"Are you cold, Ana?"

I must have been rubbing my hands up and down my arms for a second too long.

"Here."

I could see the bottom of her light blue bra as she peeled her sweatshirt over her head. She quickly pulled down her blouse and handed me the hoodie.

"Thanks."

It was plain black, decorated with the picture of a red rosehead, and it smelled like her. Each person seems to have their own unique scent, and this sweatshirt was filled with Amelia's. I liked the smell.

That night she came through my bedroom window, but I was already awake. She sat by my side and told me that her parents were yelling all night again and that she feared they would kill each other. She cried into my shoulder. I was still wearing her sweatshirt. She told me that even though she'd only known me a couple months, I was the best person she knew.

Then she pulled a plastic bag out from under her shirt and told me it was her father's gun. She didn't want him to pull the trigger on her mother and asked to hide it here. I knew just the place.

In the morning she was gone. The feeling of her stringy hair against my cheek remained.

There was a loud knock on the door. My mom stood up and answered it. From the kitchen table I caught sight of the feds rushing into the house. Dad and I stood up as they shoved a piece of paper in front of my parents' faces.

"We have reason to believe a teenage serial killer was here last night. Goes by the name Andrea Green. Looks like this. We've been hunting her down for some time. Has anything happened in the last 24 hours that we should know about? Any visitors?"

"No, we've had no one over," said Mom. She bit her nails. I hadn't seen her do that since Evalyn was in the hospital.

"May we have a look around then?"

"O一of course."

The living room was thoroughly searched. Then the kitchen. Then my room.

I walked in with them and told them I didn't know anything. I didn't tell them about Amelia. She was Amelia一it was irrelevant. I had her father's gun and I had to protect her.

They were about to go, but the damn sleeve of Amelia's sweatshirt showed through that crack at the bottom of the wall. I swear I didn't leave it like that.

The feds spotted it. I had plastered the little door the night before so they had to smash the wall open to get through it. One of them held up the sweatshirt by the tips of his fingers as if it was a revolting object. He held it out at arms length to observe the whole thing.

Then all three faces turned in my direction.

"Andrea was wearing this."

The fed rushed back down to his knees and dug deeper inside the hole. There was nothing I could do. He found the gun.

They dragged me out of my own home with my hands cuffed behind my back. I kept screaming: "I'm not the serial killer! That picture looks nothing like me!"