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Maybe for some of them, they were.

For me, they were a living nightmare.

And the person responsible for all of it is currently dancing in the middle of the gym, in her old cheerleading uniform no less, looking like she doesn’t have a single regret in the world.

Peyton Crawford.

I should have died that night at the mill. The only reason I’m standing here today is that somehow, against all odds, I survived. Yet here she is, laughing and dancing, celebrating a past she helped turn into a tragedy.

How the hell could I have ever suspected Milo of being responsible for the recent murders when the only genuine psychopath I’ve ever known is standing right in front of me?

Sienna was right.

Peyton is responsible.

She has to be.

After all, she’s been behind every terrible thing that’s ever happened to me. Every threat, every humiliation, every attempt to ruin my life. Why should these murders be any different?

Of course she’d find a way to pin them on me. One final attempt to destroy my life for good.

How could I have been so fucking blind?

My attention is momentarily drawn away from the bane of my existence when another photograph appears on the giant screen above the dance floor.

It’s Paige sitting on Kody’s lap in the cafeteria, both grinning at the camera.

The next shows Dylan riding on the back of Brandon’s motorcycle, looking happier than I’ve ever seen him, his arms wrapped tightly around his boyfriend’s waist.

Then there’s Sienna sitting on the bleachers, pretending her attention isn’t fixed on Craig a few rows below us.

More photographs follow, including one of Milo holding the state championship trophy above his head, surrounded by his teammates after their first big win.

God, we were so young.

So fucking clueless about how quickly everything could fall apart.

Again, I’m not surprised there aren’t any photographs of me in the slideshow. Peyton spent years trying to erase my existence from Fairhope. Making sure I was left out of a few pictures would have been child’s play for her.

When I look back toward the dance floor, I catch Peyton leaning close to Troy, whispering something in his ear. He laughs, and she gives him a satisfied smile before turning on her heel and sashaying toward the gym doors.

I’m about to follow her when someone grabs my arm.

“We need to talk.”

I turn to find Sienna standing beside me.

“Not now,” I mutter, pulling my arm free.

“Max.”

I ignore her and push my way through the crowd, keeping my sights on Peyton as she disappears through the double doors.

“Max!” Sienna calls again, louder this time.

“I said not now, Sienna!”

She catches up with me just as I reach the doors, grabbing my arm again.