Today's story reminds me of a simple fable from Japan.

A young crab becomes utterly frantic when the tide retreats, convinced the sea is disappearing

forever.

The older crabs calmly wait, knowing the tide always returns.

That's the power of inexperience. The prism of adolescence makes things like fitting in or

getting the right invitation seem way more intense, way scarier, or way more important than they

really are.

But what happens when that teenage panic, that conviction that the tide is never coming back,

drive someone to a permanent, unthinkable act?

This is a story about the devastating cost of misplaced desire for belonging,

amplified by the panic of youth and the tragic final price paid by an innocent girl.

I'm Harvey Guillen, and this is Killer Stories. It's 1984 in the wealthy town of Orinda, California.

Well, that means popping your collar on your IZOT shirt, getting those bangs nice and

crunchy, and jettling around in your beamer.

Well, nestled in the Berkeley Hills, Orinda is full of picture-perfect homes along manicured streets. If you live here, you've made it.

But there's this underlying sense that if you want to really belong, you have to look the part, especially if you're a student at

Miramonte High School, a microcosm of the richest little town in America.

The students drive better cars than teachers.

There's justice for you.

Walking the halls is like stepping into a Lacoste catalog.

To a lot of kids here, nothing is more important than getting in with the right click.

That determines your status.

...