"She's not going to school tomorrow, Alejandro," came her mother's teary voice from the kitchen as Christina listened silently at the top of the stairs. "We could even pull her out for the rest of the year."

"What good will it do to keep her home?" her father asked.

"She'll be safe."

"She's safe at school, Dolores! She gets rides from her friend, and she doesn't go out at night. You know we've raised her to be cautious."

"No…" her mother said in a pained whisper, "I don't care how cautious she is. When two children are…are butchered"—she choked on the vile utterance—"whoever did it was someone they knew. Maybe even someone at the school."

Her father sighed deeply.

"Those crime shows are getting to you. I leave you alone too much. I'm sorry, Lolita."

"No, you've been wonderful, corazón," she said, and Christina imagined that her mother was stroking the side of her father's face in that loving way that she did. "You've given us so much. I love this neighborhood. I love our home. Christina does too. But this…this wasn't supposed to happen. And now I don't know what to think."

A moment passed, and then her father, resigned, said: "I'll talk to her."

Christina stood up from her eavesdropping position and quickly tip-toed to her room and closed the door. She scrambled to her bookshelf, grabbed the first thing her hand landed on and her reading glasses, and jumped onto her bed, feigning being deep into her reading when, mere seconds later, a soft knock emanated from the other side of the door.

"Christina, are you awake, mi amor?"

"Yeah, Dad. Come in."

He entered, tie undone, worry only thinly veiled beneath the handsome smile he offered her.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, um"—Christina's gaze flitted downward, hoping he didn't notice—"Romeo and Juliet."

He nodded, sat on the edge of her bed, and released a slow, sad breath.

"How are you doing today?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, shrugging.

Christina closed the book and sat up next to him, feeling at peace as she rested her head against her father's shoulder. She was never sure which of her parents she was more similar to. She looked more like her mother, but she always thought she manifested more of her father's temperament—the quiet understanding and reticent countenance, bordering on stoicism. The tendency to store things away, deep within the bowels of her heart. But then she thought of Billy Loomis, and how quickly and inexplicably he seemed to disarm her, and wondered if she was giving herself too much credit.

"Do you want to talk about it?" her father tried again. "Were you friendly with either of them?"

Over the next several minutes, she communicated much the same information she had in the principal's office that afternoon.

"How is John taking it?" he further inquired when Christina told him that her boyfriend had been on the football team with Steven Orth.

"I think he's still processing it too…he was very protective today."

"That's good, mija. I can tell he cares a lot for you."

"I know," Christina said flatly, the guilt rearing its ugly head within her.

She hadn't thought much about her own boyfriend since her encounter with Billy in the hallway, and the terrible desire that it had left blossoming in her heart, her limbs, down to the very core of her being. She wanted him, and she was at the brink of openly admitting it, of screaming it to her heart's content.

"Well, listen, Christina…" her father began, pulling her from her increasingly lustful reverie. "With what's happened, your mother would feel much better if you stayed home from school tomorrow." A contemplative look darkened his features, and his eyes grew intense as he placed a protective hand on her shoulder. "Would you do that for your mother? For the both of us?"

"I guess I can't complain about playing hooky from school, can I?" Christina acquiesced, offering a low, humorless laugh.

Her father moved his hand to the side of her face.

"Thank you, Christina. We will pray that the monster who did this is caught soon, but until then, it doesn't hurt to be careful."

He left her then to finish her reading, but she tossed the book aside the moment he was gone, cringing. Two dead teenagers was the last thing she wanted to read about after today. But before falling into an uneasy sleep, she managed to pen a short entry in her diary, written in a shaky hand:

September 26, 1996

Last night, two of my classmates were murdered.

Casey Becker and Steven Orth.

I feel like something's changed in me.

Christina called Judy and John the following morning to inform them that, out of parental concern, she wasn't going to be at school today. She continued her morning routine as if she was, however, figuring that there was no point in wasting the day away in her bed. She opened the window to air out her room. The breeze was a relief against her flushed skin. When she went downstairs, freshly showered and dressed, she found her mother sitting at one of the barstools before the kitchen island, bent over, her face in her hands.

"Mom?"

She almost gasped when her mother turned to face her. Her beautiful eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, her cheeks puffy and reddened, and her lips formed a deeply set frown. Gripped in one hand was a wad of thoroughly used tissues.

"Oh—buenos dias, mija," she greeted, sniffling. "I already called your school to tell them you were going to be absent today. It sounds like we aren't the only ones. They said given the circumstances it won't count against your attendance record."

"I don't care about having perfect attendance, Mom," said Christina, reaching out to touch her mother's tense shoulder. "I care about you! Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No, not really," she admitted. "But I have to cook you breakfast—I was going to—"

"I'll eat a bowl of cereal. We've got plenty of leftovers for later too. I can fend for myself today. You should just…go back to bed. Please."

Gingerly, she guided her mother to rise to her feet, holding her still by her small shoulders as she led her out of the kitchen.

"Are you sure, Christina?"

"Positive."

"I think I'll take a pill," her mother resolved as she began her languid journey up the stairs. "I was thinking about…about what I could possibly say to Mr. and Mrs. Becker when I see them at church. Maybe I should bring them something. But I don't know the Orths…"

"Try not to worry about that now," Christina urged, gently, and then, attempting to lighten the mood, added, "if this is what one sleepless night does to you, I hate to see how you'll be when I get married. Or have a baby."

Her mother chuckled, but it was quiet and hollow. Christina saw her to bed and helped herself to a bowl of cereal, then got ahead on some homework that was due the following week before actually settling into re-reading Romeo and Juliet, having slightly warmed up to the text again from the previous night. In particular, she found herself focusing on the passages concerning Rosaline—the beautiful but uninterested girl that Romeo was supposedly head-over-heels for before laying eyes on her cousin Juliet at that fateful gathering.

But what if Rosaline had been interested? What if she hadn't been chaste, and given Romeo the passionate love he was seeking? Would he have still fallen for Juliet? Would she—?

The phone rang. She placed the book down and removed her reading glasses, shaking her head free of the ridiculous thoughts, the absolutely absurd comparisons, and went to answer it.

"Hello?" she greeted cautiously. She glanced at the clock over the stove; it was almost one in the afternoon. Surely the phone creep wouldn't dare fuck with her again in broad daylight, not when she could run outside and scream.

"Christina?" came Judy's voice. Christina released the breath she had not realized she had been holding.

"Hey, Judy."

"Looks like you were ahead of the game staying home today. They've dismissed us! There's supposed to be a curfew starting tonight too!"

"Oh God, did something else happen?"

"Apparently there were some shenanigans in the halls today. Some yahoos wearing a costume trying to scare people."

"Did you see it?" Christina asked, feeling her jaw clench.

"Not anyone in a costume, but…" Judy paused for a moment, as if recounting a painful memory. "I was downstairs between classes, and out of nowhere, Sidney ran right past me. She was crying that someone had tried to attack her in the bathroom."

"Seriously!?"

"I guess it was a prankster."

"Casey and Steve's bodies aren't even cold and people are making fun of their murders," Christina spat, disgusted. "I hate our generation sometimes, Judy."

"Easy there. Don't go getting all upset now, Christina, 'cause we're going to a party tonight."

"A party? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, at Stu Macher's house! You in?"

"Judy…" she said her best friend's name with a drawn out concern, shocked that it was about to be her being the more cautious one between the two of them. It was as if the murders had rocked all of Woodsboro in a way that everyone's normal pattern of thinking had fallen out of equilibrium. "Don't you think it would be a bit—uh—rash for us to be going to a party when there's a psycho killer out and about? Anyway, I stayed home from school for that exact reason. No way my parents would let me go."

"Then sneak out."

"Judy!" Christina said her name again emphatically, almost amused. "What's gotten in to you?"

She heard Judy smack her lips softly and take a deep breath, like she was preparing for a big confession.

"It's stupid, but, if it's Stu's party, then that means Tatum will be there, and if Tatum will be there…well, I was thinking maybe…"

"That maybe her cute deputy brother would pop in for a spell?" Christina supplied. "Judy Hicks, what am I going to do with you?"

"Come to the party with me? There's safety in numbers, after all!"

Christina considered the prospect, and when she realized that a party at Stu Macher's house almost guaranteed the possibility of her seeing Billy again, her stomach turned with an awful excitement.

"Fine," she breathed, trying not to sound eager. She looked up toward the stairs to ensure there was no sign of her mother having woken up, and then added in a lower voice, "Pick me up at nine? That way my parents can see me going up to my room for the night…and park a little down the block so they don't see you pull up."

"Gotcha."

Christina was about to bid her friend goodbye until that evening when Judy spoke again, with sudden concern in her tone: "Hey, uh, Christina?"

"Yeah?"

"You can tell me it's none of my business, but I was wondering…is everything okay with you and John?"

Her heart skipped a beat. What would prompt her friend to ask such a thing?

"Y-yeah, we're good," she replied in an even smaller voice. "What makes you ask?"

"I don't know…he seemed kind of grumpy today when I mentioned you not coming to school."

"He knew I wasn't coming. I talked to him after I called you this morning."

"I guess nobody knows how to feel about anything right now. I just thought he was acting a little upset…about you."

"I'll call him in a little bit to see if he plans on going to the party," Christina suggested, feigning nonchalance, when in reality, her heart was pounding in her ears.

"Doubt it. I don't think he likes Stu very much. Haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah, I have…thanks, Judy."

She hung up and called John right away. The phone rang several times, to the point where she was sure it was going to go to the answering machine, when a male voice finally answered—only it was not John.

"Hello?" said the elder Mr. Carpenter.

"Oh—hi, Mr. Carpenter," Christina greeted unsurely. In the six months she and John had been a couple, she had only shared a handful of brief interactions with her boyfriend's father. He seemed, like many of the parents in Woodsboro, to be eternally at work. "This is Christina. Is John home?"

"He's not," Mr. Carpenter answered, polite but not overly warm. "He left a few minutes ago. I believe he said he planned on visiting you, in fact."

"Really?"

"That's right."

"I'll look out for him then. Thank you, Mr. Carpenter."

"You take care, young lady. And be careful," he advised in a way that reminded her of Mr. Himbry.

Christina barely had the mind to consider his warning when the doorbell rang. She looked through the peephole to see John standing on the porch in his letterman jacket, hands in the pocket of his jeans, and appearing unusually impatient. She opened the door and beamed at her boyfriend, attempting to banish her recent conversation with Judy from her mind. John had no reason to be upset—or at least no reason to be upset with her.

"Hey, babe. Believe it or not, I just tried to call you."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as soon as he stepped inside, planting a firm smooch on his hard-lined mouth. He did not reject her affection, but did not respond to it either.

"Hey," he said flatly. "Are your parents home?"

"Dad's at work. Mom's in bed. She didn't sleep well last night because of—well, what happened."

"Yeah, I can figure that."

"Take off your jacket," Christina said, hoping to sound seductive, and touched the blue and yellow striped collar. "Let's get comfortable. Mom took a pill; she won't hear anything."

"Sorry, Christina, but I didn't come here for that." John brushed past her completely and regarded the empty living room. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed before slapping it back down on his denim-clad thigh. "I want to say this before I lose my nerve."

"Lose your nerve?" She took a cautious step toward him, surprised she could walk at all as her legs felt suddenly weak. Was he breaking up with her? "John…what are you saying?"

He turned and looked at her again, and there was an uncompromising hurt in his handsome eyes that pained her to see.

"Listen…I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be straight with me," he began. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and there's a chance that I'm completely wrong and will make an ass of myself. But I don't think I am. So just tell me, is there something going on between you and Billy Loomis?"

A bomb could have went off right next to her ear and it would have been nothing to draw out the terrified, erratic beating of her heart, and the voice in her head that screamed: You're caught! He knows! He knows what you've done, you stupid fucking slut!

"What—I—why—?"

"Just tell me, Christina," John pressed, shaking his head. His lips drew together tightly, his eyes not straying from her. "If it's true then…then maybe we can work through this. We can start over. I still love you. But I've got to know."

"What makes you ask that?" she finally choked out.

"You're really going to make me say why?"

"Well, I am the one being accused of cheating, here," Christina rationalized, speaking slowly so as to steady the guilty trembling in her voice. "Don't I deserve to know why?"

John sighed deeply, narrowing his eyes.

"For starters, Stu Macher. That day I waited in the parking lot to drive you home, I told you he came out and started talking all types of shit to me."

"You never told me what, though."

"Because I didn't want to believe it. He told me that I needed to 'watch my girl' and that his friend Billy had caught your eye."

"Stu Macher is an asshole—you've said so yourself plenty of times. He was messing with you."

"He is an asshole, but he's never directed it at me. And with him following Loomis around like a lapdog, I don't see why he would lie about his friend."

"So that's it? Because Stu made a joke you think I'm cheating on you?" She offered a breathy chuckle, trying to sound unworried. "Babe, that's ridiculous."

"It's not just that," John went on, unconvinced. "Yesterday when you went inside to use the bathroom, I saw Loomis go in right after. It was like I blinked and that greasy-haired son of a bitch popped out of thin air to follow you back into the school."

"So what—you think I arranged to meet him inside?"

"Did you?"

"I mean—I ran in to him! But that doesn't mean I was planning to!" She regretted admitting to that fact the moment it left her mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Did you two talk?"

"What does it matter, John?" Her voice was bordering on pleading now. "I'm your girlfriend! I'm with you! I love you!"

"Do you? You haven't touched me in a month."

"Oh, so is it because I'm not giving you enough sex?" she spat back at him. "Well forgive me if I've not exactly been in the mood while there's a killer in our town!"

"I've been feeling this way since before yesterday, Christina," John said, his eyes boring into hers. "It's like you haven't been looking at me the same. Like you'd rather be somewhere else. Or with someone else. And we know he's attracted to you"—both of their eyes flashed with the memory of that round of truth-or-dare that seemed to be a lifetime ago at that point—"so I've gotta know, hon. Have you been with him behind my back? Just tell me. I deserve to know, especially if you two have—"

"John!" Christina exclaimed shrilly. She prayed her mother was still deep asleep upstairs, that her maternal instinct that knew when her child was distressed did not propel her to consciousness. "I am not fucking Billy Loomis!"

She had crossed a line now, and she felt the impact of it being drawn like the slashing of a knife. She was not simply withholding the truth; she was lying. But of course, Christina had lied many times since moving to Woodsboro. Clearly, John had been wrong about her: she did wear a mask, a mask of pretending to be a better, less selfish person than she was, a mask hiding her insecurities—whether that be about being too Mexican or not Mexican enough, about not being good enough for her grandmother, about Santiago, or about how she claimed to love her boyfriend, when she dreamed of Billy Loomis nearly every night. Her mask was so convincing that it had fooled even him. Why should she take it off now, when to reveal her true self would only cause more pain for everyone?

She could feel tears welling in her eyes now, hot and deceiving. John's expression softened ever so slightly. Fooled again.

"Do you promise?" he said.

"I promise," Christina lied.

"Okay…shit, I'm so sorry." He stepped forward and crushed her against him, until all she could feel was his strong chest, and all she could smell was the musk of whatever products he used on his clothes and body, which was sweet but not nearly as sweet as Billy's. "I won't ever doubt you again, I swear."

"Let's just forget about it, okay?" She pulled back enough to gaze up at him, reaching up to flick the budding wetness from the corner of her eye. "I guess it would be stupid of me to ask if you were going to go to Stu's party tonight, huh?"

"I wouldn't go to a party at Stu Macher's house for a million dollars," said John, chuckling. He looked down at her guiltily. "But if you want to go…I trust you, okay? Make sure you don't wander off on your own."

"I'm only going because Judy wants to. We'll be careful. And I'll call you when I make it home."

"Have fun." John bent down and placed a tender kiss to her forehead—a kiss that begged for forgiveness. Christina didn't know what to feel worse about: the fact that she had lied and continued to lie to him, or the disturbing realization that the more she lied, the easier it became, and the less guilty she began to feel about it.