When senior students at Lincoln High receive the same deadly text message, it falls upon Helena Gallagher and an unlikely companion to solve the mystery and catch the killer.
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High school student, Helena Gallagher is a murder fanatic. A devoted...
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With sleep in our eyes and excitement bubbling away in our stomachs, Elliot and I set off on our Ohio adventure, blasting Bon Jovi from the car's speakers. His fingers drum on the dashboard as I take us further and further out of town, the morning sky a lilac haze. The sun has set to rise and casts shadows on the road ahead through the beam of headlights, dancing in and amongst the lights. It's a beautiful sight. A little distracting. Not as distracting as Elliot in cashmere, though. His cream sweater does wonders for his eyes, drawing out the brightness in them. The excitement.
His smile is unstoppable, as is the twitch in his left leg.
"Slow down just a sec," he orders, angling his phone's camera at the 'Thank you for visiting Oak Valley' sign.
I bring the car to a crawl and wait for him to capture the moment, purposely watching him as he does so. His expression is pure joy, beautiful in its severity.
"Ready?" I ask.
He grins. "You betcha!"
I step on the gas and accelerate out of our deadbeat town, simultaneously cranking the radio. Loco in Acapulco comes on, awakening what is left of our sleepiness. Elliot's singing is horrendous, cracking at the seems but we don't care one bit. We giggle at his attempts and I swear I almost crash the car when he reaches a particular high note, which we will not be telling Mom about.
"Going loco down in Acapulco, If you stay too long. Yes, you'll be going loco down in Acapulco, The magic down there is so strong."
The heater is on full blast and off comes his sweater, followed by his thermal shirt. I follow suit and remove my hoodie, struggling to maintain control of the car whilst doing so. We swerve a little but that doesn't deter Elliot in his need to furiously stare out of the window, unprepared to miss a thing. I refrain from telling him that this is indeed the bus route and that he's probably seen these fields a million times. No way am I going to burst his bubble.
"Can I ask you something?" he asks, gaze still fixated on our surrounding sights.
"Sure," I reply, turning the radio down.
He bites into his lower lip, deep in concentration. "Do you think good people are capable of doing bad things?"
I take pause, thinking through my response. "Yeah. This investigation is proof of that. I don't think Sienna was a bad person. I think what she did was bad. And she certainly didn't deserve to die for it."
"You don't think murder can be justified?" he questions, facing me.
"Do you?"
He shrugs. "Sometimes."
I stare at the road ahead, contemplating his reply. His outlook on things. Could I honestly stand up in court one day and defend a person who took the life of another? Fight for their freedom?
