Harry and I stop kissing once I run out of breath and pull away, confusion crossing his face before he remembers that I have lungs to fill and cells to oxygenate. I take a deep breath, short on air from the kiss and from the way he stares at me, something behind his eyes that I can't quite read. A smile spreads across his face and I raise an eyebrow at him.
"What?"
His dimples show as he looks down briefly and then back at me. "You kiss by the book," he says and I immediately recognize the Romeo and Juliet reference.
I match his smile, letting out a small laugh. "That's Juliet's line, dear Romeo."
"I just called you a good kisser, Juliet, take it or leave it."
I smile. "If only you had felt it." My smile fades and so does his, and silence fills the room for a short moment. Nice going, my mind scoffs at me. You ruined a perfectly lovely conversation. Well done, really well done.
Harry breaks the silence.
"Hey, I felt it all in spirit."
I look at him.
He bites his lip to suppress his silly smile. "Get it? Spirit? As in ghost? Spirit?"
I blink and try to hide my laugh at yet another one of Harry's jokes about being dead. I shake my head at him as he laughs at himself beside me, causing my own laugh to escape me.
The rain has begun to fall a bit softer, but not by much, and the sound of the water drops hitting the house still echoes. The wind has picked up outside, howling and whistling through the trees.
I look at my bedside clock. It's past eleven, and I have school in the morning. Harry sees me looking at the time and half smiles.
"You should sleep," he says. "You're tired."
"I am," I agree, almost groaning. "I'm exhausted."
Harry smiles, standing up and walking over to the closet. "Where do you keep your extra blankets?"
I watch him, a bit confused. "Second shelf on the right."
He nods and pulls a soft purple blanket out, shutting the closet door behind him. He nods to me. "Get under the covers. You might need this." He unfolds the blanket, holding it up in front of him.
I comply, sliding into bed and watching Harry lay the blanket neatly on top of my comforter.
"Are you staying?" I ask him, a jolt of hopefulness shooting through me.
"Yep," he answers, smiling and walking over to the small loveseat placed by the window of my room. He sits, spreading his arms out over the top of it and grinning at me.
I watch him for a moment, my heart lifted. "You know you don't have to," I say.
"I'd like to. Do you not want me to?"
"Of course I do. I always do."
Harry's cheekbones lift in a delicate smile as I blush. He always does that, I notice. Whenever I blush, he smiles.
"Then I'll be right here," he says, patting the arm of the loveseat, his smile never faltering.
A sudden gust of wind slams the house, making me jump ever so slightly at the harshness of it.
"Go to sleep, Jane." Harry's tone is soft and soothing, only adding to my sleepiness.
I nod and reach over to turn off the light on my nightstand, darkness filling the room instantaneously. I yawn, shutting my eyes and listening to the rain.
"Harry?"
"Hmm."
"Won't you get bored, sitting here all night?"
"Not at all. I don't mind it."
"Really? It seems boring." I open my eyes to look at him.
"It's not. I promise." He smiles softly. "Anyway, don't worry about me. Go to sleep."
I nod and pull the blankets tight around me, drifting off to the sound of the merciless rain and the comfort of Harry's presence.
-
When I wake up the next morning, I see Harry stretched out across the loveseat, changed back into his white sweater. I sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
"Sleep well?" He asks, shifting to sit facing me.
I nod. "Yeah. Thanks." I smile at him.
"The rain stopped around five thirty," he says, looking toward the window. "But you might want to bundle up today; days after it rains around here get pretty chilly."
I smile at him. "Thanks."
He returns my smile. "No problem." He pushes himself up off the loveseat. "I should get going before I turn this house into an icebox."
"I'll come see you after school, then," I say, pushing the layers of blankets off me and getting out of bed. As soon as I do, I'm hit with a blast of arctic air, causing goosebumps to rise on my exposed arms. I'm glad I'm wearing my flannel pajama bottoms as I run my hands up and down my arms in the cold.
"Wow," I say. "It really does feel like an icebox."
He shoots me a crooked smile. "Sorry about that." He stands in front of me, a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. With him back in his white sweater, it makes me question if anything actually happened the night before.
"Where'd your t-shirt go?"
"Put it in your closet, with your t-shirts. You can have it, since you like the band. I even folded it." He smiles almost proudly, like a child who just learned to put away their own laundry.
"Really?" I smile widely. "Thank you."
"Take your pick from any of the other ones, too. Your parents might get suspicious, though."
"That's true. I'll have to go shopping and pretend I bought them all."
Harry laughs lightly, rocking back slightly on his heels. "Alright, it's seven thirty. I'd better leave so you can get ready for school."
In a hesitant gesture, he steps toward me, using one hand to push a strand of messy hair out of my face and the other rests on my shoulder. I inhale a sharp breath as he leans down to press his cold lips to mine in a short kiss I did not expect. My breathing is quick and cool as he steps back, an amused and slightly arrogant smirk crossing his features as he retreats to the window and opens it.
"Oh, and Jane," he says, looking back at me seriously. "Be careful, all right?"
I furrow my brow, wondering what exactly he means-about investigating his murder, or what? Yes, it has to be that. What else would I have to be careful about? I am about to ask him to explain a little further when he steps out of the window, closing it softly behind him, and is gone.
-
When I get to school, large crowds of people are clumped out front, the talking excited and loud. I shut the door to my car, confusedly walking towards the school. I spot Jenna, Ava and Adam standing together and hurriedly make my way over.
"What's going on?" I ask as I approach them.
"School might be cancelled tomorrow for Harry Styles' funeral," Adam explains. "Everyone's talking about it. Practically everyone was invited by his parents. There's a big meeting happening with district officials right now."
"Why is everyone making such a big deal, though?" I ask, looking around at the students excitably clustered.
"You must not know," Ava says, a condescending hint in her voice. "Everyone simply adored Harry."
She locks eyes with me, her lips pressing into a tight line. I am so close, so close to firing back at her that obviously not everyone adored him, if he ended up dead after having been strangled. No, that would not go over well. Instead, I reply with a simpler remark.
"Surely not everyone," I say lightly. "I doubt someone could be loved by everyone."
Ava's stare turns to a glare, and suddenly it feels like it's only her and me standing here, hostility thick in the air like fog. Her brown eyes burn with disdain, her posture rigid and her red lips set in a sneer. If looks could kill, I would be six feet under.
The bell rings, causing the large gathering to disperse. Ava turns and walks away, the crowd practically parting for her, her boots clicking on the pavement.
People still talk in hushed voices as they move toward the school, paying close attention to Ava as she pushes her way through the sea of people.
"That was his girlfriend," they might be whispering as she walks by. "She must be so heartbroken."
And what of me, the one he kisses now, the one he touches despite being numb? The crowd does not part for me, no one whispers. For that I am glad. Let them whisper about Ava, let them think what they want. Let them think he ever loved her.
I try to shake the nasty thoughts from my mind, and then I stop trying. I don't owe anything to Ava. She tried to con me when accusing me of stealing the necklace, and I have yet to con her back.
Revenge is not something I'll try to seek from her, I'm not that type of person-but she's too secretive for my liking. She knows more about Harry's death than she lets anyone know. Who knows? She might even be the cause of it.
Anything's possible.
I sit in my usual spot next to Max in first period. He gives me a faint smile.
I set my bag down on my desk and look at him. "So," I say, lowering my voice. "When do you want your photo back?"
His jaw clenches. "Come to the party Friday night at my place," he says coolly, avoiding my gaze.
I shrug. "Fine."
We don't talk for a few moments as more people file into the classroom, class starting in less than ten minutes.
"We're still friends, right?"
I look at him. "I guess."
I need to stay on his good side if I want to get more information from him. I can't have him distrust me, even if I distrust him. I just need to return the photo and resume our friendship until something valuable inevitably slips from him.
Admittedly I'm shocked he asked if we were still friends. Why does he care for our friendship? He must have an ulterior motive, but what is it?
Everyone is potentially a suspect of Harry's homicide. Everyone could have a different motive. Max's could have to do with jealousy of his best friend's immense popularity, Ava's could have to do with the fact Harry never loved her-that is, if she ever knew he didn't. Even Harry's parents, the people who raised him, could have done it, not wanting their son to take over the family corporation, as sick as it sounds. This town is twisted, rooted by secrets and mystery surrounding the murder of the boy everyone simply adored.
I need to find someone who will talk, someone I can befriend and extract even the most basic of information from regarding who Harry really was. That is how I'm going to find out who killed him-I need to know who he truly was when he was alive.
"Hey, Jane."
I look over at Max, my thoughts fading. "Yeah?"
"I really do miss him."
He doesn't have to say a name for me to know exactly who he's referencing. I watch his expression closely. His jaw is pulled tight and his brow is slightly furrowed, his eyes tired and hinted with sadness.
For a second, I see Max as the boy who lost his best friend to an unsolved murder, a boy who is confused and sad that the person he grew up next to is gone without explanation. I almost lose all suspicion of him.
Almost.
-
The hallways are abuzz with conversation again as I walk out of my eighth period class at the end of the day. I am anxious for some reason, although I can't place why. I have to visit the cemetery this afternoon to see Harry-is that the reason for my slight nerves? No. I've been there multiple times, why would I be nervous to go now? It must be something else. I take a deep breath.
I step out of the building and into the cold autumn air, pulling the sleeves of my jacket over my hands as I begin the walk to my car. A few moments into the walk, I hear the sound of high heels clicking behind me.
I stop and turn around, narrowing my eyes at Ava. She stops walking as well, her eyes rolling and an annoyed expression consuming her features.
"My car's this way too," she says. "I'm not following you."
I shoot her a glare and turn to continue walking. Somehow, we fall into step beside each other. I smell the overwhelming floral scented perfume she must douse herself in from where I walk beside her.
I decide to speak up.
"You're going to the funeral tomorrow, aren't you?"
Her eyes flash to me momentarily before focusing straight ahead. "Yes, of course," she says, as if she's talking to a three year old.
"Must be hard for you," I say lightly as my car comes into view up ahead. "Especially now that they're burying an actual body."
She shrugs, not looking at me. "Yes," she says simply.
"I can't imagine what you're going through."
I watch for her expression, but it's hard to read. She looks at me, stopping in front of a silver Mercedes parked a few cars over from mine. Her eyes are hard. "You and everyone else," she snaps. "I don't need your sympathy."
"You sure need an attitude check, I'll tell you that," I bite back, thoroughly pissed at her tone.
"Oh, don't talk to me about attitude," she says, rolling her eyes again. "In fact, don't even talk to me at all."
"I knew it," I say, shaking my head at the hostility she's showing now, so opposite to the saccharine smile she wore at the police station a few days back. "I knew the whole necklace thing wasn't hazing."
"Figured that out, did you?" She steps toward me, contempt in her eyes. "You think you're so smart, subtly asking about Harry Styles' murder, don't you? Well, I don't know what you're trying to achieve, but you're never going to achieve it."
I clench my jaw, anger shooting through my veins. "You can quit fooling yourself in thinking that he ever loved you."
Ava steps back in shock, eyes flashing. She looks furious, her hands clenching into fists at her sides before relaxing. Her expression calms eerily, shifting from passionately angry to placidly smug in a span of mere seconds. "And you think he'd ever love you, if he was alive? Don't flatter yourself. He'd look right past you like you were a sheet of glass, completely invisible."
Her statement hits me, causing me to take a step back. The words claw at me, repeating themselves in my mind in hateful whispers.
"I only know the facts," I say, turning my head to look back into her eyes. "And there is no evidence to suggest he gave a single shit about you."
Ava pulls her keys out of her purse, unlocking her car. She looks at me, that same eerie smug expression on her face. "Check your facts."
-
I drive home, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as I mull over my confrontation with Ava. The scariest part is that she didn't even question how I knew about Harry not loving her; she didn't even give it a second thought.
Is what she said true? If Harry was alive, would he even look at me twice? It's painful to think about, when now I am trying to help him so greatly and my feelings for him are increasing more with each day. An old feeling of insecurity begins to bubble within me. No, Ava is wrong. It doesn't matter what Harry would have thought of me if he was alive, those are not the circumstances we are under. I push Ava's nasty words from my mind the best I can.
When I get home, I drop my bag on the kitchen table and immediately move to the fridge, pulling out leftover chocolate cake. I cut a piece for myself, taking a large bite and deciding I'll finish it on the way to the cemetery to visit Harry.
The grass is mushy and wet in the backyard when I make my way across it, my shoes sinking slightly in the soft muddy ground. I swallow the last of my cake as I reach the gate, my eye suddenly catching on something shoved into one of the cracks in the stone frame of the gate. It looks like paper.
Confused, I reach up and close my fingers around the white piece of paper. I unfold it, eyes scanning the words scrawled on it.
Jane-
If you want to learn more about Harry Styles, come to Mel's Diner off Sterling Street tonight at 6. Don't bring anyone with you.
I instinctively look around me for anyone who might be watching, but I am alone. I shove the note in my pocket and check the time on my phone.
5:36 p.m.
I run my tongue over my teeth, internally debating. If I go, I could possibly learn valuable information about Harry that could only be obtained from someone who knew him. On the other hand, I have no idea who planted this note. What if it's a hoax?
I turn back towards the house and break into a jog, my feet squishing in the mud. I'm sure Harry will understand my late arrival to the graveyard later. I take the steps two at a time up to my room, reaching into my top dresser drawer and grabbing my can of pepper spray.
By the time I leave the house, it's 5:45, and I try to remember where Sterling Street is. The streets are still damp from last night's storm, and if I'm not mistaken, the dark clouds above are signaling another rain shower.
I park in the small lot in front of Mel's Diner at 5:57. It's a small restaurant that looks like your typical diner-red booths and a jukebox playing music quietly from a corner. This can't be a hoax if whoever invited me here is asking to meet at such a public place. I walk inside, a bell jingling at the door as I scan the booths for whoever wrote the note. It's surprisingly busy for a Tuesday night, with most of the booths and seats at the bar filled.
"Can I help you?" A blonde waitress asks, walking up to me. She smiles at me through her layers of makeup.
"No, I'm all right for now, thank you," I say and then realize how odd that must sound coming from someone that just walked into a restaurant. "I'm meeting someone," I add and she nods, smiling again before walking off.
I look around the diner, my eyes trailing over the customers. Who could it be? Who sent the note?
Someone gets up from one of the tables by the window, taking a few steps down the isle between the booths before stopping and raising their hand in a small wave.
Ian Whitmore.
I shoot him a confused smile before walking over to him and following him back to his booth.
I sit across from him, somewhat relieved that it was him that sent the note and not someone I didn't know.
"Nice to see you," he says politely, smiling. "I'm glad you got my note."
"Uh, yeah," I say, returning his smile. "How exactly did you...?"
"My mother was at the clearing the other day investigating a bit and I was with her," he says. "I know you had a peaked interest in Harry Styles' case, and thought maybe I could be of help."
The old premonition that Ian might know about the afterlife sparks within me, but I push it down for now.
"Would you like anything to eat? They make great pancakes here."
I half smile. "Pancakes for dinner?"
"Why not?"
I shrug, letting out a light laugh. "Sure. I'll have some."
I sit quietly as Ian orders, my mind working quickly. What will Ian have to say? What if he knows things about what Harry was like that I don't want to hear?
The waitress walks away from our table and Ian turns his hazel eyes back to me.
"So," he says.
I watch him expectantly, trying to decide if I trust him or not. I do trust his mother, but this is only the second time I have interacted with Ian. I guess I have no reason to distrust him at the moment, but I keep my guard up nonetheless.
"So," I reply, folding my hands on top of the table. "I guess start off by telling me how you knew Harry and what you thought of him."
Ian nods, leaning back in his seat. This is it, this is my way into finding out who Harry really was. The information I gain from this conversation could change everything, I can feel it. The only question is, will I like everything I find out?