Page 1 of Framed

prologue

Ireadthenotefor the hundredth time.

“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”

How will your friend appear if you don’t show up?

Marvin’s Playroom at 8:00 P.M. Come alone.

It was the same as always: a quote from Sun Tzu’s Art of War followed by a demand or a threat. At first, I thought it was some sick joke. A new form of bullying. I ignored the first note when it ordered me to tell Dan Tadley that his girlfriend, Ophelia Scott, was cheating on him with the entire football team. It was true and the whole school knew but him. How? I didn’t know but it wasn’t my business to tell.

So I didn’t.

Sadly, that proved to be a mistake. Later that week, a picture of Xavier and me in a compromising position got airdropped to the entire school during lunch. It was from a few weeks ago when someone tripped me on the way to my seat during fourth period. I landed on his lap. It was only a second before he pushed me off. But the way the picture was taken, it appeared way more intimate.

Xavier didn’t look phased by the picture during lunch. He always appeared cool as a cucumber in public. But I knew Xavier. The slight tick in his jaw gave away his true feelings.

He was pissed.

Neither he nor Naomi said anything about it. I wasn’t surprised. After all, they’d avoided me for the past two hundred and forty-three days.

But who’s counting, right?

I flashed my light on the side of the square-cut note card. Also similar to the rest of the notes I’ve received, it had numbers written in invisible ink in the left corner. This time it said 5/5 and my mind raced at the possible reasons why.

I predicted that after this one, they would finally stop. Hopefully, whatever the note led me to this time would be the end of this screwed-up crusade of Nancy Drew.

Part of me wanted to ignore it, but the fear ofwhat ifovertook the fear ofwhat is.That was how I ended up at the edge of town in front of this empty building.

The street was dark and outside of the one streetlight that stood a few feet away, it was a ghost town. Worst part? Marvin’s Playroom was closed and from the barred entrance, it had to have been for a while.

I wrapped my arms around my midsection and suppressed a shiver. Was I supposed to go inside? Wait out here? Normally the instructions were clearer than this.

A noise behind the building caught my attention and I froze. When no sound followed it right away, the hair on the nape of my neck rose.

I scanned the surrounding buildings but they too were empty and boarded up. My ears caught another sound and this time my feet moved of their own accord, following what sounded like a choked gurgle around the corner into an alleyway. A god-awful stench permeated the air and whipped my nose as I rounded the corner. My hand shot up to cover my nose to try to lessen the impact on my nasal cavity. I resisted the urge to gag.

When was the last time someone collected the trash?

A gasp left my lips as I rounded the side of the large trash bag and spotted what appeared to be a woman. She was lying motionless on the ground. I should run, go the other way but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Like I was supposed to find this person. I should call someone, anyone. But there was this sinking feeling in my gut that told me to get closer. That I needed to see this.

I inched closer to the body and paused as I spotted a familiar pair of red and white checkered vans. I knew someone with a pair of shoes like that. My legs wobbled, and a cool breeze blew through the alley, sending violent shivers reverberating down my spine. This had to be a coincidence. It couldn’t be her… I just saw her earlier, she was fine.

The world held its breath until I got close enough to clearly see her face. My stomach dropped out from under me and I cried out.

Naomi.

My phone clattered to the ground as I rushed to her side. I dropped to my knees beside her and reached for her with shaking hands. She was drenched in blood—so much blood.

I brushed her hair back from her forehead, my palm skimming her skin. She felt cold. So cold and so pale. Her hand was splayed across her midsection, cradling what looked like some kind of wound. Did someone shoot her?

Who did this?

“Naomi?” My voice was a pained whisper, barely audible. Something wet slid down my face and folded under my chin. I blinked hard, only just now noticing that I was crying. “Naomi, open your eyes.”

She didn’t. I stared hard at her chest, but it never moved. I didn’t have the courage to press a fingertip to her neck, to really confirm it, but the truth was already obvious: she was gone.

Swallowing hard, I reached down to brush her hand where it covered the wound. My fingertips came away sticky and wet. The blood still felt warm, somehow.

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