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I said calmly, "We're not close."
The person on the phone got excited:
"Did you finally cut her off? I've been wanting to tell you—Jessica always talked behind your back. Said you were selfish and looked down on her."
"Remember your lost Bichon Frise? I saw Jessica take it to the office bathroom, torture it, and flush it down the toilet."
"You were so good to her. You brought her lunch every day. She didn't deserve it. I'm glad you're done with her."
I paused, remembering my dog.
I'd been frantic, searching everywhere, afraid it had been taken by abusive people.
I cried for days. Jessica pretended to comfort me, said the dog would come back.
But she was the murderer.
I'd been blind. My poor dog suffered because of me.
My hatred grew.
I spent the next few days with my parents and Lucas, between labs at school.
I was waiting. Letting things play out.
Then one day, Jessica showed up at my school.
She wore long pants, a high-neck long-sleeve shirt, a hat, and a mask—covered completely.
She walked with a limp.
I asked with fake concern.
She said the mask was for a rash, the limp from a fall.
I knew the Siren King had done this, but I played along, looking sympathetic.
She seemed shaken. She grabbed my hand weakly:
"Wendy, I need your help. My mermaid isn't adjusting to land. He won't eat or drink. He seems sick, weak."
"You study marine biology. Please, help me save him."
