Chapter 3
ARIA
“Ican’t believe you talked me into wearing this,” I groan from the passenger seat of Clara’s silver Audi, scrunching my nose as I glance at the fuzzy slippers on my feet.
We made a pit stop at her house to swap our school clothes for something more suitable for the sleepover, though nothing about the flimsy, pink cami and shorts set she insisted on feels remotely winter appropriate.
She kills the engine and throws me a playful eye roll, her lashes nearly invisible without the thick coat of mascara she usually wears. “They’ll keep you warm, and they match the pink sherpa robes.”
“They look ridiculous.”
Her cheeks bunch with a smile as she twists around to snag our bags from the backseat. The cherry blossom air freshener clings to the air as I follow her lead, thumbing open my seatbelt with a dull click.
“Well, at least they’ll keep us warm,” she counters as we climb out, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
I trail after her to Kelsey’s porch, an even grander house than Clara's—which I didn’t think was possible—but it also feels more lifeless.
The front porch isn’t decorated. No flowered pots or quaint tables and chairs.
Nothing. Just a vast stretch of white concrete that’s held up by towering, white columns.
Even the dormer windows look ominous, jutting from the dark-pitched roof above as if they want to escape the house.
I cross my arms over the plush robe, chewing on my lip to suppress a shiver as we take cover from the brisk evening breeze.
She rings the bell once, and seconds later, we hear the slap of socked feet racing across hardwood floors before the door unlocks.
Kelsey greets us with a grin, dressed in black flannel pajamas that look far more comfortable than the skimpy, silk sleepwear I’ve been coerced into. “You guys made it!” she says, swinging the door open wider and motioning for us to come inside.
“Hey, yeah, sorry it took us a bit to get here,” Clara says, shuffling inside. “We got distracted packing our bags.”
I raise a brow as I follow her. “You mean you got distracted packing the bags.”
Clara throws her head back in a laugh, then glances around at the long spiral staircase tucked off to the side of the foyer. “Do we just head up?”
Kelsey locks the door behind us and hurries ahead, motioning for us to follow. “Yeah, right this way.”
We follow close behind, my eyes drifting over every detail of the foyer. The glossy wood floors echo underfoot, our steps bouncing between the tall, bare walls that do nothing to warm the space beneath the cold, fluorescent lighting overhead. Nothing ever looks good under fluorescent lights.
“This is it,” Kelsey says once we reach her room. She opens the door and steps aside so we can slip into the dim space.
“Woah,” Clara says, stepping onto the soft carpet, her head tilting as she takes it all in. I follow, my gaze sweeping over the room.
Several mismatched blankets are spread across the floor, surrounded by dozens of overstuffed pillows—long and slim, short and plump—piled into every corner.
A small projector is perched on her dresser casting a movie selection onto a thin, sheer wall hanging, with twinkling lights scattered around the room like dazzling stars.
Shrugging off her bag, Clara dives into one of the longer L-shaped pillows, wrapping her arms around it with a delighted shriek.
“Kelsey, oh my God, you even thought of a snack board? This is so cool.” She reaches toward the tray, which is full to the brim with licorice ropes, sour gummies, and a long row of chocolate-covered pretzels and biscuits.
Grabbing a licorice stick, she waves it at me like she’s casting a spell. “Look, Aria, it’s your favorite.”
Slowly, I make my way over, tugging off the slippers from my feet and dropping my bag beside Clara’s.
My eyes wander to the long, vintage-style mirrors lining the back wall, with Kelsey’s round bed sandwiched between them with even more pillows.
Endless pillows. We could make a fort out of all this bedding.
I sink down beside her, taking the twisted red candy from her hand. “Wow, this is…”
“Is it too much?” Kelsey asks, nibbling on the side of her thumb.
I’m quick to shake my head. “No, not at all. It’s really nice. I mean, just look at how we’re dressed.” My eyes flick down to the hem of my cami top, the butter-smooth fabric pinched between my fingers.
Clara reaches over for her bag, digging out an oversized, checkered, pink cosmetics case. “Yeah, and I came prepared.” She pulls out a compact manicure kit, pink nail polish, and several moisturizing sheet masks. “Oh! But first, let’s take photos before we touch anything else.”
A firm knock jolts me. Behind the door stands a tall, slender woman, lips pinched and posture straight, too perfect, her expression smooth but unreadable beneath the tight sweep of her deep red bun, a shade just like Kelsey’s. Her mom.
“Kelsey, honey, I know I said you could have your friends over, but please keep it down. I don’t want your father to overhear when I call him later,” she says.
Her eyes drift over to me and Clara, her smile brightening just enough to be polite, but something about it doesn’t sit right.
“Sorry for the intrusion, girls. I know it’s a Friday night, but if we can just keep it down a bit—”
“We’ll be quieter, Mom,” Kelsey blurts, her thumb dropping from her mouth like it just scolded her. “We’re just about to put on a movie, so...”
Clara clears her throat. “Sorry, Mrs. Shaw. My tone can get a little loud when I’m excited and not paying attention.”
“Oh, honey, it’s Evalyn,” she responds. “I like to think I’m not that old, though compared to you girls, who isn’t?
” Her small smile dims as her gaze shifts to the side.
I follow it to the snack tray. Slender fingers begin to drum along the edge of the door, slow and pointed.
“Kelsey, please be mindful of your consumption this late at night. Too much sugar isn’t good for your teeth, now or anytime, really.
Maybe some popcorn is a better alternative if you’re watching a movie. ”
Kelsey's neck, cheeks, and ears turn bright pink as she blinks back at her mother. “Yeah, of course. I forgot. I’ll bring some up here.”
“Sounds good, hun.” Her mom offers a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes before her hand slides down to grip the knob. “Well, goodnight, girls. Don’t stay up too late.”
The door clicks closed, and she’s gone. The air scratches thin, brittle and brief, until Clara breaks it, bringing back her signature lightheartedness that I’ve always appreciated about her.
“Oops, me and my big mouth.” She shuffles through her assortment of masks, handing one over to me and tossing the other on the blanket for Kelsey.
“Come on, Kels,” she whispers comically exaggerated, drawing a hesitant breath out of Kelsey—almost a laugh.
The discomfort gradually slips away as we fall into quiet conversation.
Hours pass painting our nails in shades of pink and plum, gossiping in hushed voices while Mean Girls flickers in the background, its glow casting faint shadows across us.
Once the pink polish dries on my hands, I wipe the partially crusted sheet mask from my face and offer to toss Kelsey’s and Clara’s away, but Kelsey springs up, insisting she’ll throw them out herself.
I settle back down, fluffing the pillows across the blanket-strewn floor while Clara plugs her phone into an outlet behind us.
“Hey,” she whispers, turning my way. She raises the blanket to her chin and curls onto her side. “I forgot to tell you earlier…Jayce asked me for your number today.”
“What?” I blurt, louder than I mean to. “Why? Why’d he ask you?”
She shrugs, her jaw stretching in a lazy yawn that spreads wide and slow, almost reptilian. “Obviously because he likes you. And he knows we’re friends, so maybe he just thought it’d be easier to ask me instead.”
My forehead puckers. I wonder if that was before or after what happened with Hunter in the hallway. I can’t really ask without bringing it up, and I don’t want to. Not to either of them. I don’t want them thinking I’m incapable of standing up for myself.
“Well, did you give it to him?”
“Don’t worry, I knew better,” she says with a wink. “I told him if he wanted it that badly, he should ask you for it himself.”
I ease into my own blanket, fingers loosening from the fluffy fibers. “Oh. Good.”
She and Kelsey exchange a few more words before falling quiet. The lamp behind us clicks off, darkening the room until the only light comes from the faint glimmer of string bulbs along the wall across from us.
I stare at them until they split in my vision, turning to a blur as I try to stifle the thoughts growing louder in the silence.
Tonight will end eventually. Like the tide. Like the slow churn of sun and moon. Tomorrow will still come, dragging all its problems behind it.
I pull the blanket higher and let the dark press in, hoping it might be enough to swallow every last worry and fear before I drift away.
Gasping, I tear the blanket from my chest, still clenching tight from the nightmare I woke from. It’s always the same one. Every time.
Sweat slicks my back as I push my hair off to the side, fanning myself until my breathing settles into a steadier rhythm. Minutes pass before my eyes adjust to the dark. Clara is still asleep beside me, her features soft in the low light. Above us, I can hear Kelsey’s quiet, even breaths.
I shut my eyes again and try to sleep, but I keep shifting around, every movement more restless than the last.
Eventually, I give up. I need a sip of water. Maybe even one of the sleeping pills I sneaked into my bag from Clara’s medicine cabinet before we left her house.
I lean over to grab Clara’s phone, using the flashlight to guide my search.
Rising to my toes, I creep over to our bags and crouch beside mine.
My knuckles bump against the bottle, and I flinch at the dry rattle of the capsules inside.
I lift it carefully, scanning the room for something to wash them down with, but there’s nothing.
Setting the phone over Clara’s backpack, I stand, muscles tensing at the slight shake of the pills. It’s probably best that I step out so I don’t wake them.
I slip my pink slippers on and quietly make my way out of the room, heading toward the soft glow of the hallway.
I’m careful not to trip over myself as I near the long flight of stairs, the white bottle shaking in my hand as I pad down, rounding the bottom of the spiral staircase.
There’s light spilling from the kitchen ahead, but I can’t see anything besides the very edge of the granite island from where I stand.
It’s quiet. Almost quiet.
There’s a faint trickle of water that catches my ear, and I briefly wonder if Kelsey’s mom is still awake. I hope she won’t be too bothered by me being down here; she seemed a bit uptight last I saw her. Nervously, I approach the arched doorway, trying to stay light on my feet.
My gaze narrows at the chrome double sinks as I take a cautious step forward, the sound sharpening. Maybe it’s just a leaky faucet. But something hollows in my gut as I near, not seeing any water dripping from the spout.
A spike of unease jolts through me.
The reverberating droplets echo off the large, open space, pulling taut at my nerves.
I try to chalk it up to something harmless, condensation slipping down the fridge line or a loose pipe.
Still, the feeling lingers, curdling low in my stomach.
I lower the bottle to the counter’s edge and turn to survey the kitchen, forcing myself to calm down.
I’ve just woken from a nightmare. That’s all this is. Residual nerves.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Then I see it.
I jolt back with a sharp gasp, my scream catching in the back of my throat. Bile surges upward, burning everything in its path before my mind can even register the extent of what I’m looking at.
Kelsey’s mom hangs from the kitchen ceiling.
Her face is swollen, her skin slick with blood. Bright crimson, like her hair. It seeps from her neck, her nose, her open mouth—there’s too much of it to tell where it’s all coming from.
My mouth snaps open, but no sound comes out. I’m mute, frozen in a mixture of shock and horror as the floor seems to tilt under me.
My throat tightens.
Tighter.
Tighter.
I can’t breathe.
There’s not enough air. Not enough to fill my lungs. I fight to inhale, sucking in a deep breath, but everything in my body locks up, stiffening to stone.
Her lips hang open, chapped and peeling, frozen in her final gasp for life. That’s when it clicks. Mrs. Shaw hung herself.
Wait—
No, that can’t be. Why? Why would she?
I don’t understand.
My heart skips a beat, the revelation sickening my stomach.
Oh, God. My hand flies to my abdomen. I think I might vomit. The gruesome reality sinks in, all the way down into the hollow pit of my stomach until it twists and writhes, and I manage to grip hold of my senses—just barely—but by then, it’s too late.
There’s a shift. A slight twitch of muscle behind me.
Then breath, hot and close, coasts along the back of my neck, making the little hairs stand on end.
It happens fast. Too fast. My mind can’t even process any of it.
I jerk, my spine curving at the feel of a hard figure pressing into my back. I start to scream, but the cold bite of a blade grazes my throat, silencing me.
Any attempt to cry out fizzles into a shuddering, desperate gasp as I cling to the foreign arm cinched around my neck.
His grip tightens over my chest and shoulders as he spins me around, locking me with his arm like an iron clamp.
I claw and scrape, but nothing loosens him. His hold is unbreakable.
Tears flood my vision, brimming to an overflow as the knife digs a little deeper into my skin. The wet stream scalds my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting them fall faster, quicker.
I’m going to die.
“Follow me,” the deep voice commands, his breath hot against my ear. A chill reverberates through my body, solidifying it. "Make a sound,” he says, his voice ice-sharp, “and I promise you’ll regret it.”