Frayed by Kara Terzis Read Free Book Online Page B

breathed out a sigh, but eventually, she relented. “Fine. Just promise me you won’t be late for school.”
    I rolled my eyes and took the address off the table. “I won’t.”
    She seemed to look at me properly for the first time since I entered the room, and she said, “You’ve done something different with your hair.”
    I paused. “Yeah. I thought I’d try something different for once.”
    “I like it,” my mother said softly. Tears shone in her eyes. “You look like Kesley.”
    • • •
    The music shop was cold, dusty, and shrouded in darkness. A slice of sunlight fought its way through the filth-covered windows, but apart from that, it seemed to be a rather undesirable place to take lessons. I was ushered through the rows of overpriced gleaming instruments to the practice rooms by one of the shop assistants who barely looked at me. She unlocked the door to the one Kesley used and left me there. I stared into the unlit room for a few moments before I reached for the light switch and flicked it on.
    A bag lay on the closed piano with the name Kesley stitched across the front. Music sheets spilled out, the yellow-orange of the dim light highlighting the dust. I stood there, paralyzed, for a few moments.
    Perhaps my mother had been right.
    Perhaps I was not ready for this.
    Tears burned in my eyes. I did not let them fall. It seemed strange that something as small as a few personal items had such an effect on me. Maybe because these meant something. I reached into the bag without realizing it, letting my hands run through the sheets of paper. Their titles jumped out at me: “Moonlight Sonata, Movement One,” “Für Elise,” “Marche Funèbre.” Their titles brought back a swell of memories, of sounds that used to fill our house. I swiped at the tears falling from my eyes and dug deeper into the bag. There were a few other things—like an empty perfume bottle. When I held it close to my nose, it still smelled of jasmine. Of sorrow.
    More tears prickled my eyes. I ignored them.
    And there, right at the bottom of the bag, was a notebook. It was designed like a piano: white, with black keys stretching the length of the book. A pang of something shot through me, but I flipped the notebook open, teeth gritted. It felt somehow… wrong , morbid, to be going through a dead girl’s things. Most of it, I was disappointed to find, was blank, but as I flipped to the center, a flash of color caught my eye. A phone number. I stared at it for a moment—but it didn’t look familiar.
    I fumbled for my phone and dialed the number.
    My hands were shaking so badly that I needed three tries to get it right.
    The number rang. And rang. Just when I thought nobody was going to pick up… “Cam’s self-defense lessons. How may I help you?”
    Self-defense? I hit End Call and sank to my knees.
    Never once had I heard Kesley express an interest in self-defense. So why did she have a number for it written down in her notebook? Something Rafe had said crossed my mind.
    “God, Ava, she sounded scared. She wasn’t making much sense either. She only told me something strange was happening and that she needed to speak to me.” Only a few days later, her body washed up on the banks of Lake O’Hara, rope wrapped around her throat like some sort of macabre necklace.
    So what was the normal, logical thing for someone to do if they thought they were in danger? Learn how to defend themselves.
    Little good it had done.
    A doorbell tinkled from somewhere in the shop, and I flinched. Then shoving everything back into the bag, music sheets and all, I swung it over my shoulder and left the music store. The ice-cold air outside was almost welcome. It bit angrily at my face, and a vicious wind tore at my hair.
    I wasn’t upset anymore; I was angry.
    Livid.
    I couldn’t help but feel…betrayed. Kesley had known something, something important. And she hadn’t told a soul.
    I walked to school in a haze, hardly noticing as the streets of