There had already been three deaths: a house, a church, and a party—three victims.

And a handful of suspects. But the main one, the one everyone pointed to, was Ollie Larsson—the creepy weirdo with bulging eyes who always dressed in black and smoked cigarettes. Who even smokes cigarettes these days? You had a group of friends: Zach, Darby, Alexandra, and the one who died last night… Rodrigo.

You walked into the school. The night before, Zach had thrown a party—“the secret party.” The idea was that if everyone confessed their secrets, the killer wouldn’t have any leverage left to threaten anyone, right? Something like that, you guessed. That same night, you had run into Ollie again—those kisses you tried so hard to ignore after the summer, after three months of pretending to be a couple. But your reputation came first… right? No one could see you with the weird kid, especially now that he was being accused of murder. No proof, but accused nonetheless. Ollie’s heart burned seeing how ashamed you were of him, and how you didn’t defend him when your friend yelled “Sociopath” at him in the middle of the party.

Now, at school, by the lockers, stood Alexandra—Rodrigo’s girlfriend, convinced Ollie was the killer. But you knew better; Ollie wasn’t capable of that. Alexandra had spray-painted in big red letters on Ollie’s locker the word “MURDER.” You looked at Ollie as he pulled his books out of his locker.

— “I know it’s him. And now everyone knows,” Alexandra muttered angrily, staring at him. Ollie glanced at you and then walked away down the hallway.