Lies Left Unsaid

Emily

The detective and his partner had a weird dynamic. Not so much good cop/bad cop, as annoying cop and his bitch. I knew what they were trying to do. They wanted to dig up dirt on Colin, HP High's golden boy. And while I was sure Colin was far from perfect, it was hard to imagine he was a killer. They'd find something on him eventually, but it wouldn't be Caitlyn's death. Everyone has something to hide, even Caitlyn.

If I was being honest with myself, I was glad she was gone and most likely dead. The day she went missing, I actually went to bed that night with a smile on my face, as sick as that sounds. Not that she was deserving of it, no one ever is. In fact, she was the furthest thing from deserving. She was practically perfect, which was why her death pleased me so. God I must sound like such a #morbidbitch right now, but isn't that what your teenage years are supposed to be all about; judging people superficially, irrationally believing their lives are perfect and hating them because yours isn't. I'm not a bad person, I swear. I mean, I was her best friend. Her only friend really. She was the kind of girl that was so intimidating, the other girls just couldn't hang, no matter how nice she was to them, her presence just sort of made them uncomfortable, insecure. When we first became friends I felt special, like I was the chosen one. But over time, I realized it was because she didn't feel threatened by me. I think she liked to use me as her cover. I had a reputation around school as being "easy." Jugenheimer is an unfortunate last name for a girl who's well-endowed. The kids at school gave me the less-than-creative nickname "Juggs" (#eyerollemoji). It was the natural choice, considering I developed early. I fought it for a long time, but the problem with a nickname is that eventually, whether you like it or not, it becomes a part of who you are. The name "Juggs" seemed to imply that I was somehow slutty just because my breasts were large. So I figured, if everyone already thought I was a slut, I might as well actually become one. After all, where was the fun in being a prude when everyone thought you were loose. 

It worked out pretty well for Caitlyn when I chose to let my nickname define me. My "looseness" allowed her to be seen as a saint. It was easy for her to blame things on me, like the time she got caught sneaking out of the house or the time she took her parents' car without their permission. It was all my idea, she told them. I was a bad seed. I was surprised her parents allowed her to keep hanging out with me, but maybe they were afraid to take away her only real friend.

Like most beautiful and smart people, it was easier to hate her than to like her. The bathroom stalls at school were filled with catchy sayings like, "Caitlyn Coates blows goats." I'm not going to lie, I was responsible for at least one of the phrases scribbled on the stalls. It was from sophomore year when she made out with the boy I liked. I should have known it was coming. Why else would he hang out with me if it weren't to get to Caitlyn, to get the inner scoop on her likes and dislikes. But for every boy there was that loved her, there was another who was heartbroken and vengeful. I wondered if that was part of why she decided to go to boarding school her junior year, to get away from it all, to have a fresh start. But jealousy seemed to follow her everywhere she went. And the thing about jealousy is, it can make a girl do crazy things. I always thought it was more likely that Caitlyn was killed by a girl than a boy, but then her finger showed up. There's crazy, and then there's downright psychotic. You'd have to be a pretty bad bitch to cut off someone's pinky and there weren't a lot of girls like that in Highland Park. Then again, there weren't a lot of girls like Caitlyn.