SubChapter 8
The cracks started showing in smaller ways over the next week.
Mrs. Chen kept giving me concerned looks in English class, asking if I was okay, if I needed to talk to the school counselor. I smiled and said I was fine, just tired from college prep.
My mother noticed I wasn't eating as much. She started making my favorite foods, hovering, asking questions I deflected with practiced ease. And Detective James…he was everywhere. I saw his car parked outside school twice more. Saw him talking to the principal, to other teachers. Building his case brick by brick.
On Thursday, I was called to the main office during lunch. "Miss Park," Principal Hendricks said when I entered. "Detective James has requested access to your school records. Attendance, disciplinary history, academic performance." She pushed a form across her desk. "Normally we'd require a warrant, but if you consent, we can provide them now."
They wanted to see if I'd refuse, if I'd lawyer up. Refusing would make me look guilty. "Of course," I said. "I want to help however I can."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I'll let him know."
When I left the office, I saw him. Detective James, standing in the hallway near the trophy cases, watching me. He didn't approach, didn't say anything. Just watched.
I met his eyes, held them for three seconds, then walked past like he wasn't there.
But my hands shook all through the fifth period.
That night, I did something reckless.
I'd been thinking about Chance's diary for weeks. What was in it? Did it mention the essay theft? Did it name me as a threat? I needed to know.
The police had taken it as evidence, which meant it was either at the station or…if they'd finished with it, returned to Chance's mother.
I waited until 11 PM, then drove past Chance's house. The lights were off except for a dim glow in the upstairs window. It was Chance's mother's bedroom. Her car was in the driveway.
I parked two blocks away and walked back, hood up, hands in pockets. The rain had started again, light and steady.
The house looked different at night. Smaller. Less threatening. I stood across the street, staring at the dark windows, thinking about the last time I'd been inside.
"You have three days, Ileh."
"Please, Chance. There has to be another way."
"There isn't. You made your choice when you stole from me. Now you have to face the consequences."
"I can't. If this comes out, everything I've worked for…"
"Should you even have it? You didn't earn it. You took it."
"It's not that simple…"
"It is exactly that simple."
And then she'd turned away from me, walking toward her desk where she kept her laptop, probably to email the scholarship committee right then. And I'd grabbed her arm, harder than I meant to. She'd jerked back, we'd struggled. She'd shoved me.
I'd shoved back.
She'd lost her balance.
The marble floor had been unforgiving.
I shook the memory away and focused on the house. Breaking in was out of the question. It was too risky, too many cameras in this neighborhood. But maybe I could…
A light turned on in the living room. I stepped back into the shadows as Chance's mother appeared in the window, wrapping a robe around herself. She stood there for a moment, looking out at the rain, and even from across the street I could see her exhaustion. She'd lost her only daughter. And she had no idea who was responsible.
Guilt twisted in my chest but I pushed it down. Guilt was a luxury I couldn't afford.
The light turned off. I waited another ten minutes, then walked back to my car.
I'd have to find another way to get to the diary.
SubChapter 9
Friday brought a new problem.
I was at my locker between classes when Sarah Martinez approached, a girl from History who I barely knew.
"Hey, Ileh?" She shifted her backpack. "Can I ask you something weird?"
"Sure."
"Did you and Chance used to be friends?"
My stomach tightened. "Yeah. A while ago. Why?"
"Because I was cleaning out my email and found this message from her. From like, three weeks before she died." Sarah pulled out her phone. "She was asking about the Whitmore Scholarship. If I knew who won it, if I'd heard anything about the selection process."
Ice flooded my veins. "Why would she ask you that?"
"My mom's on the selection committee. Chance knew that." Sarah scrolled through her phone. "I told her I couldn't share any details, but she kept pushing. Said she had concerns about academic integrity. Asked if there was a way to report suspected plagiarism after the award was announced."
The world tilted slightly.
"Did she say who she suspected?" I kept my voice carefully neutral.
"No. But..." Sarah looked uncomfortable. "She mentioned she'd been close friends with the winner. And everyone knows you two used to be tight. I just thought it was weird, you know? And now she's dead, and I keep thinking about that email."
"Did you tell Detective James about this?"
"Not yet. Should I?" She bit her lip. "I don't want to cause problems if it's nothing."
This was a critical moment. If I discouraged her too strongly, she'd definitely go to the police. If I encouraged her, I looked guilty. I needed to thread the needle perfectly.
"If you think it's relevant, you should tell him," I said. "The police need all the information they can get. Chance's family deserves answers."
Sarah nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're right. I'll probably mention it next time he comes around." She walked away, leaving me standing there with my locker door open, unable to move.
Chance had been documenting it. Building a case. Gathering evidence to report me not just to me directly, but through official channels. If Sarah told Detective James about that email, he'd start looking into the scholarship. He'd request the submission files. He'd compare my essay to Chance's.
And he'd know I had a motive.
I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and opened my encrypted notes.
CRITICAL: Sarah Martinez has an email from Chance asking about reporting plagiarism. Will likely tell Detective James. Motive established. I need to act fast.
But act how? I couldn't stop Sarah from talking. Couldn't make the email disappear. Couldn't erase what Chance had done. The trap was tightening from all sides. Every day brought new evidence, new witnesses, new cracks in my carefully constructed facade.
I'd been so careful. So meticulous. But I'd been planning for an investigation into how Chance died. I hadn't planned for an investigation into why.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number: Miss Park, this is Detective James. I need you to come to the station tomorrow at 10 AM for a formal interview. Please bring a parent or guardian. This is not optional.
My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. This was it. The endgame was beginning. I had less than twenty-four hours to decide: stick to my story, or change it? Deny everything, or admit to something small?
And most importantly…did Detective James have enough to arrest me, or was he still fishing?
I typed back: I'll be there.
Then I went to the bathroom and threw up.