Let July Be July

Chapter Two: The Hole

My friends don't take long to find me. Hettie crashes into the clearing first and the first thing she looks at is the corpse.

"You actually did it," Jun says it like she can't believe it."You bitch. Not that I thought you were bluffing-"

"Right," I cut her off and get up. "Thank you for that resounding confidence."

Hettie giggles, her hand flying to her mouth. "Exam word alert!"

"It's not my fault I passed my English exams." I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling at least a little bit. "Let's not talk about it. I want to savour the moment without you guys yapping over it."

Jun raises her eyebrows. I laugh, and I know I look crazy. But I can't help it. It feels like a huge weight just fell off my shoulders.

Whenever they talk about anger in books it's always red-hot and blistering. They're wrong. Rage is as white as ice, so cold it grips you with frost until all you can think of is revenge. Revenge that tastes of cold, just desserts. I should know; it's all I've felt since dad left. It started out as a tiny ice-cube right in the centre of my chest when I was little. Now I'm numb with it, ever since I came back from town one Saturday with my mascara running down my cheeks.

Jun didn't ask what happened. None of them did. They just helped me plan how to make it better.

"Come on," I say, tossing my braids out of my face. We each grab a limb, and it's like carrying lead in my arms.

There's a steep drop-off at the edge of the woods, where the wheat fields outside the Westwood grounds meet the river. It's like a bottomless pit, piled high with mounds of plastic cups and smashed bottles of Jack Daniels. 

It's the perfect place to dump a body.

I'm gasping by the time we reach the edge of the woods where we entered, sweat dotting my face like pearlescent beads. Grace bends over like she has a stitch in her side, moaning about physical labour.

"Well, this is fun," Hettie says, smiling like the psycho she is.

"Seriously?" I frown at her. "We're hiding a body."

Jun squints out at the rolling fields of perfectly-cut grass, like she's thinking about something. Westwood College is a tiny speck of grey and brick beyond the wrought-iron gates.

"Yeah, right," she says, finally. She kicks Elijah's bound wrists with the steel-toe of her combat boot. "Some job we're making of it. Anyone could walk out here and just see."

We're silent for a minute, our breaths a quiet symphony when we're standing this close together. Soft music plays from Hettie's headphones, Madonna and then Orla Gartland and then something in Kurdish I only half understand.

"Got a light?"

Grace's face is a spot of white against the sky. Her cheeks are red and splotchy, two bright roses on the milk of her skin. She holds out an expectant hand, a half-finished cigarette dangling from her lip.

I make a face. She knows I hate those things.

"Yeah, one sec," I say.

I wrestle with the side pocket of my school skirt and finally tug out a chipped red lighter. Someone sighs behind me, and then Jun's hair is in my face, and her tiny fingers grab the lighter right out of my hand.

"Jun!" I yell, but she's already way ahead of me. "How the hell can you even run in that skirt?"

"It's called skill," she says, flashing a bright smile. Her teeth are as white as bone. She raises the lighter above her head, like she's going to throw it. "Go fetch, baby."