The Art of being Strangers

xx.

After discovering what was in Esther's locker, I went back to class only to ask if I could go home for the rest of the day because my palm hurt too bad. Mr. Ben, aware of my injury, let me go. Ansel gave me a long glare. I ignored his glance.

Everything felt unreal. Everything but realizing Esther is probably the killer. It all started to make sense. I tied the pieces together and made up a story.

Back a few months ago, I'd always notice Esther staring at me while I was looking at Basil's pictures. She was trying to be discreet- but I still noticed how her eyes were always on me. Was she spying on me? Was she trying to figure out if I knew what really happened to Basil? That night at the party, I remember Marigold telling me a few days ago how Esther only came to the party because I did. She laughed, telling me she didn't know why Esther would want to come only because I did. Mainly because Esther and I didn't talk. I never really gave any attention to these small details. I found them random, maybe even common. But they all tied up. I recall how she talked to me in the car the whole way to the party, trying to get to know stuff about me. And how she came up to me to talk about Basil. It didn't seem like a coincidence anymore. She started talking about him, knowing I was drunk, hoping to get any information she could out of me. And when she saw I didn't want to talk about him, she pulled the 'suicide' card so I would argue back. I straight up told her I knew he was murdered, didn't I? I basically gave myself away.

And then she got mad. Was she mad because I knew something I shouldn't have had? That made sense. Her reaction made sense now. Was she even drunk back then? Or was she just acting like that, trying to gather information? And then, after one week, she suddenly wanted to be friends. I didn't think too much of it. After all, I thought it was to my advantage to have her as a so-called friend. But as I thought about it more, it was her advantage, not mine. Having me as a friend, she got to spend more time with me, meaning she got more information. Hell, she even knew where I lived, didn't she? I bet it wasn't Marigold who told her where I lived. After all, I didn't even show Marigold which house was mine. I just told her my house was on the street behind the corner.

And today she was randomly missing from school. Was she planning something? I didn't want to be scared, but it didn't seem like I had any other feeling other than fright. Why would she leave her journal in her school locker? It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense how she wouldn't have buried such important evidence. Was she trying to get me to discover it? To make the connection? My head hurt.

"What are we going to do now?" I whisper to Basil.

We were outside, in the yard. I was getting ready to leave.

"Should we report her?" I ask.

"No, not yet. We don't have enough proof," he replied.

"But what about the journal?"

"For us, it may be more than proof. But for the police, believe me, they won't even consider it proof. Plus, we don't even have it, do we?"

I freeze. He was right. I got too scared and literally threw the journal back to its place and slammed the door shut. I then stormed out of the hall into the class so I could go home. However, I suddenly remember about the keys. I quickly search into my pockets, agitated.

"Shit! I must've had lost the keys too. I probably dropped them from my hand when we were at the locker," I cried.

"I wouldn't go back if I were you."

"As if I was going back near that locker. No thanks."

"What can I do to get more proof out of her? I can't just- make her admit she killed you."