"You ready for this?" Spencer inquires, her voice effectively forcing me from my own internal musings, and causing me to meet her gaze head-on, instead, "Because I'm sure we could get you out of going to class today if you said you were still feeling the brunt of your injuries from the crash."
"Prolonging the inevitable has never really been my thing," I reply, exhaling in a rush, and reaching for my bookbag where I have left it resting upon the kitchen counter, while my free hand latches onto my travel coffee mug as though my life depends upon it, "It is what it is, right?"
"That's one way of putting it."
"From where I'm sitting, that's the only way of putting it."
"And if you walk in and every single eye of that school is fixed on you? What then?"
"Then they'll be at least half as fixated on you, seeing as you promised not to leave my side."
"Remind me why I decided to do that, again?" Spencer quips, nudging her elbow gently against my side, and managing a faint smile as soon as she determines that I appear to be relaxing just a bit, in spite of my lingering nerves, as a direct result of her statement, "Oh yeah. Because you're the best sister a girl could ever dream of."
"Nice save."
"I aim to please."
"I'm glad somebody does," I tease, returning the nudge that Spencer has given me wholeheartedly, before I am stepping around her, and heading towards the door, "Because from the looks of things, I'm going to be the family screw-up for a while, now."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," My sister counters, something unreadable passing over her features before she can stop it, and consequently causing my brow to furrow as I turn back to face her more directly, while attempting to direct our conversation towards whatever it is that appears to be troubling her so effectively.
"And are you going to tell me why that is? Or do I have to pry it out of you with coffee and a year's supply of those buttercreams you used to love so much?"
"Coffee, yes. Buttercreams, no. Unless you want to join me in running off all the calories we both consume, because there's no way in hell I'm binge-eating those on my own."
"No thanks. I think I'm good."
"That's what I thought you'd say."
"Well I trust you know it's not because I'm trying to get out of any sisterly bonding," I clarify, once again turning my attention towards getting to the door that will lead to the expanse of property at the side of our home, and consequently, Spencer's car as well, so that we can get to school on time, if at all possible, "I'm just not a runner. Never have been, never will be."
"Is that why you're so bound and determined to go to school today? Because you don't want anyone to think you're running?"
I don't want 'A' to think I'm running," I state, stepping through the door, and heading over towards the car in spite of the fact that I can practically sense Spencer's hesitation in following me to do the same. I would have been a fool to pretend that I could not understand her concern, particularly as I am still very much aware of the fact that something appears to be bothering her more than she wants to let on, as well. And although I have absolutely no intention of letting up when it comes to getting to the bottom of those troubles that plague her in the near future, I force myself to keep up the front of letting it go for the time-being, one brow lifting as I turn back to face my sister, just as she finally jolts herself into action and locks the door to our home behind her before she replies.
"Has anyone ever told you you're too brave for your own good?"
"Is it bravery, Spence? Or stupidity?"
"Honestly? It's most likely a little bit of both," Spencer admits, seemingly pleased that her remark provokes a small laugh in response, and giving me the faintest of smiles in return before she is maneuvering to the driver's side door of her car, and pressing the button that will unlock the doors so that we can both clamber inside and prepare to make the best of the day, and whatever circumstances it may throw our way.
Regardless of whether we have said it out loud, or not, we both know full well that today is going to be far from the easiest thing either of us have survived, so far…
…
A few hours later, I find myself standing beside my locker with my history book clutched tightly to my chest, while I do the best that I can to avoid succumbing to the panic that clutches at my heart in response to how the majority of people passing me by are making no secret of their stares, and looks of what I can only describe as open derision. If I am being honest with myself, I expected this, particularly as my initial suspicion was correct, and our mystery tormenter really does appear to have sent that photo of Noel and I to almost everyone in the building in possession of a cell phone. But whether I could have predicted it or not, actually facing the consequences of my momentary lapse of judgment is far more difficult than I might have anticipated, my teeth biting into my lower lip so fiercely that I find I am almost immediately startled by the sudden metallic taste of blood as it touches my tongue.
Flinching in response, I bring one hand up to touch at the apparent new wound upon my lower lip, my brow scrunching as the gesture brings a small sting of pain to the edge of my awareness, and consequently prompts me to turn back to my locker in an attempt at reopening it to get a glance at my reflection in the small magnetic mirror attached inside. I know, on some level, that attempting to fix the problem with lipstick is probably futile, though that does not seem to be enough to dissuade me, regardless.
After all, if the entire school is going to be staring at me for the foreseeable future, I might as well look good, right?
In spite of how insane I know the act to be, given the current circumstances, I find myself entirely unable to stop the small laugh that breaks free in response to my utterly vain and ridiculous thought, my eyes narrowing as I take in my reflection in the locker mirror, while a frown simultaneously crosses my lips, despite the secondary tug of pain the act elicits in response. Within seconds, I am applying the aforementioned lipstick, despite the fact that I know, somehow, that it will not do me any good. But before I can finish the act, shut my locker, and attempt to escape into my next class with whatever dignity I have left, I am distracted by the appearance of none other than the person who is half-responsible for getting me into this mess to start with, my heart lodging in my throat as I attempt to scoot past him, only to find that his fingers are curling around my upper arm to pull me back to his side before I can find the wherewithal to stop it.
"Hey. You okay?"
"I need to get to class, Noel—"
"And I don't really think that's the best place for either of us to be, right now," Noel insists, his eyes searching my features for a moment, in spite of the fact that I am doing anything I can to avoid meeting his gaze head-on, "Come on. We'll go someplace where—"
"Where what? We can finish what we started?"
"Ava—"
"Why not, Noel? It's what everyone would probably want," I retort, startling myself with the vehemence behind my tone even with the subsequent realization that if my hands were not clutching my history book, they would be shaking vehemently at my sides, "Why not complete the show, right? Ramp up to an epic conclusion?"
"That's not what I want at all."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to make sure that you're okay," Noel states, lowering his voice and stepping just a bit closer towards me, as though he is actually oblivious to the fact that our little rendezvous has provoked still more staring from our classmates as they meander through the halls to their next class, "And I'm not going anywhere until I can do that, so you may as well just let me and get it over with."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
"What if I chose to turn that promise down, anyway?" I ask him, finally forcing myself to look him in the eye, and finding that I am completely blown away by the obvious sincerity inherent in his expression, despite his penchant for superficiality, "Would you let me go to class on my own, then?"
"I don't think so, Aviator. Unless of course you want to have to deal with everyone staring at you for the rest of the day."
"Is that really what you think of me?"
"I think you already know the answer to that question," Noel says, something in the certainty inherent in his tone causing me to exhale in a combination of both resignation and the belated realization that he just might be correct in his attempts to get me away from all of this, to start with, "Last chance, Ava. I'm leaving. The only question is, are you going to come with me?"
Whether I want to admit it or not, his offer is far too good to turn down…
…
"Feeling any better?" Noel asks, peering at me from around the mountain of onion rings that rest between us on the patio table of the Grille, and watching with some amusement as I nod a bit around a mouthful of deep-fried goodness, in spite of my lingering doubts. I cannot fully explain it—the reality of the slight mood boost that I have found through stuffing myself full to bursting with greasy food and fruit punch, augmented slightly with whatever the hell Noel smuggled in in the flask he apparently keeps in his jeans pocket. But whether I understand it or not, I am foolishly set on simply accepting it as it is for as long as I can, my shoulders bumping against the wrought-iron backing of the chair I am sitting upon as I swallow the remainder of the onion ring I had been savoring, before permitting myself to speak.
"Don't rub it in, okay? You don't need any extra padding for that ego of yours."
"Is it a crime to say I can tell what a girl needs, even before she realizes she needs it?"
"No. It's a crime to milk it as much as you do sometimes, though."
"If I promise not to milk it, will you let me in on what the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, silently cursing how my voice seems to waver in spite of how badly I want to shrug this entire thing off like it is nothing. I know exactly what he is referring to, of course—that he really does have every right to know what we are up against, inasmuch as I can tell him what little I know. But something instinctive seems to keep me from full disclosure, at least as it pertains to the true origins behind the text that has garnered us so much unwanted attention, my lips turning into a frown as I register Noel's look of abject disbelief before he sets in on me once again.
"I think you know what I mean, Ava. What the hell was behind that text that got mass-produced for our entire school?"
"It was—it was probably just someone pulling a prank."
"You and I both know you don't believe that," Noel protests, leaning forward so that he can place both elbows upon the table, the fingers of one hand working at shredding another onion ring and dropping the pieces on the plate while going on, "What's going on, here?"
"Honestly? I don't have a clue."
"Really?"
"Yes, really, Noel. But go ahead and refuse to believe me if you want," I begin, folding both arms across my chest, and doing what I can to suppress the aggravation I feel over being so effectively put on the spot, in favor of reminding myself that there are bigger factors at play here than my own bruised feelings, "I'm sorry. I am, Noel, I just—"
"You've had a hell of a day and it's barely noon."
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Can you tell me anything about this? Anything at all?" Noel inquires, startling me when he reaches across the table, and grabs for my hand so that he can give it a squeeze, while I simultaneously fight the desire to pull away from his touch as though I have been burned. I know he is only trying to help, regardless of the nature of his apparent methods in doing so, just as I know I should be grateful that he is not simply angry with me for exposing him to social ridicule. But no matter how I may try to convince myself that he is not the enemy, here, I find that I am still facing a seemingly insurmountable sense of anxiety, in spite of the relaxation I felt just moments ago, my teeth coming out to worry at my lower lip for a moment before I am withdrawing my hand from his, and attempting to give him an answer without exposing exactly how terrified I am that this is might only be the beginning.
"I can tell you that—that I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
"What, exactly, is 'this', Ava?"
"The text. The whole school staring at us like we're some sort of shiny new exhibit at the zoo. All of it."
"But you won't tell me why it's happening to begin with."
"Because I don't know!"
"You really expect me to believe that?"
"It would be nice if you did," I admit, flinching away as Noel attempts to reach for my hand a second time, despite the fact that I am not blind to how my reaction has his expression turning sour in seconds, flat, "Just like it would be nice if you took me at my word when I told you I was sorry."
"I'm not blaming you for what happened. I just want to know why."
"And that's not something I can tell you."
"Will it ever be something you can tell me?"
"Honestly? I don't know."
"You don't know," Noel repeats, skepticism lacing his tone as he leans back against his own chair, while his hands set to work at shredding another onion ring to bits as though he is not even aware of his own actions, "I thought we were closer than that, Ava."
"You act as though I'm trying to intentionally keep you in the dark."
"It's kind of what it seems like."
"Well that's not what it is," I state, somewhat pleased that, despite my state of mind, I am able to keep my reply even, even though my fingers have curled inward on the arms of the chair I occupy, as though the gesture will really be productive in any sort of tangible way, "From where I'm sitting, it seems like you do blame me for this."
"I don't."
"Well you could've fooled me."
"What else do you want me to say, Ava?" Noel demands, the sudden hardness in his words causing me to flinch as he leans back across the table towards me, and tosses the remainder of the onion ring he had been picking apart upon the plate, "God, it's almost like you're refusing to let anyone protect you."
"So, you're suggesting I'm enjoying this, then."
As surprised as I am that this entire outing appears to have gone south as quickly as it has, even in spite of my attempt at cautious optimism at its inception, I am even more astonished at the hostility that is so apparent in Noel's gaze, now, my eyes widening just a bit even in the face of my desire to remain aloof. He has not replied to my latest supposition, not that I really expected him to with the way things are going—but something in the way he is looking at me now, as though he truly believes I might be having the time of my life has me scooting my chair back and reaching for my purse, my aggravation and anxiety finally getting the best of me as I realize Noel is moving to stand as well, and almost automatically shake my head as I prepare to depart.
"Don't. I think it would be best for both of us if I went back to school."
"That's really where you think you should be right now?"
"It's looking a hell of a lot better than staying here," I retort, looping the strap of my purse around my shoulder, and tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear before I finish.
"At least there, I know to expect the hostility. From where I'm standing, that's a hell of a lot better than having it come your way from a friend."
Whether my reaction is childish or not, I am all but determined to do whatever I can to remove myself from the current situation, no matter what suspicions that may provoke about my motives in doing so…
…
My return to the school is relatively uneventful, even in spite of the fact that I am forced to do so on foot, since Noel was the one to drive us to the Grille, my relieved sigh seeming to abate at least some of the tension that has been my near to constant companion since this day began while I walk through the side door near the Russian History classroom, and prepare to come up with some reason or another as to why I am showing up late. Of course, I know that even if the teacher buys into my excuse, it is very likely that Spencer will not. But in spite of the fact that I really do not think I can face her particular brand of interrogation right now, I know it is still a damned sight better than what I endured with Noel, my shoulders squaring as I make a last ditch effort at forcing some determination into my mind while my fingers reach for, and latch onto the doorknob leading into the classroom in the same motion.
Of course, as soon as I have done so, I find every muscle in my body freezing in place upon hearing the sound of a familiar voice coming from immediately behind me, my eyes drifting shut as I exhale a shaky breath while my hand almost immediately drops back to my side.
"Miss Hastings—I have to admit, I never pegged you as a girl who would cut her classes."
"I didn't know you were trying to 'peg' me at all, Detective," I reply, turning back to face the man where he stands in the middle of the hallway, and doing what I can to remain firm even in spite of the fact that the way he is looking at me, like a cat who has just cornered a mouse has my nerves jangling like a damned live electric wire. I can tell that he is going to question me about the accident Hanna and I were in on the way back from Noel's party, even though if asked, I would have absolutely no way of proving how I have come to that supposition to begin with. And although a part of me would love nothing more than to beat him to the punch, particularly as he seems to have a knack for trying to turn the tables on me, I force myself to remain silent, my posture straightening just a bit as Wilden approaches, and places both hands inside his pants pockets before he speaks.
"Just trying to figure out why all the rest of your little friends are doing what they should be, staying in class, and you're out here, looking in."
"I had to use the restroom."
"You have a hall pass to back that story up?"
"I—"
"No. You don't. Care to revise your story?"
"I'm not telling a story, Detective. I'm telling the truth."
"I wonder if your teacher would back you up if I went in the classroom, and asked him myself," Wilden says, something in his self-assured smile giving me every reason to believe that he would enjoy nothing more than to do exactly that, regardless of whether it would disrupt the class as a whole, or not, "Maybe I should—"
"Alright. I was skipping, but I decided to come back."
"There it is. I knew the truth would come out, sometime."
"Now that it has, can I please get back to class?"
"I don't think so. See, Ava, I'm thinking if you lie about skipping class, then you might be lying about what you remember about the night when your friend Alison went missing, as well."
"And we're back to that again," I complain, trying as best I can to ignore the jolt of apprehension that rushes through me, in favor of forcing myself to meet Wilden's gaze, head-on while he replies.
"We're going to continue to keep coming back to it, Ava. Until you tell me the truth. You may as well do yourself a favor and come clean."
"Why don't you just cuff me now and get it over with?" I demand, poignantly aware of the potential foolishness of my words, and yet finding myself completely incapable of making any amends in light of how my nerves and aggravation over how this entire day has gone so far seem all but determined to refuse to let me go in favor of more rational behavior, "If you're so determined I killed one of my best friends, I don't think there's much I can say to convince you otherwise."
"I'm half tempted to take you up on that offer," Wilden confesses, something almost akin to a predatory gleam taking over his eyes, and causing me to take a hesitant step backwards despite my desire to appear calm and collected, "But I know for a fact that one of your parents would come blazing into the station about five seconds after I did that, and we'd be right back to square one."
"So, you expect me to believe I'm off the hook? As easy as that?"
"I expect you to believe that I'm going to be doing whatever I can to find the evidence you seem so willing to keep to yourself. And believe me, Miss Hastings, as soon as I have it, there won't be a thing that either of your parents can do to save you."
I am not physically capable of coming up with a suitable retort in the face of Wilden's remark—or threat, such as it was, my heart taking up the act of pounding erratically against my rib cage while I stand, motionless, and watch him begin to walk away. I should have known my small surge of bravado would have been short-lived, just as I am equally aware that, with his dogged determination to get to the bottom of what he thinks happened on the night of Ali's disappearance Wilden will likely make good on his attempts at digging up something that implicates me in one way or another. And although that realization in and of itself is enough to paralyze me, I force myself to reach into the front pocket of my bookbag to fish out my cell, only a brief moment of hesitation giving me pause before I am typing out a brief text to the one person I hope with all I have will reply.
Can you talk? I really could stand to hear your voice…
…
Well hello, angels! And welcome to a delayed, but hopefully still enjoyable new chapter in Ava's tale! I truly do apologize for the delay in updating, particularly as I don't really have a suitable excuse for that delay, aside from stubborn muses wanting to focus on other stories. But, as always, I have no plans for abandoning this one, particularly as things seem to be heating up on the drama-front (what can I say? I couldn't resist, lol). So, I hope you can all find it within yourselves to forgive me, and to continue to bear with me for new updates! I am nowhere near finished with Ava's story!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite, and review this story so far (and of course special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: Ineveryfandom, Hope10, Princess1, Loving Liar, Warriorqueen, Lady Bird, and Guest)! I truly do appreciate your support and as always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter every bit as much as you enjoyed the last!
Until next time (and stay safe out there, my loves!)
MOMM
