Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Peach
Afraid – The Neighbourhood
“ S ix, seven, eight. All accounted for. Achilles said I couldn't eat eight pancakes, and I'm about to prove that fucker wrong.” I take a picture before I look up from my stack of pancakes and smile at Elijah, but his eyes are looking over my shoulders, his jaw clenching.
“You should go eat with them. It would stop the death glares they’re sending our way.”
I glance behind me, and Wren sends me a knowing smile. He’s trying to intimidate his brother to the point I’ll give in and move to their table.
He can be such a bully when it comes to Elijah. Even as his best friends, Ella, Alex, and I, never got a real explanation as to why they don’t get along. And I don’t know if Achilles knows the truth, but if he does, he never told us.
The Hunters are not originally from around here. They’re Texas oil billionaires who moved here before Wren and Elijah were born. His family fits the Stoneview clichés. Too rich to care about anything, their dad travels back and forth, and their mom is taken care of and hangs out with the Stoneview wives. They’re not worse or better than any of us. But they are very, very private. No one goes to their house, no one sees Monty Hunter very often, and their mom stays vague when talking about their business. There’s something shady about them, and I have no doubt that’s why Wren loathes his family.
“I’m not eating with them,” I say as I turn back to Elijah. “And don’t tell me what to do.”
I dig into my pancakes, but he doesn’t touch his food, even when he finally brings his gaze back to me.
“Please, Peach. Go eat with your friends.” He sighs, his small shoulders curling on himself as he subconsciously tries to disappear.
When he behaves like this, his skinny body retreating on itself, his eyes down in defeat, the difference between him and Wren becomes so stark they barely look like they’re related.
Physically, they don’t look alike. Wren’s chestnut hair and beautiful blue eyes are nothing like Elijah’s dark brown hair and matching chocolate gaze. Elijah has absolutely nothing exceptional about him. He’s average looking, borderline invisible. He’s a skinny guy with no friends, was never good at school, and often bullied for being quiet and ungifted. In a way, it’s what always pulled me to him. Because I might be a bitch, but I’m never a bitch for no reason. And Elijah’s shyness or lack of self-esteem shouldn’t be a reason to bully him.
Wren is his opposite. Always popular, admired. Men would kill to be him. Women always run after him. He’s mastered the mysterious persona without making you feel like you can’t approach him. He’s a touch sweet, a touch serious, and a touch don’t-fuck-with-me. We all love it, don’t we? The idea of a man who can melt our hearts but scare us a little. Who can be the sweetest but also know when to put his foot down. The good grades, the great looks, the offers for lacrosse scholarships to colleges all over the country. Wren seems to have balanced it all. He’s the perfect man, the perfect boyfriend, and he should be the perfect son.
And yet, he’s the hated one in his family. Elijah has always been the favorite. So, I guess that doesn’t help their relationship.
“Can you imagine if every time you told me something, I actually did it? Don’t be an idiot. I’m eating with my friend right now.”
“He hates you hanging out with me.”
“Boo hoo, he can cry me a river.”
He goes silent long enough to eat some of his food. I’m already halfway through mine, incapable of stopping myself when there's a mix of sweet and savory.
“He likes you, you know? He really likes you. Or he wouldn’t follow you to a damn brunch place so he could keep an eye on you while you eat with me.”
I roll my eyes. “News flash, everyone likes me.”
“I mean, he likes you more than a friend.”
“So did I. Everyone wants to be more than my friend. Have you seen me?”
He practically chokes on his food, turning bright red when I wink at him. When he’s finally swallowed his tiny bite, he scratches his throat and drinks some of his coffee.
“Don’t you like him too?”
I lick maple syrup off my lips, shrugging. “Why does that matter? We’re incompatible, and I have countless options. I don’t even think of Wren.”
Not entirely true, but I don’t need to let him know that. Especially not now.
“Did you think of him when he went on a date with Ania Livingston?”
It’s my turn to choke on my food. I struggle to swallow the bite of pancake that now feels like sand.
Toward the end of our junior year, Wren, who never dates or sleeps with anyone, started seeing Ania Livingston. She was a girl we were friends with at Stoneview Prep and still hung out with from time to time since starting at SFU.
They never got to become serious because Ania died. Everyone knows it wasn’t an accident because there’s an ongoing investigation. She was murdered. None of the details have been released yet. All we know is that she was found on the south bank of the Silver Snake River early in the morning of our last party of the year. That same river that crosses Silver Falls, where our college is.
“I didn’t really care, Elijah,” I say with a sigh, hoping he doesn’t see the lie in my eyes.
I was so. Fucking. Jealous.
Wren, who never had a girlfriend, and who let the rumors run, spread, explode , when they said it was because he wanted me and no one else…was suddenly dating a girl? Anyone in my situation would be jealous.
“Were you jealous of her?”
“Elijah,” I snap. “Are you the one into your brother? Because you can’t fucking stop talking about him.”
“Maybe because he’s shooting daggers at me from across the restaurant. All I’m saying is, if you were jealous, it’s a pretty good indication that you’re into him, and that you should go eat with him. Because I’m not about to get a beating just for eating with the girl he likes.”
“Wren and I aren’t. A. Thing. We’ll never be a thing.”
He pauses, looks me straight in the eye, and nods. “I’m sorry.”
“You two have some serious issues to resolve, but don’t put me in the middle of it. And in case you forgot. You and I aren’t a thing either.”
He blushes again, now staring at his plate like it holds the cure to cancer. “I-I know,” he mumbles. “I’d never— I don’t think that. I’m not even into you.”
I burst into a laugh. “I’m fucking with you.”
I know he’s into me. Because why wouldn’t he be? We’d be practically perfect together.
He finally gets over his awkwardness when I turn around and flip the middle fingers at Wren and Achilles. It makes him laugh and lightens the mood. But something stays with me.
Were you jealous of her?
The poor girl died, and all I imagine when I think of her is how furious I was that she dared to date a man who’s known for being into me.
Sweet, kind Ania. A docile girl who would have been Wren’s perfect other half. That’s probably why he gave in. She asked him out so many times that he finally saw something he liked in her: devotion. She was the exact opposite of me.
“I need the bathroom,” I mumble, a stress I can’t control starting to stir anger inside me.
I speed walk to the ladies’ room at the back, locking myself in a stall and shaking my head as I huff.
She was fucking murdered .
I unlock my phone and open the SFU app to scroll down my messages until May. May 29 th , to be exact. The night Ania died.
With a trembling finger, I open the conversation with her, biting my inner lip as I watch our last exchange.
Ania: I’m sorry, Peach. Please, don’t be mad at me. I meant what I said to you. I love him.
Peach: Stay the fuck away from Wren. Or I swear to God…
What the fuck is wrong with me? I never thought of myself as a possessive bitch until she got close enough to take his attention away from me.
The girl was murdered.
I take a deep breath and delete the whole interaction.
“You’re fine,” I murmur to myself. “You’re safe.”
Another deep breath, and I school my features, feeling strength coming back to my limbs.
That’s until I get a notification. A DM from Hermes on the SFU app.
Hermes: What starts with an M, has eight letters, and ends with an R? I know what you did, Penelope.
My heart drops to my stomach, crashing so hard it makes me feel sick. The walls of the stall tilt as I look down at the message. Another follows right away.
Hermes: You and I are going to have a lot of fun this year, little murderer.