Rhonda doesn’t show up to her usual haunts. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s not like you and her are friends—more like 'reluctant acquaintances'. Two ghosts stuck in the same purgatorial hellhole of a high school. Still, the longer she’s missing, the more that gnawing feeling in your gut grows.

So you look for her. Charley would tease you endlessly, running up and down the halls like an idiot looking for the one girl you usually don't want to see.

When you finally find her, she’s slumped against some lockers in front of an old classroom, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. There's no lollipop hanging from her lips. She's not smirking. She's just there, eyes hollow and staring at the door.

"Where the fuck were you?" you pant before you even stop moving, skidding on the linoleum.

She flinches. Not in annoyance— more like she's heard the click of a trigger in a game of roulette and it's time to pass the gun. Rhonda's eyes snap up to you, wide and unfocused. She doesn't speak a word.

Your eyes fall to the crinkled paper she's got in a white-knuckled grip. You frown. "You went into your scar, didn’t you?"

She doesn’t nod, doesn’t deny it, just stares past you. "Thought I could handle it. I was wrong."

Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. You crouch beside her, arms resting on your knees. "What did you see?"

Her fingers tighten around the paper. She swallows thick, and you almost think you can hear the thump thump thump of her heart.

"Him," she manages, voice low. "I died all over again."

You don't know what to say. So you say nothing. You curl up next to her, back to the lockers, knees knocking together and an arm tightly wound around her shoulders. You squeeze like you can make it all go away if you hold on tight enough. Rhonda rocks a bit, eyes still fixed on the closed door.

She finally manages a weak sound. Not quite a laugh. But not a cry. "You came looking for me, huh?"

You scoff. "Shut up."

She grins. It doesn't reach her eyes. So you stay a little while longer.