“Is that not normal?” I ask as I pop a fry into my mouth.

“Not usually. But it’s not completely abnormal,” he tells me. “What’s weird, though, is that it says the location is in Wyoming.”

“Is that where you’re originally from?” Harlow wonders.

A knot forms in my stomach. “I … I was born in a town there and lived there for a while.” I lived there until I had to move in with my aunt and uncle, right after I killed my parents.

11

RAVEN

Here’s the thing about what happened to my parents. While there’s no proof that I actually killed them, there’s also no proof that I didn’t. And the only fact I can go on are little images that I vaguely remember. But most of that day and a few days before and after are nothing but a blur of emptiness. The theory is that the trauma made me forget what happened, which would be believable, except the few memories that I can recall contain images of blood staining my hands, of being near my parents’ bodies, of me holding a knife. The latter, though, no one else knows about because I’ve kept it a secret. And for a good reason, since some believe I killed my parents. In fact, I was taken to the police station when it happened and questioned multiple times, but they couldn’t find any hardcore proof, so they released me.

When my aunt and uncle found out that I was under suspicion, they ate that shit up. And so did Dixie May. What I don’t get is why they hated me so much before they discovered I might have done it. Even the few times I’d met them before my parents died, they despised me.

“So you can’t tell who sent the text then?” I double-check, trying to steer the conversation away from Wyoming and everything that happened there.

“Not yet,” Hunter says. “Give me a few days, and I’ll probably be able to find out.”

I could tell him not to worry about it, but now that I know it’s sent from someone in Wyoming, that eliminates the sender being Dixie May, which leaves me wondering who it is.

“Okay. Thanks.” I collect my phone from the dash and pocket it.

“While I work on it, I’ll have to have your phone,” Hunter informs me as he collects a milkshake from the tray and hands it to me. “So we’ll have to get together, probably after school. Tryouts are starting tomorrow, so it’ll have to be after that.”

“It’s fine if you can’t,” I tell him then take a sip of the delicious milkshake. He’s so busy, and I’m making it worse.

He carries my gaze. “I can. We’ll just have to do it a bit later. Maybe we can meet up for dinner or something.”

“It sounds like a date,” Harlow remarks, dabbing her face with a napkin.

“It’s not a date,” Hunter assures me then throws Harlow a dirty look. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna drink your entire shake.”