The secrets we bury

You already know the story of how I died. But what you don’t know are the secrets I buried that brought me there. The lies. The games. The things I did in the dark hoping they’d never come to light. This isn’t the story of my death. Oh no, you know that story already. This is the story of everything I buried; for myself, for my friends, for the ones I loved. I’m about to take you back to where it all began. They say two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. I was the one who kept them. All of them. And I was the one who ended up buried. There are a few things I forgot to mention the last time we met. Let me help you understand just how twisted things really were before my untimely demise. This story doesn’t begin with my end. It begins with one girl. The name we don’t say out loud anymore. The secret I held onto like it was oxygen until my life was ripped away. Melanie. This story starts back in junior year. The year I was truly on my highest horse. The year I was unstoppable, unforgivable, and unforgettable. St. Agatha’s wasn’t just my school. It was my kingdom. And I ruled it like I owned it. In a way, I did. My girls; besties— Averie and Emma were thick as thieves. Loyal to me and only to me. My minions. My princesses. My perfect, obedient little puppets. We all know how that turned out in the end. But don’t worry, I won’t dwell on my demise. This isn’t about me. Not yet. It was the beginning of the school year. We had just returned from summer break. And you know us, our summers were always filled with fun, trouble, and just the right amount of danger. That kind of chaos doesn’t just disappear. We carried it with us. With my girls at each side of me, I strutted through the halls of St. Agatha’s. Smiling. Waving. Making eye contact with every wannabe and whispering b***h in that godforsaken school. We made our way to homeroom, the one place where chaos was an unspoken tradition. It wasn’t just a class. It was a battlefield. The place where alliances shifted and grudges were reborn. Where gossip flowed thicker than blood, and secrets were traded like currency. It was the opening ceremony of the social Olympics. Every girl strutted in like a contestant. Every story was a competition. The vacations they took, the boys they slept with, the girls they betrayed, the rivals they humiliated. It all got dumped out here, loud enough for attention, soft enough for denial. Emma leaned in, whispering something about Eliza and a lifeguard in Cancun. Averie rolled her eyes, already bored. Two rows down, Veronica Price was flashing her new nose job and pretending it wasn’t obvious. Someone in the back mentioned a pregnancy scare. Another girl said she got dumped via text from a St. Augustine boy she’d “never even dated.” Typical. Everyone wanted to be seen. Everyone wanted to be feared, loved, hated — as long as they weren’t ignored. And me? I didn’t need to speak. I just sat down, crossed my legs, and watched the room rearrange itself around me. That’s when I noticed her. Sitting alone, three seats from the back. Melanie. Hair tucked behind her ears. No lip gloss. No social armor. Just wide eyes and a notebook she clutched like a shield. She didn’t belong. But I could work with that. Melanie Finley, the identical twin sister of Melody Finley. Now, Melody and I were… well, let’s just say we were far from friends. I wasn’t too fond of her, and the feeling was mutual. My rival in tennis. My rival in class. My rival in the goddamn halls. Always walking like she owned the place — my place. The nerve of that smug little b***h. But Melanie? She was nothing like her sister. It’s almost funny how two people can be born identical and still come out completely opposite. Where Melody was polished, smug, and sharp-tongued, Melanie was awkward, skittish, painfully unsure. Picture Ugly Betty — thick test-glasses, greasy blonde hair, hunched posture, bookworm tendencies, the whole sad package. She was like the female version of Steve Urkel. You could practically hear the snorting laugh in her silence. She kept to herself. Unlike her despicable sibling who spent every waking second trying to outshine me in my own kingdom. Melody was the preppy one — florals, pearls, honor rolls, and fake smiles. A girly-girl with bite. Smart, pretty, determined. I hated all of it. But Melanie? She was a blank canvas. An open notebook waiting to be written on. And I had the pen. She would be my little project. My chess piece. My experiment. She would be mine. I looked at her and smiled. She glanced up, caught my gaze, then immediately looked down, flustered. Shy. Small. Easy. Averie and Emma caught on instantly. “Ava, what are you thinking about?” Emma asked, her voice sing-song and mocking. I giggled. “Oh, nothing…” I paused, watching Melanie’s hunched shoulders and twitchy fingers. “What do you guys think about having a little fun?” I let the words drip out slowly. “A little project?” They exchanged a glance. Then looked at me. Then at Melanie. “Let’s do it,” Averie said, already smirking. I laughed, grabbed my bag, and the three of us walked over to where Melanie sat, buried in some book she probably already read five times. We circled her like vultures. Sat down around her, no warning, no room to escape. “Hi, Melanie,” I said sweetly, syrup coating every syllable. She jumped a little, then tried to shrink into her seat. I leaned in. “What are you reading there?” I asked, slowly sliding the book down from her face. She shook her head. “Nothing,” she whispered so softly it was almost a breath. I smiled and brushed the loose strands of hair away from her cheek. “You are so pretty. Has anyone ever told you that?” She smiled back, shyly, nervously. Cowardly. But she didn’t answer. I kept the smile, warm and patient. “Where’s your sister? How could she miss the first day of school?” Melanie hesitated. “She had an emergency,” she said, her eyes lowering again. I laughed, sharp and sarcastic. “What kind of emergency might that be?” “I’m not supposed to say,” she mumbled. Averie reached out, touched her hand like we were old friends. “That’s okay, Melanie. We’ll take care of you.” Emma chimed in, her voice honeyed but hollow. “Yeah, we want to help you. This is your junior year. One more and we’re seniors. Don’t you want to have a great year?” “I guess…” she said softly. We all smiled. I reached out and gently tilted her chin so she had to look at me. “We’re going to be great friends, Melanie. You just wait and see.”