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.
••••
High school student, Helena Gallagher is a murder fanatic. A devoted...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Elliot walks me to History, both of us ignoring the onslaught of filthy looks thrown our way. It doesn't matter that police have ruled out foul play on our behalf. Or that we have an alibi for Chad's alleged time of death. Oak Valley want to place blame and for the time being, they're blaming us.
"Helena!" The sound of my name being yelled stops me in my tracks. "Wait up!"
It's Zach Middleton. Fellow senior. My eighth grade crush.
"How's things?" he asks, straight up ignoring Elliot's presence. "You going to prom?"
"Umm..."
"You are now," he interrupts, smiling. "With me."
Elliot splutters.
"Think about it, Helena. With your current hype and my status, we'll be crowned king and queen for sure."
Oh my god!
"I'm flattered..."
"Is that a yes?"
"No."
His face falls, desperately trying to process my rejection.
"I'm going with Elliot."
"What! Why?"
"Because I want to."
He gawks.
"Besides," I interject. "If it's the crown you're after, I suggest asking someone else as your date. I'm not interested in being prom queen."
"If you're not interested, why are you campaigning?" he asks.
What?
"I'm not campaigning."
"Yeah, you are," he insists. "As of this morning, you're favourite to win."
He gestures towards a poster of my face; the hashtag KillerQueen written underneath. It takes me a moment to register what's going on. The smile. The slogan.
I'm running for prom queen.
What the fuck?
"I didn't do this," I ensure, pulling it down.
Elliot is close behind, just as confused as me.
"Who would make these?" I demand, asking no one in particular.
"Me," replies Chloe, appearing as though summoned.
She dismisses Zack with the flick of her wrist.
"Why?"
"Damage control," she replies.
Whatever that means.
"Your Dad advised us to lay low for a while," reprimands Elliot, gesturing towards the endless corridor featuring my face. "I hardly think this counts as laying low."
