Chapter 1
I cannot make this more clear: I am not the killer.
It’s just a classic case of a misunderstanding between a girl and her ex. It’s also important to note at this point that my ex was not the victim; he was the jackass investigating.
If I were ever going to commit a murder, it would have been three years ago, and I would have corrected his role to that of the silent body dead on the floor. Or possibly at the bottom of a canyon.
Given the number of people who must break up on a daily basis, the fact that more than most end with at least one disgruntled party, and the distinct lack of homicidal chaos reigning our cities, I can only assume most parties deal with it as I did: by shoving their more violent impulses into the no-go lane of their minds and focusing on developing new hobbies.
I had been a teacher for only one year when I found myself confronting a future alone in an unfamiliar town. His town. I had taken this position for him. Surviving the first year of teaching was the only milestone anyone seemed to care about, but I was far from having mastered the art. I was emotionally spent from fighting to hold onto a relationship that just kept slipping further and further away the tighter I held on.
My pocketbook hadn’t been prepared to buy decor to hide the cement wall of my classroom. I was sincerely shocked to find out that as a matter of fact, a student could say no to my face. At worst, I was overly professional in my determination to wear heels on day one, and my feet sorely regretted the decision. At best, I found myself fearing that every moment was just the calm that sits at the eye of every storm. My ex said that I was too invested. He suggested maybe I would have been happier elsewhere. As in, not in the town where he was living. In hindsight, he was probably pushing me to break up with him long before I did.
My nostrils barely above metaphorical water and completely crushed by a break-up, I decided to give teaching one more year before completely turning my back on the profession. After all, if I was going to be a miserable workaholic, I imagined I could find a career that was at least profitable, but my four-year degree, crippling debt, and distinct emotional instability for change convinced me to at least try one more time. Afterall, he left town when I didn’t, so I needn’t fear running into him and a new girlfriend. However, as that second year ended, I gave myself another. If not for the money, then for the kids.
Although at this point, I can’t be sure one of my students isn’t a cold-blooded killer framing me for their crime. They’re always at their most ingenious when it’s something they definitely shouldn’t be doing after all.
