry's murder.
I shift. "Alright. I guess I can go."
Max grins and Jenna claps her hands with excitement.
"Great! I'll come and pick you up at eight," Jenna says.
"Great," I say, rolling my eyes and Max throws an arm around my shoulders playfully.
"Turn that frown upside down, Marx," he says as the three of us walk through the courtyard towards the school parking lot.
"Stop being so happy, it's bothering me."
Jenna laughs and Max digs his fingers into my sides, causing me to squirm.
I push away from him, unable to hide the smile on my face as the other two laugh.
Jenna, Max and I go our separate ways once we reach the lot. I fish for my keys in my bag and am not surprised to find my car freezing cold inside.
I hear Harry's voice in my ear when I sit behind the wheel.
"You're into him, aren't you?"
I furrow my brow and turn to look at him confusedly. "Max?"
"No, George Washington," Harry scoffs sarcastically, rolling his yes.
I raise an eyebrow. "Firstly, don't be rude," I snap.
He begins to say something but I hold my hand up to silence him.
"Secondly, I'm not into Max," I finish, fighting a smile.
"Sure seemed like it." He narrows his eyes.
"Well, you know what assuming does," I say, pulling the seatbelt over my shoulder and buckling it.
He stares at me blankly.
"It makes an ass out of you and me." I smirk.
Harry fights a smile but fails, and a single dimple appears in one of his cheeks. "Did you just make a pun?"
"Maybe I did," I say. "Only because you're jealous."
"Jealous? No."
I give him a look.
"Fine," he caves, slumping forward onto the center console, looking up at me. "I admit it."
I smile. "Don't worry," I say. "I wouldn't go for a potential suspect."
Harry straightens up. "We've gone over this," he says. "Max didn't do it."
"You don't have proof."
"You don't have proof that he did it."
"You can't just rule him out."
"I can. And I will." Harry crosses his arms over his chest like a child.
I sigh and turn on my car. I'm afraid Max was capable of more than Harry knew, and Harry will end up being crushed over that.
I know I could easily change Harry's mind about completely ruling Max out by telling him what I overheard at the library. But on another hand, he's right. We don't have solid evidence against anyone yet.
So I keep my mouth shut, for now.
-
I sign my name on the note to my parents and set it on the kitchen counter. Neither of them is home yet, both at late meetings for work. Hopefully they won't be too mad when they find I've gone out for the night.
I hear a horn honk from the driveway and grab my things, hurrying out the front door.
I get into the back seat of Jenna's car, as the passenger seat is already occupied by Ria. She smiles at me when I get in.
"Whoa, I haven't been over here in ages," Jenna says, eyes sweeping the front of the house as she pulls out of the driveway.
Ria looks at her lap and Jenna instantly looks as if she regrets saying anything.
I study their expressions closely, but I don't say anything.
The drive to Max's house is mainly filled with Jenna breaking traffic laws and Ria alternating between explaining to me how bad of a driver Jenna is and telling Jenna how bad of a driver she is. It's very comical, actually.
"You just ran that stop sign," Ria scolds.
"What stop sign?"
Ria facepalms.
"You're an atrocious driver," she says from beneath her hands.
"No I'm not," Jenna says as she runs another stop sign. "I'm not, right Jane?"
I stifle a laugh and shrug.
Finally, after multiple occasions in which I actually fear we'll get in a wreck, we arrive at Max's house.
It's not as big as Nate's house, but it's still large on most standards. It has the same old fashioned, stately look as most of the mansion type homes in this area. Faint music is heard as Jenna parks the car in the curving driveway.
We get out of the car, and I follow the other two up to the front door. Ria twists the door handle and walks right in.
People fill the living room, but not nearly as many as there was at Nate's party. I'm glad this party isn't as big as the last.
Jenna and Ria greet people they know as we walk through the living room towards the kitchen. The scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol only adds to the party atmosphere.
Oliver stands at the kitchen counter and looks up to smile at us as we walk into the kitchen. Estella stands next to him, leaning on the counter and twirling a blonde curl around her finger.
"Anything I can get you guys?" Oliver asks, gesturing to the liquor bottles on the counter. Something tells me Max broke into his father's expensive liquor cabinet.
However, judging from the décor of this place, it's not like they can't afford to get any more.
I politely decline Oliver's offer and he nods, smiling. I need to be sober if I'm going to try to find anything out tonight.
Jenna, Ria, and Estella strike up a conversation and I look over my shoulder at the crowd in the living room, scanning it for Max.
My eye catches on someone in a sequin top and I recognize the heavy glare of Ava. She holds a drink in her hand and she talks to Nate, with Max beside her. None of them look this way.
Max has his arms crossed over his chest as he talks to her, a bitter look on his face. She rolls her eyes and snaps back at him. Nate doesn't seem to be listening; he looks over his shoulder as they converse.
Ava socks him in the arm and he looks down at her. She says something to him and he rolls his eyes, turning to look at Max. Max says something and Ava shakes her head.
Nate narrows his eyes and points in the opposite direction. Ava glares at them both before brushing past them, through the crowd and out of the room.
I quickly turn around as Max's gaze floats toward the kitchen.
What were they talking about so intensely? Why did Ava leave?
I stare at the granite on the counter, counting down the seconds, knowing for sure Max will enter the kitchen any moment.
I count to forty five before I hear his loud voice behind me.
"Jane! You made it!"
I turn to give him a smile, nodding. "You've got a great house," I say.
"Thanks," he says, still grinning widely. "Can I get you anything to eat? Drink?"
I shake my head. "I'm fine, thank you."
As everyone around the counter begins having a conversation, I begin to think of how I'm going to get information out of tonight. How can I extract myself from these people and go explore this damn house?
Wow, what a nice thought.
I tap my fingers on the counter, my mind reeling.
I could always use the old fashioned bathroom excuse. It's worked before.
"Where's the restroom?" I ask Max.
He points down the hallway off the kitchen as he takes a sip of his drink. I nod like I understand and go the direction he points.
I walk down the hallway until I reach the foyer. I take the stairs two at a time, hoping no one sees me.
When I reach the upstairs part of the house, I scan the doors lining the hall. One of them must be Max's room, if this house is traditionally laid out.
I open a few doors silently, but so far they are only guest rooms and a bathroom. Finally, when I reach the end of the hall, do I find Max's room.
It's dark when I step inside, with light from the moon outside the window to keep me company. I can't tell what color the walls are in the dark, but the room is fairly large. A bed is pushed against the wall and a dresser with a TV mounted on it is adjacent to it. Picture frames line a shelf next to the dresser.
I make my way over to examine the photos.
Most of them are Max with people I recognize from school-Nate, Jenna, Ria, Oliver. But, oddly, none of Harry.
Strange, considering they were best friends.
Refusing to believe Max has no pictures of Harry, I walk over to the dresser. I pull open the top drawer. T-shirts and sweaters are neatly folded.
I scowl.
As I'm about to shut the drawer, the light reflects off of something beneath a white shirt.
I reach for the object.
It's just what I've been looking for.
Photographs.
And a lot of them. A stack at least three inches thick.
I sit down on the bed and look through them, using the light from the moon to see.
All of the pictures are similar. Max and Harry have their arms thrown around each other like brothers, smiling and laughing and making faces. Some of them are from when they are older and some of them are from when they're very young. There are snapshots of them in matching soccer uniforms looking no older than eight or dressed up like jailbirds for Halloween when they look to be thirteen. Memory after memory is captured in these photos.
So why were they so concealed away in Max's dresser?
One particular photo catches my eye.
It's recent (or, as recent as can be, given Harry's death). The two of them sit on a couch, red cups in hand. Max is laughing and Harry is smirking, both looking to someone off to the side.
The thing that intrigues me is Harry's attire.
Black jeans and a white sweater.
Could this photo be from the night he died?
I carefully fold the photograph and stick it in my pocket.
Now, if I've learned anything from soap operas, it's that you always get caught snooping by the person whose things you're snooping in. Any minute, Max could walk right in here and catch me in the act of going through these old pictures.
So I carefully take the stack and shuffle it until it looks as it did before. I'm about to stand up and put it back where I found it when a white slip of paper falls out of the stack.
I carefully unfold it.
There is only a simple phrase written:
PPD
PPD?
I put the note in my pocket and the stack of photos back in the dresser, covering it with the shirt and smoothing it out carefully before shutting the drawer.
I shut the bedroom door behind me and walk down the hall, my heart racing despite getting out of their without being caught.
So far.
The upstairs seems deserted compared to the lively atmosphere of the downstairs, and I quickly make my way down to the kitchen.
Everyone is where they were, but Nate has joined the group. He looks bored.
"That was a pretty long pee," Ria says to me.
I shrug. "You gotta go, you gotta go."
To my surprise, everyone laughs.
Well. I guess my sense of humor is improving.
I'm all too aware of the photograph in my pocket, along with the note. I need to get home to show them to Harry. Maybe he knows what PPD stands for. Maybe if he sees the photograph, a visual of that night, some memories will come back to him.
Then again, the photo may not be from that night. He may have worn that same sweater on other occasions.
It seems like too much of a coincidence, though. There are so many variables, so many uncertainties.
Helping Harry seems to become more and more complicated with each minute.