Skylar: After killing Justice I’m living in the house of a dead girl, but no one knows this. Her name was Kayla Tacki, KayKay, to her friends. Not that she had many and mostly when I saw her in the corridors of Arden Academy she was always keeping to herself. Or latched onto Thana’s brother, Nabil like he was her lifeline.I remember when Justice, Jasmine, and I were in Year Seven when the Tackis moved into The Circle. They weren’t posh or sparkly as they parked in their new driveway. No Range Rover or Land Cruiser in sight, just their old Benz that coughed out smoke every time Mr Tacki revved the engine. Most of the time, I stayed clear from their path when I saw their car, afraid my lungs would get clogged with carbon monoxide. Her family had the same dream everyone in the Circle had when they first moved here: “Maybe things will be different in The Circle. Maybe we’ll be happy here.” Unfortunatel

Thana: Before killing Justice Payback tastes sweet until you get a feel of the aftermath. That’s what I should’ve hammered into my head that day in the washroom after Skylar, Ava, and I discussed faux-killing Justice. It felt good to plan it, amazing to imagine it even, but afterwards, all I was left with was fear, guilt and shame. It wasn’t worth it. I would give anything to see Justice alive and walking down the corridors of Arden Academy like a shiny bullet soaring through the air. I don’t know how the others tell it—that Friday morning or afternoon Justice did something to hurt us. But she’s been making me bleed ever since Kieran made my family move to The Circle last year in September. I was new that year. Fresh meat, Justice said. I thought she meant it as a joke and it’s weird how happy I was that she had noticed me, that she had even spoken to me. I’m used to being invisible to my dad a

Thana: After killing Justice Miss Spellings must sense I’m uncomfortable with the way the conversation has steered toward me because she says, “I think that’s enough questions for today. Wouldn’t you agree?” The detective’s face remains expressionless. “One more thing.” His eyes slide to mine. “When was the last time you saw Justice?” This time I don’t lie. “Friday,” I say simply. He sighs, disappointed in my answer. His partner, who I’m trying to devise a name for in my head, notes it down. I feel oddly queasy about being evaluated this way. “Did she behave out of the ordinary?” From Miss Spellings expression, I know he’s already asked this before. “Normal, she seemed normal.” “Can you elaborate?” “I mean as

Ava: After killing Justice We all lie at some point in our lives. Some lies are bone-deep and no matter how much we try to escape them, they keep breeding faster than pigs. That’s the kind of lie I sense spilling out of Skylar’s mouth when she tells me she’s at Sean Dabrah’s house. “I’m on my way,” she says over the phone, her voice sounding frantic like she’s been caught robbing a bank. “Sure. Thana and I will just wait at your house,” I reply and wait for a beat. It becomes radio silent on the other end. And then she hangs up. There’s got to be some reasonable explanation as to why a hairy-chested, foul-mouthed man was doing on Skylar’s doorstep. In her house. In our unfortunate situation, it’s dangerous to have someone you can’t trust around you and I don’t care if it’s just a house address. Little things spark up fires, grow bigger into explos

Ava: After killing Justice   My brain is a murky pool of confusion, riddled with one fat, bold question: What the hell is a box doing in the wall? Whoever preemptively carved a square-sized hole in the wall, took out a brick and replaced it with cardboard, didn’t want anyone to know. Not even the hotel staff who I’m sure is oblivious to the incongruous box in the room.   We huddle around the box, our short shadows shrouding it. Now it’s more of a small jewelry box with the telltale signs of someone else’s prying, shown by the silvery long scratches on the latch. “Do you think Justice was trying to open it?” My voice is quiet, tremulous, and unsure.   “Maybe.” Skylar sits back on her calves. “The scratches are probably from fixing on the latch.” And because we have no clue what she’s alluding to, she taps her finger on the base where a molten piece is staggered from the rest of the lock’s body. “It most likely broke off a