Dead If You Do

Chapter Four

'You're Wesley?'

A grin. 'So, you've heard of me.'
           
I roll my eyes from his white trainers all the way up to his messy hair. As I do, he tucks his tanned hands into his jean pockets, the corner of his lips sliding into a smirk. There's a phrase Daisy used for boys like Wesley: you can't keep them, but they're fun to play with. So I cock my head, allowing her voice to filter through my body just for a second. A small part of me hopes this isn't too much.

'Trust me,' I say slowly, 'I haven't heard much that impresses me.'
           
He chuckles. 'Then obviously you haven't heard enough.'
           
I shake my head, incredulous, and try unwittingly to push away the smile creeping onto my lips. 'Thanks for saving me earlier, by the way. I didn't fancy having to buy a new case.'
           
'No problem.' His eyes flash to my case and then back at me. 'I do it all the time.'
           
I raise a bemused brow and fold my arms. 'You stand by the welcoming committee to help girls whose cases are too heavy? Some would call that concerning.'
           
'And others would call it initiative.'
           
His eyes glimmer and I narrow my own, mirroring his amusement. 'Liar.'
           
Wesley pulls his hands out of his pockets and faces them palm up. 'It's a bit early for name calling, don't you think?'
           
A shrug. 'Not when the occasion arises.'
           
'Hopefully there will be more, then,' he replies, walking to the door next to mine without a glimpse back at me.
           
'More what?' I ask, just moments before he shuts the door.
           
Wesley stops, eyes sliding back to me. Shadows cover his face, but the colour of those green eyes entwined with hazel is so alluring it's almost alarming.
           
'More occasions,' he replies simply, before shutting his door and leaving me out in the hall.

***

Inside my room, I lean against the door and try to breathe. What was that? And why does every smile have a layered meaning? I shake my head. This is ridiculous. I'm ridiculous. Who did I think I was back there? Daisy? God, I bet I looked pathetic.

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I take a deep breath and look around the room. My mom's words echo in my mind as I try to calm the pounding in my chest: one step at a time, Haley. Focus on your surroundings. You're going to be fine.

So, I do. The room is a reasonable space, with a desk, side table and a bed that's just bigger than a single. My window provides me with a small view of the campus and, outside, rain falls like mist as dusk takes over. The space smells a little stale — probably because it's been empty all summer — so I unlatch the window, let in some fresh air and breathe it in like a drug.

Trying not to think about whose bedroom is beyond mine, I pull up my case onto the mattress and stare at it for a second. Inside of it is my entire life, all packed up and ready to go. So, why do I feel like I've left something behind?

I shake my head and zip it open, pulling out Daisy's photograph. It lies neatly on top of my clothes, showing us both at Crystal Lake the summer before the accident. Our blonde hair shines in the sun and freckles kiss the tips of our cheeks.

To anyone else, we would look like sisters. To me, the differences between us stand out like a stick in mud. Water shimmers in the background, and I smile, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

She looks happy here, which was a rarity those days. I can't pinpoint the exact day Daisy lost her spark, but one moment she was happy and the next – well, she just wasn't anymore. If I close my eyes, I can picture the day this photo was taken, taste the salty air on my lips.

Behind the camera, Elliot did laps in the lake and our Dads cooked a barbecue on the patio by the house, brothers in every way but blood. Our mothers sat on the pier, bathing in the sun as they dangled their feet into the water.