Page 15 of We Are the Stars

3

Elliott

Sleep slippedthrough my fingers last night; I couldn’t get those images of Carsen’s mother out of my head. I ended up opening my laptop again, spending hours upon hours trying to find a trace of Carsen online so I could reach out to him, tell him I’m on his side. Unless they’re under a super-secret name, he doesn’t have any social media accounts. I couldn’t find a single defunct one to creep through either.

However, I did find plenty more articles surrounding the murder and its case. I even happened upon one blog who believes Carsen is as innocent as I do—but it was the only one. Every single other editorial is filled with vitriol toward Carsen. And the comments sections?

Absolute.

Hell.

The things people have said about him are despicable and horrid. What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Clearly that doesn’t exist anymore. Nowadays it’s more along the lines of innocent until the internet gets ahold of you.

I learned that his father, William Wheatley, is a big business man in Boston—or was. People seem to praise him, but there’s this underlying fear in all the interviews I watched with him. His photos look normal, until you stare into his eyes. Then, they become something else. Scary, frightful, something you don’t want to look at any longer than you must. Simply put: he’s chilling. I can see he’s capable of something bad. Right now, he’s sitting behind bars in one of Massachusetts’ prisons (it doesn’t say which one online) for first-degree murder.

Carsen is walking free, as I personally believe he should be, but he’s not free, is he? Not when so many people still believe he’s guilty. Not when my own asshole best friend is contributing to the gossip surrounding him. Not when he’s treated as a pariah.

“Can I get you anything else, sweetie?”

I glance up at the waitress. “The check, please.”

“Okay.” She nods toward my drink. “Want me to get you one for the road?”

“Sure.”

“Two cherries, right?”

“Please.”

“Be right back.”

She disappears and I pull out my wallet, throwing out a ten to cover the drink and me taking up a booth for way too long.

I’ve been here for almost an hour and I’ve yet to spot Carsen. He’s evidently not working today. After my trip down horror lane last night, Ihadto come back and see him. He needs to know I’m on his side, that I’m sorry for bringing my asshole friend here yesterday. He didn’t deserve that, and since I refuse to step foot in Vern’s with Jase again, it’s my job to let Carsen know.

“Here ya go. No rush, dear.” The waitress drops off the check and to-go drink.

“Ma’am?” I ask as she begins to leave.

“Uh huh?”

“Is, uh, is that boy who was working yesterday around today?”

Her eyes fall into slits, and I know full well she remembers what happened yesterday, how Carsen freaked out in the kitchen and we bailed on our lunch.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “He’s off today. Can I help you with something?”

“No. I wanted to, uh, apologize. My friend was a dick and he didn’t deserve any of that.”

The waitress, whose nametag says Joy, perks up. “I can pass that along to him, if you’d like.”

“I’d rather tell him in person.”

“I’m not sure how he’d react to that.”

“Does he work tomorrow?”

Huffing at my persistence, she throws a hand onto her hip. Her gum pops in her mouth again and it’s just as annoying now at it was yesterday. “At six AM.”

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