I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going with it at first, but before long, Manson’s house began to take shape on my paper. I drew it with a new front porch, focusing in on little details in the wood and framing around the windows.

It wasn’t true to life, but that was the point. A big part of my job was being able to envision what could be, the potential within a building or plot of land. That possibility needed to be captured, put on paper and perfected before it could be made real.

Before I knew it, time had gotten away from me. When I lifted my head from my sketchbook, stretching the ache out of my neck, it was already dark outside. I set my drawing aside and picked up my phone, finding another text from Danielle.

Hey girl! Are you down to hit up Billy’s? It’s karaoke night!

I sighed, tossing my phone aside on the couch. No, I wasn’t down to spend the night at a dive bar with Danielle, Nate, and whoever else they brought along. I knew exactly what Danielle was doing too. She thought they’d taught me a lesson, knocked me down a few pegs so I’d keep my head down and fit back in with the group.

We’d done the same damn thing to new girls on the team. If anyone came into the team a little too cocky, we’d find a way to break them, then keep them close, making them earn back our good graces.

It was fucked. There was a reason Wickeston’s cheerleading team had been considered so vicious — I’d helped make sure it stayed that way.

Besides, why go to a dive bar when I finally had the opportunity to watch whatever documentaries I wanted without my mom or sister complaining they were boring? I put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and sat on the kitchen island as I waited for it to cook, mindlessly scrolling my phone.

Click.

I paused. That had sounded exactly like the latch on the storage room under the stairs. It couldn’t have been, obviously. But then…what had that sound been?

I slid down from the island and peered into the hallway. The storage room door was closed. The only sound was the decorative wooden clock on the shelf next to the stairs, slowly tick-tick-ticking toward the next hour. The house was so quiet I could have heard a pin drop.

The first of the popcorn kernels burst and the sound made me jump so hard I laughed. It had been so long since I was home alone; I was actually getting freaked out. I shuffled back into the kitchen, and after browsing through my mom’s wine collection, I poured myself a glass of Moscato. That would help me chill out.