HALEY PULLED ON A pair of black skinny jeans, rainbow-striped socks, a pink top and a black sweater. Her short hair — jet black and pink this week — hung over her eyes. Two black rings pierced her lower lip. Haley's face was a little chubby, with pale skin marked by light freckles, not like her mother or grandmother, whose faces are defined by their high cheekbones.
Her grandmother, Karina Kayser, looks young enough to be Haley's mother. She participated in triathlons and wished Haley would try sports. Unlike acting and writing, sports had never been Haley's thing. During an entire semester of Thursday night roller-skating with Karina, Haley only let go of the outside wall once, which ended in a trip to the hospital for a hurt wrist. She tried bowling for a season, but never bowled over a 100, and held her pants up with one hand while she bowled with the other.
The morning of March 29, 2009, Haley was at her apartment in Everett, Wash., where she lived with her mother, Serenity Salvador, and sometimes Serenity's boyfriend. It was the Sunday before spring break, marked by a gray sky and drizzle. She promised her mom she would check in later and left on foot to a friend's house.
That night, I killed her.
