Black Hill High

Chapter 8

Amelia gnaws on her bottom lip as she anxiously knocks on Ethan's door. Days had passed since she'd spoken to him. Since she'd blatantly accused him of being a murderer.

Ethan had always carried an aura of hesitancy. No one had ever been able to figure him out. He'd always been an outcast but from his own decisions and actions. He'd purposefully isolated himself from others and preferred to remain in the shadows observing instead of participating.

That doesn't automatically make him a killer.

She'd rehearsed her apology in front of the mirror a dozen times. She'd had it memorized. However, it all went away the second Ethan opened the door. A frown is present on his face. She cowers at his harsh stare and awkwardly shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Hey." Her voice cracks at the end and she clears her throat.

"Hey."

She looks down at her worn-out Vans. Her shoulders rise before collapsing after a deep exhale.

"I'm sorry," She blurts out. "I didn't mean what I said, or at least I worded it wrong."

She runs her fingers through her hair.

"I know you're innocent," She looks into his eyes to show how genuine her words are. "You're not the kind of guy that could murder someone."

His face flutters through a multiplicity of emotions before he relents.

"You don't need to apologize, I overreacted."

"No!" She immediately replies. "Your reaction was completely justified."

"I was more upset with myself than you." He explains. "You were right, I completely isolated myself from everyone and now I'm paying the price."

"It's no excuse to accuse you of murder."

"Maybe not, but that's society for you."

She wanted to say more. Do more. Anything to comfort the perturbed boy in front of her. What could I possibly say?

"I would like for us to be friends."

His words were good-hearted, but they sent a dagger into Amelia's heart. The word friends had hit a nerve.

Why did I think we'd suddenly be something more after one heartfelt conversation?

So, despite the ache in her heart, she plasters on a smile.

"I'd love that."

Abigail Westcliffe has always been popular. The Westcliffes have never been short on money with a cardiologist for a mother and a patent attorney for a father. Black Hill is a small town and the Westcliffe residence takes up most of the space. Their mansion demands the attention of any passersby - especially Amelia's as she gazes at the colossal home in awe.

She gazes at the ostentatious home as the surrounding nature embraces it. However, the affluent image is tarnished by the horde of cars and intoxicated teenagers littering the home like a colony of ants. Abigail's parties are notorious. Amelia had only ever heard stories, but she finally has the opportunity to experience them first-hand. She'd been apprehensive at first. She'd avoided any form of social interaction like the plague, but Lillian's persistence won her over.

It's not every day Seth Gallagher invites you to a party. Amelia thinks back on Lillian's words. She couldn't be the reason her best friend missed out on an opportunity to talk to the guy she'd been pining over forever.

The interior is just as desirable as the exterior - they had no qualms about expenditure. Everything about the home demanded attention, however, the elite persona is tarnished by the horde of red solo cups already littered all around along with countless bottles of various cheap booze. The home went from class to tasteless in a nanosecond.