Sweet Deadly Lies (A Dark Academia Mystery) Watty Winner ✔️

Two

Waves, tragic and unforgiving, lash against the rocky formations, their unsteady roar hollowing out the center of my chest.

I close the door of my Uber and wave the driver away before turning back to the ocean, the choppy surface sending goosebumps up and down my bare arms. In part from the breeze, but more so from the emotions collapsing over me.

The last time I was here, Ava was beginning her freshman year of high school 1400-miles away from home. When I started 9th-grade a year later, I chose to stay in Nebraska—because I don't run away from my problems. I stick it out and face them, with a little help from my friend Jack Daniels.

At least, the old me did. New me is on her own.

The door to Archer House creaks when I open it. I roll my suitcase toward the front desk and wait in line, taking in the peaked ceilings and elaborately framed artwork, each with a personalized plaque underneath featuring the artist's name. The colors are bold, the brush strokes dramatic, alluding to a sense of urgency and frenzied movement. Post-Impressionism, I believe it's called. Though I can't say for sure. It's been years since I've studied composition styles and techniques.

When it's my turn to check in, a woman around my mother's age gives me a smile. "Well, you're a new face," she says, looking me over. "My name is Lauren Bressler, but please, call me Lauren. I'm the housemother here. What's your name, sweetie?" She pivots toward the computer, the screen blanching her narrow face, and positions her fingers above the keyboard.

I clear my throat. "Hi, Lauren. I'm Mia Greenley."

Lauren's eyes widen as she turns to me, a pink flush creeping up her neck and over her cheeks. "Mia. It's nice to meet you. Ava spoke of you—" Her voice catches and she drops her eyes. When they finally rise, tears hover above her lower lashes. "I'm sorry. I knew you were coming and I thought I was better prepared."

This is a reaction I'm used to. Discomfort. Shock. Guilt. Still, it doesn't make dealing with the awkwardness any easier. "I take it you knew my sister?"

She nods, ashy blond hair tumbling around her shoulders. "Ava is—was—" She stops again and shakes her head. "She'll always be one of my favorites. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Like clockwork, my lips move into their carefully trained smile, corners tucked tight and curling up ever so slightly. "I appreciate that. I hope being here will bring me closure."

Lauren cocks her head and brings a hand to her chest. "Bless your heart. Whatever helps, that's what I always say. Everyone handles these situations differently. I pray you're able to find peace." She slides a keycard across the counter. "I'm sure you've already received this information, but you'll be in room 319 with Iris Johnson—she's an absolute peach, by the way. You'll find your assigned laptop on your desk, and your uniforms in the closet. And if you need anything at all, please don't be shy. My suite is right over there." She points to a room with the word 'Housemother' engraved on a nameplate in the center of the door.

I thank her and head toward the elevator, the wheels of my suitcase bumping over the sandstone tiles. Move-in day isn't as chaotic as I expected, not now that the school schedules appointments over a three day period of time. Before, parents and students swarmed the campus during registration, reminding me of busy worker ants marching back and forth until they'd completed their tasks. Today, they shuffle through the lobby like jaded tourists passing by a familiar farmer's market. If you've seen one head of cabbage you've seen them all.

The elevator doors open and two parents emerge, followed by a guy that looks to be my age. He's taller than me, blond, and extraordinarily attractive, wearing khaki shorts and a royal blue button-up shirt the same shade as his eyes.