26. Hayley

26

HAYLEY

T he craziest, most unbelievable, never in a million years kind of thing happened. Zoe wrote me back. Not just a who is this message either. She spilled her entire life story, seriously just laid it right out there like the treasure trove it is. And let’s just say this, it was not what I was expecting. She is desperate with a capital D.

And I have to admit, as much as it pains me, I might have been wrong. But maybe it’s a good kind of wrong. Elliot is definitely not who I thought he was. She wants to break up with him! I know this sounds lucky for me, but it isn’t. I mean, not really. She told me I was right. I didn’t even realize that I wanted to be right. But now I have a new friend, so it’s all good. She vaguely remembers me, but we didn’t exactly have the same interests. Not counting Elliot, that is.

That’s not a problem anymore, either. Zoe wrote that she’s tried to break up with him several times, but the last time he smashed her face into the dashboard of his truck and it broke her nose. He said he was really sorry afterward and he took her to a movie, the kind he never wants see, and so she didn’t break up with him. But not because of that, more because she’s really scared. And she wants to know: can I help her?

I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think I want to. I mean, she had a really great nose, and relationships should be fifty-fifty, and if Elliot can’t handle a “girly movie” every once in a while, then what do I even want with him?

The door to my dorm room opens with the kind of squeak I’ve heard a thousand times, but today it sounds louder, like it’s warning me. I can feel it. The tension, the heat rising in my chest, the suffocating weight of everything I’ve done, all the mistakes I’ve made. I pause for a second, leaning against the doorframe, as if somehow the act of standing still could push everything back into place. This is when it hits me. Maybe Hannah’s death doesn’t have to be in vain. Yes, she was going to die eventually; no one lives with a drug habit like that forever, not even rock stars. But I have to admit my part in this, that I helped things along, and it wasn’t right.

I walk in, close the door behind me, and immediately set to work. Her body is gone—Hannah’s body—but the damage remains. The air feels thick with it, every inch of the room screaming reminders of what happened. There’s a mess I still need to clean up. A mess that’s only getting worse by the minute. Not because anyone else knows— Max not included—but because I know. It’s been eating at me, but I had to wait until things died down a little, until the coast was clear. At the very least, until her body was stuffed away in some freezer.

Now, that’s done, I have no choice but to scrub it all away, wipe it clean, get rid of the evidence. If I don’t, they’ll find out, and everything will fall apart. I lift up the rug and pry open the slats in the floorboard. And there it is. I drag the trash bag out and start rummaging through everything I’d tossed in: the coke, the weed, the vodka bottle, all the crap Hannah brought in without a thought.

I am sorry she’s dead. But I hope I can in some way atone for it with this part—the part that her family will never have to see—the cleanup. The cleanup that’s supposed to make everything disappear, to make it look like nothing bad happened. But it’s not that simple, is it?

As I start tossing things back into the bag, I try not to think about the vomit. It’s on the floor, smeared and streaked like a bad painting. The stain lingers in my mind, and my hands shake just thinking about it. What if they find out I could have helped her, but didn’t? What if there’s nothing I can do to stop it?

But then...I pause. I feel a strange surge of euphoria, like I’ve just won some twisted game. Hannah’s death? The school can’t touch me. They don’t know about what happened—no one does. Except Max, but he won’t talk.

Hannah’s actual cause of death is still pending toxicology. It’ll be six to eight weeks, at least, for that to come back, and by then I’ll be long gone. Either way, it doesn’t matter. No one can ever prove I could’ve helped her but didn’t. She was just a young girl who made some bad decisions. Trusted the wrong people, too. But that will forever remain our little secret.

The guilt feels like a tight knot in my chest, but it’s not enough to dull the satisfaction. This is how it had to go down. This is how it always goes down when you’re me.

I grab the last of the trash and head toward the door, bag in hand, but a buzzing noise stops me. My phone. It’s vibrating on the bed.

I know what it is before I even look. Another cryptic message. The ones that keep coming. The ones that tell me to keep my nose and my hands clean. The ones that hint at something bigger, something darker, that I haven’t fully figured out yet. But I’m not stupid. I know what it means. I know what it’s telling me.

I check the message anyway, my fingers moving quickly across the screen . “Clean up your mess, Hayley. And keep it clean. Or else.”

I swallow hard. The world feels like it’s shrinking again, closing in on me. But I can’t let myself fall apart. Not now. I have to keep it together. For what comes next. For the meeting.

They’ve sent for my mother. She’s coming from New York tomorrow, flying all the way to London to meet with the headmaster. I don’t know what they’ll say to her, but I already know what I’m going to say. I’m going to say whatever it takes to get me out of here. I have a plan. I have to do what my dad used to always talk about. I have to balance the scales of karma. I made a big mistake. I have to make it right. After all, Zoe needs my help.