Framed

Flashback One

"These boxes are so heavy, Mami." Camila says, arms and back straining as she held up the cardboard box, filled with only a fraction of her connection with books. It was summer, barely the second week of June, and the jacaranda trees in the neighborhood were blossoming, petals a mix of violet and lavender blowing and gliding on their driveway. Sinu and Alejandro figured it would be best to move once Camila was done with the school year, so she had time to adjust before she started the year at a new academy, San Diego High School.

"You decided to pack them, you take them with you," Sinu says dismissively, as she lifts her box of fine china and takes it to the kitchen to unpack. "Your Papa is working, and he'll handle some of the heavy things, but we need to do our part too."

"It's not my fault all the good authors put all their work into one really incredibly heavy book...or that I have at least fifty of these volumes of books." Camila complains, sighing when Sinu doesn't hear her, and walks inside without her, closing the door.

Her fingers lose their grip, and the box slides out of Camila's hands and slams on the concrete that she's standing on. Groaning in resignation, she shakes the soreness out of her hands and sits herself down on the concrete next to the box, knowing her Mami hasn't seen her. Nor would she help.

But as so many say, help comes from the most mysterious of places.

A boy walks out of the house next door and walks to her, sitting down by the box with a warm smile. He's not burly, nor is he frail, but there's a subtle strength to him, reminding her of Peeta from the Hunger Games - strong without ever intending to be.

The house next door to Camila's is a simple one, made of the red brick that is more associated with chimneys than it is home structure. The ivy that winds around the outer walls of the house enhances the decorative quality - prim, quaint, neat and clean.

"Looks like you need some help there." he says, and Camila realizes that his words are as warm as his appearance is. He's wearing a white shirt with jeans and a brown suede jacket, modestly fashionable. He looks as much of a boy next door as he seems to be.

"Thank you, I really do. We just got here." Camila explains. "But I think you realized that. With the boxes. And the moving truck. Yeah."

"Let me just get this then." he replied, lifting up the box with a grunt. "What's in here?"

"Books." Camila laughed. "I'm a huge bookworm."

"Have you ever read John Banville? I read his book The Sea not long ago. It was one of the good ones." the boy starts walking, box in hand, and stops at Camila's new patio, where the door is closed.

Camila skips to join him, opening the door already. "Not yet, actually."

"Then I'll lend you my copy. What's your name?"

"Camila Cabello. How about yours?"

He told her his name, and she grinned before letting him inside.

"I'll introduce you to my mom, but it's really nice to meet you."

Looking back on it, she wouldn't have said this if she had known that the boy was as capable of killing as they all realized he was. She never expected that he would have done all of this on her behalf, as an unorthodox form of wooing her.

She had never expected him to become so obsessed with a single meeting.

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Shawn hadn't used his Kik app in years. It was just the kind of app that he forgets to delete off his phone, sitting in the Social Media app folder. He had actually forgotten he had it until the notification went off.

*New Message from Unknown: Hello, Shawn Mendes*

*New Message from Unknown: If you know what's best for you, you'll answer this.*

Thinking of it as some sort of Riverdale shit, Shawn opens the app. Checking the user, he notices the profile pic, just pure black, a sample of the color someone could have gotten off Google. The username is just as enigmatic, unknown-number134.

Shawn: ok hello

Unknown: considering how much people want to talk to me, i'd think you'd be more formal.

Unknown: but at the same time, you're probably too dimwitted to know who i am

Shawn: who are you?

Unknown: the killer at San Diego High.

Unknown: congratulations, you're the winner...that was a joke. but i'm letting you know a hint. The person i'm aiming for next will be female. Not anyone you know well.

Shawn: when will it happen?

Unknown: her death is at my beck and call. The point of it all is that you never know. Neither will she. Death is the great equalizer.

Shawn: I can call the police.

Unknown: But you won't. Or you'll go next. I'll know if you do, but don't you worry your pretty little face how.

Unknown: goodbye for now, Mendes. This is the only time i'll message you, but i'm pretty sure you'll hear of me again, just in the whispers of others.

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He spent that whole night completely restless, sleepless, thinking of the possibility of it all being a hoax. He had gotten out of the hospital not long ago, but had been staying away from school, worried about being shot again in the back - or worse. He could tell, true. But he didn't think the unknown user was bluffing, and after being shot, he was more than eager to err on the side of caution.

He deleted the messages and the app along with it, then finally burrowed into the covers, searching for sleep that wouldn't come, at least not for that night.