Page 25 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

Casper the friendly ho: Hey, just came back from the dance studio and you weren’t there.

Me: Yea, went to the library to work on the paper for Jennings’ class.

Casper the friendly ho: Kay! OMW. Meet you there.

Me: On the fifth floor by the window

Casper the friendly ho: Kay

I set my phone down and glance out the window at the bright afternoon sun. The library should feel like a safe place, a quiet bubble where I can escape everything that’s been haunting me. But lately, even the silence feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on me from all sides.

Cassidy has been my anchor through this, her goofy texts and relentless energy, a constant in the storm. I don’t know how to tell her what’s been going on. Hell, I don’t even know how toexplain it to myself. The flashes of memory from that night, the eerie feeling of being watched, the way everything has felt…off.

I hear the soft patter of footsteps coming from behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance over my shoulder and spot Cassidy making her way towards me, her usual bright smile lighting up her face despite the dark circles under her eyes. “There’s my favorite library nerd,” she teases, sliding into the seat across from me.

“Hey, Cass.” I try to smile, but it feels forced. “How was dance class?”

She let out a huge sigh. “Brutal,” she groans dramatically, flopping back in her chair. “Madame Serena is on some next-level power trip. I swear she’s trying to kill us before the recital. My legs are about to fall off.”

I can picture it—Cassidy in her leotard, sweat dripping down her face as she endures another one of Madame Serena’s grueling sessions. She’s been pushing herself so hard these past few weeks, rehearsing for hours, perfecting every move until her muscles scream. But that’s how she’s always been. Determined. Fierce.

Even back in high school as the head cheerleader, she was so out of reach—like she existed on another level. The kind of person who throws herself completely into something until she gets it right. Dancing was her life, her escape, the thing that kept her grounded.

Back then, it was cheerleading, and she was brilliant at it. She was always at the center of every routine, every game, always the one everyone watched. But it wasn’t just about the performance. It was her drive, the way she pushed herself harder than anyone else. And now, it’s the same with dance.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I say, shaking my head, trying to ignore the pang of envy. “I’d be dead after five minutes of that.”

Cassidy laughs, lifting her leg onto the table with ease, rolling her ankles to loosen them up. “You get used to it. Besides, it’s worth it when I finally nail that pirouette sequence. There’s nothing like that feeling.” Her eyes light up when she talks about dancing, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

For a second, I almost wish I could lose myself in something the way she does with dance.

“Anyway,” she says before pausing, her playful expression fading as she leans in, her eyes serious. “But don’t change the subject. What’s up with you? You’ve been acting weird for a while.”

I tense, knowing this conversation was inevitable, but not ready for it. I fidget with my pen, spinning it between my fingers, trying to come up with an excuse, something to deflect but the concern in Cassidy’s eyes makes it impossible.

“I’ve just been…tired, I guess.”

Cassidy doesn’t let me off that easily. “Rhea, it’s more than that. You’ve been jumpy, distracted.” She pauses and reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

My throat tightens, guilt swirling in my chest. I should tell her everything, but how could I possibly explain the truth? That ever since that night, something has been terribly wrong. That I feel like someone’s watching me, like I’m being hunted.

“Is it your mom? Is she acting crazy again? I swear…”

“It’s not.” I can’t help but let out a small giggle. Cassidy always jumps to the conclusion that my mom is the source of my problems, given how unpredictable she is.

Cassidy raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair while wiggling her socked toes manically. The sight is quite comical, and I try to resist the urge to laugh.

“Okay, so if it’s not her, then what’s going on? You’ve been…I don’t know, distant. Weird. Shaken up. More than usual.”

“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’ll get over this funk.”

Her eyes narrow. “Wait, is this because of the guy they found at that party?”

I freeze, unable to process what she’s just put together. My heart claws up my throat as I stare at her.

“Oh, my god. It is? Rhea, now it all makes sense. We don’t know who killed the guy…” She rolls her eyes, “Well, we kind of do. I’ve heard the rumors that the frat house isn’t actually a fraternity house, and it’s just…” She waves it off without finishing her sentence, but now I’m intrigued. I want to know more. “Wait, do you know anything about what happened to Jack?”

I panic internally, feeling my skin crawl. To break the spell, I rub my arms to stop the shiver. “No, no. I don’t know, and I think you’re right. I’m just shook over there being a murder.”

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