Ava: Before killing Justice At home, Cece got it into her head that she can somehow convince Justice to come back home by using her YouTube channel. She’s adamant about the idea of Justice leaving home because of Patience, but I’m not quick to point out that Patience and Justice have been at each other’s throats since their benefactor, Grandma Ortega, threatened to cut her aunt from her will. Unfortunately, I’m added into the equation of this new profound video on her channel where she smacks me secretly behind the camera when I don’t quite get enough emotion into the words I’m spewing. “You’ve got to say it like you mean it,” she urges on. Annoyance leaches out of my pores, and I almost snatch her iPad off my bed and hurl it at the wall. Cece is lovable. I’ve always known, but a duo seemed to be the perfect thing for me when Justice was alive. Until Justice bro

Ava: Before killing Justice   I get depressed the next day and it doesn’t help that the universe has decided to punish me. My cramps are a huge fuck you in the face. Mum comes into my room early in the morning to find me passed out on my bathroom floor, moaning about the pain. I’m not going to school—Mum’s orders. I am to rest under my duvet and let the diclofenac work its magic. My time is spent with Asia on the couch, watching Date Rush and munching on the quiche she and I prepared once the pain subsided.   All hopes of confronting my dad are stomped on by his Tuesday patients. They are five in total, . Who would’ve thought? Moving here took many things from us—Mum’s detox sessions at Aunt Julie’s salon, my summers spent idly by the beach, Asia’s women’s club and most of all, it took away dad’s expensive white polished four-square office in downtown Spintex. Out went the office along with his patients, who thought driving up to The Circle

Ava: Before killing Justice   Dread pools in my chest. “How could you? She was my best friend.” The hurt is still fresh but the tears have all but dried up months ago. This confrontation has been a long time coming. If there’s any sign that he caught on to my reference of Justice in the past tense he doesn’t show it or hasn’t noticed.   “Ava.” One word, one flimsy toneless mono syllabus that does me in because it’s not one said with sternness telling me I’ve overstepped, that I’m being rude, brutal. It’s filled with something I can’t place my finger on but recognise because it’s the same admission I gaze at every time I look into the mirror. Guilt. Mine wanes away because he’s guilty enough for both of us.   He points to one of the high bar stools, and I comply as he swings for another round of his drink and downs it right before my eyes. When he does it again, I make a discordant sound at the back of my throat. “Really,

Skylar: Before killing Justice     “Morning Lans,” she says. “I’ve brought you a troublemaker.”   That’s one way of putting it. She all but dragged me here. Principal Lancaster turns around and regards me with disinterested eyes.   He squints through the rays. “Hm. Yes, it seems you have.”   I lick my lips and find that they’re as cold as pebbles and rough from chewing at them nervously. I wish I could dissolve into thin air and I don’t know why I feel oddly squeamish even though this isn’t my first rodeo. It’s so uncharacteristic of me because usually when I wind up in trouble, I know I’m guilty. There’s something unsettling about being accused of misconduct you haven’t committed. Coach relays the information of the pills she saw bleeding from the zip on my sports bag. After this, Coach stands to my right waiting or maybe she’s just making sure I don’t suddenly lunge for the door.

Skylar: Before killing Justice   I turn back to her, not surprised at all. Not one bit. “Look Ava, for what it’s worth, Justice doesn’t have a loyal bone in her body. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” She should’ve expected it one day at least so it softens the blow for her. I had no clue when I came back from the Aburi trip and tried to sit by Justice at the cafeteria. Her words that day were as sharp and hurtful as shrapnel shells after an explosion.   Of course, this does nothing to assuage Ava. She gets more vexed. “It still doesn’t give her the right to steal my speech from right under my nose,” she mutters and bends down to pick up her torn clear bag that’s got papers bleeding out of it onto the footprint stained white tiles. I almost feel sorry for her. And then she says something I’d never dream she’d ever utter. “That’s why I’m going to get back at her.”   I frown and let go of the door. “You’d have to get in