Phantom [h.s]

Thirteen

A gasp is caught in my throat as Harry and I watch Max silently walk away from the grave, wiping across his face with his sleeve as if he'd been crying.

I've never seen Max go without smiling for so long.

Is he the killer? Harry's own best friend?

The thought almost seems taboo. But nothing is impossible.

Once we are sure the cemetery is empty except for us two, Harry steps around the tree, towards his grave and I follow.

"Max..."

"No," he cuts me off, brow furrowed as he stares down at the simple stone in front of us. "No."

"You said it yourself, it could have been anyone."

"Not Max. It couldn't have been Max."

I shake my head. We don't have enough facts to make any assumptions, but one can't help but be a little curious.

I stare at the orchids laid across the ground in front of the stone.

"Harry Styles," Harry reads from the stone. "1995 to 2013. Rest in peace."

It seems like such a simple epitaph for such a complicated boy.

"Did you really watch your own funeral?"

He nods. "Yeah. I just wanted to see what they would say, you know?"

I shake my head. "God, I couldn't imagine that," I say. "Going to my own funeral."

Harry shrugs. "It's not like it matters. My parents moved away a week later."

I read over the epitaph a few more times.

Rest in peace.

"So that's it, then," I say, looking up at Harry. "You're actually dead."

The corners of his lips twitch. "Did you think otherwise?"

I shrug, smiling. "I don't know, all this time a tiny part of me thought you were kidding."

He throws back his head in a laugh, digging his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. I laugh with him, and it feels nice.

His laughing ceases and he just smiles delicately, looking off into the distance. My smile fades.

"Harry," I say and he turns his head to meet my eyes. I shift my weight. "Do you...do you think there's even a tiny possibility that Max...?"

"It wasn't him. Honestly, Jane."

"You're in denial."

"You don't have evidence."

"Neither do you."

"He was my best friend. How would you feel if someone was accusing your best friend of your own murder?"

"I wouldn't know," I snap. "I've never been murdered, and I've never had a best friend." I cross my arms over my chest.

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "Never had a best friend?"

I blush. "No. Well, I've had plenty of fake best friends, but..."

"Wow," Harry says. "That really blows."

I snort. "Thanks."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," he says, half smiling.

I turn my head away from him, letting out a sigh. I don't really want to have this conversation with him any more.

"I can be a best friend to you, if you want."

I look back at him, raising my eyebrows. "You?"

"Yeah. Why not?" He smiles.