Clear Lake Academy holds some of the worst delinquents from around the country. Each and every student there holds a notorious background and almost everyone avoids them.
After setting another building on fire, which just so happened to be a commun...
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Hendrix face split open with a cheeky grin, as he halted to a stop before me, shopping cart in hand. He stared at me expectantly. Without hesitation, I gripped the edge with one hand and hopped in, taking a seat within the metal bars.
Hendrix walked through the aisles, pushing the cart —and me— along as he ventured down the snack aisle of the grocery store, He eyed a certain shelf of snacks and with another shining grin, swept out a hand, letting the multiple bags fall into my lap. I hummed along, turning my attention to my phone, occasionally reaching out my own hand, and snatching an item.
People shot us strange looks, but we brushed them off like we always did. Hendrix, grinning like he'd just had the best idea of his life, shoved us straight down the fizzy drinks aisle.
At the end of the aisle, I grabbed a handful of lollipops, unwrapping one and holding it above my head. It was plucked out of my hand the following second. I unwrapped the other and popped it into my mouth.
"So..." Hendrix dragged out and I leaned back into the cart, glancing up at him. "What are we going to do?" It took me a moment to realise what we were talking about. He emphasised. "I knew she was familiar but I thought she was just one of those people I saw one too many times on my way to class. Her brother confirmed we do know her, but that still doesn't explain why she's connected to all of this."
"It can't just be because you saw her a few times while picking up your cousin," I said slowly, thinking it through. There was a brief pause before I added, more hesitantly, "I could... do some snooping?"
"Go on." Hendrix urged. I focused on my phone once again as he pushed th cart forward again, steering us straight down the aisle. He kept searching for more snacks, even though the cart was already half full.
II clicked onto Google and searched Holland Caydence, hoping something—anything—even remotely useful would come up. I scrolled past the local news, still obsessing over the murder at our school, then through article after article and dull newsletters calling it an unfortunate "accident." I sighed when nothing surfaced that gave us an actual reason.
Then I froze when my eyes caught an article on her family.
I opened it, sucking on my lollipop silently. I let my eyes wander over the text until it landed on her parents' names.
Lydia Caydence.
The name tugged at something in my memory—familiar, important—but I couldn't place it. So I dug deeper, clicking link after link, until I'd somehow built an entire profile of the Caydence family. Hendrix continued steering the cart as I stared at my phone, thoughts racing. And then it hit me
"OH MY GOD!" I shouted.
Hendrix slammed to a stop. I nearly went flying out of the cart, but he caught the back of my shirt just in time, yanking me back.
