The next day, I woke up to the sound of my phone, which was blasting Kesha’s “Tik Tok”, my ring tone. “Hello,” I answered, my voice groggy.

“Hey,” the caller replied.

“Lindsey?” I inquired. “No offense, but why are you calling me at nine o’clock in the morning?”

“Well there’s something I really need to tell you. I was going to call you yesterday, but I got too nervous.” she said.

“What is it?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, “I know who killed Becca.”

I tried my best not to groan. After all, it was pretty obvious that she was going to tell me it was Bobby. Just like how Bobby told me it was her. And I knew that it was one of the two, but with both of them blaming each other, I wasn’t sure which one.

“Who?” I pretended to sound as if this interested me.

“Bobby. He’s the killer.” she stated. How shocking.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he was fighting with her. He claims to have left before it happened, but I think we both know better. The cops do too, but they don’t have enough evidence to prove it yet. You believe me, right?”

Considering the dream I had last night, I wasn’t quite sure who to believe. If my dream was even true that is. “You can’t just blame Bobby.” I told her.

“Why not? It had to be him. I just know it.” she responded hastily.

“Well I don’t know that and I’m not going to start blaming random people.” I remarked. “Listen, I’ve got to go now, ok?” Without waiting for a reply, I hung up the phone.

Ok, so that was pretty impolite of me to do. But oh well, she’d live. I let out a deep sigh, and trotted downstairs. “Hey, Mom,” I greeted my mother, who was sitting on the couch, sipping her daily cup of coffee and staring blankly at the TV as some News broadcaster interviewed someone.

She didn’t respond to my greeting, so I repeated it. “Hey, Mom,” I plopped down next to her on the couch, but she remained mute.

I sighed, giving up. She would never truly get over this. The best thing for me to do was just give her time to get used to it. Not that she ever would. And neither would I.

I stood up and looked down on her emotionless face. “Ok, well I’m going to go to Starbucks and get a Peppermint Mocha.” I informed her. “Do you want me to get you anything?” She gave me no response. “Alright, I won’t get you anything. Can I take your car?” She gave me a slight nod. “Thank you,” I called out to her as I walked into the kitchen and grabbed her keys off the counter.

Then I slipped on my black Converse and my winter coat. I stepped out into the bitter November air, shivering in the freezing breeze that blew towards me. I got into my mom’s car and started up the engine, backing out of the ice-coated driveway carefully.

When I got to Starbucks, I got out of the car and walked inside, grateful for the coffee shop’s buzzing space heater. I stepped up to the counter to place my order, telling the young guy working the cash register that I wanted a Peppermint Mocha.

As I waited for my beverage, I heard the sound of the small bell hanging above the door ring, a signal that someone had just walked in. I turned my head to see who it was. Bobby.

His eyes met mine for a moment and then I looked away sheepishly. He approached me, a small, slightly uncomfortable smile on his face. “Hey,” he said to me.

“Hi,” I replied.

“I uh, didn’t expect to see you here.” I could tell that he was trying to make as much small talk as possible in order to distract me from asking him about what we’d began to discuss at the funeral. But I was smarter than that.

“Yeah, same here.” I said. “Well since we’re both here, why don’t we finish that conversation that we started up at my sister’s funeral. We were at the part where you were about to tell me why I’m the difficulty between you and Becca.”

His face fell, unhappy that I’d remembered about that. “Listen Rachel,” he began, “now really isn’t the time to talk about this.”

“Well what time would work best for you?” I remarked icily. Ok, so I was getting a little over-irritated with him. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t usually get very angry, but when I did, it wasn’t pretty.

Sensing my irritability, he gave me a straight answer. “Fine, if you want to talk now, then we can talk now.” he rejoined. At that moment, the Starbucks guy handed me my drink and I paid.

“Ok, place your order and then we’ll sit down to talk about it.” I agreed.

“Fine.” he stated, sounding confident and sure of himself. But I could tell that underneath his tough-guy-act was the real Bobby. I could tell that he was hesitant about telling me the whole story and I could tell that he was embarrassed to tell me the whole story. But I really didn’t care.

So I waited for him to get his drink and then we both walked over to a small table in the back corner, sitting down across from each other.

“Ok, start talking.” I snapped a bit harshly.

So he took a deep breath and then told me, “Well…” He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “Becca told me that you uh, had a crush on me and that she was sick of hearing you talk about how jealous you were of her. So that made you a difficulty.”

My mouth dropped open forming an O shape and I felt a blush creep up my face. “Becca told you that I had a crush on you?” I demanded. He swallowed hard and nodded.

“I told her that she was crazy and that there was no way you liked me like that, but she just kept insisting that you did.” he informed me.

Now I was really irritated. “You don’t actually believe that do you?”

“What are you saying?” he asked. “You don’t think I’m appealing?” Now that he knew how embarrassed I was getting, he was using it to his own advantage. He was grinning, a mixture of amusement and cockiness.

“No, but I…well I just…you’re not…” I trailed off, not knowing how to respond to that. He smiled at this, taking a sip of his own Peppermint Mocha. That was the thing with Bobby, he loved to be in control. And once he had control of the situation, he made sure that he was no longer the one feeling awkward.

And I absolutely hated it. Yet, for some odd reason that I really couldn’t explain, I was also attracted to him because of it.

“I’m not what?” he asked. “Nice? Funny? Smart? Attractive?” Every word he said caused my blush to deepen. And his smile to grow wider.

“No, you’re nice.” I said lamely.

“Just nice?” he inquired. I scanned my brain for a kind way of telling him that I wasn’t into him. But the fact that I was into him, kind of made it hard for me to think of something reasonable for me to say.

“Well, I don’t really know you all that well, so it’s for me to determine whether or not you’re funny or smart.” I replied, completely babbling.

“Ok, so you’ve covered nice, funny, and smart. Now there’s only one question left: do you think I’m attractive?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re ugly or anything.” I told him, trying to be as vague as possible so he didn’t get the wrong idea. Even if I did think he was the best-looking person to ever walk the planet.

“That’s a yes.” he declared, sitting back in his chair as if he’d just accomplished something.

“Just because you aren’t ugly doesn’t mean you’re attractive.” I pointed out.

“So you’re saying that I’m not attractive?” he questioned.

I had to clue how to respond to that either, I was completely out of words, speechless. And it made me so angry that Bobby was able to do that to me. He was the only person I’d ever known that was able to leave me wordless. Yet again, for some reason that I couldn’t explain, this also made me attracted to him. And the fact that I was attracted to him made me hate him even more.

“Do you get a kick out of this?” I demanded.

“Out of what?” he asked, taken aback by my outburst.

“Your stupid little games that you play! And don’t act like this is news to you, because I’ve seen you do it so many times before to so many other girls. It’s like you try to completely mortify people. You do it to everyone, but I’m not going to let you do it to me.” I stood up, ready to storm out of the café in rage. But I felt his strong hand come down on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

“Wait,” he pled. “I’m sorry.” He sounded pretty sincere about it, but I couldn’t completely trust him. Not yet. Not while he was still one of the prime suspects of my sister’s murder.

However, I did turn back around to listen to what he had to say.

“I know what I do and I know it’s not exactly the right thing to do too. But that’s just my way of making sure everything plays out the way I want it too. I guess I just do it because…well, because I’m scared. I’m scared of people getting the best of me or hurting me, so I don’t get very close with anyone. And I make sure that when I talk to girls, I make them feel awkward so that everything works out the way I want it to.”

“But you never did that to Becca. In fact, you got really close with her.” I indicated.

“That’s because she was the only girl that I’d ever loved.” he said softly.

“Oh,” I murmured, swallowing hard, second-guessing myself. Bobby couldn’t have killed Becca. Not after what he’d just said. He loved her. Why would he want to kill her if he loved her?

Unless this was just a set-up. But he just sounded so believable, it had to be true. But I remembered what I’d told myself before turning back to talk with him. I couldn’t trust Bobby. Not yet.

Author's Note: Who do you guys think is the killer?