Page 26 of Wide-Eyed
CHAPTER 7
LYSSA
“Am I hallucinating? Tell me I’m hallucinating. You’re where?”
Caroline’s glamorously made-up face filled my phone screen, her eyes wide and incredulous. Her bubble-gum pink hair was tucked under the satin scarf she used when she set her hair in pin curls, which meant she had a show tonight. I hoped it was her sexy mechanic act—that was my favorite of all her routines. She’d strip off her boiler suit and gyrate greasily over one lucky volunteer. I’d filmed this act once and it was still one of my best performing videos. Even my archnemesis Danilla De’Angerous hadn’t been able to replicate the success of that video, and she ripped off all my other top performing content.
“I’m sitting on the fence in the field behind Mike’s garage.” I panned my phone and showed her.
I’d come outside to show Mini M to my followers, but he was studiously ignoring me. The harder I tried to entice him over, the more he ignored me. Kind of like his dad.
“You really are in Aotearoa? I half thought Mike was joking.”
“Mm hmm.” I tried for nonchalance. “I think I mentioned this in a text or something …?”
We both knew this was a lie.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were going to get on a flight and fly to my hometown? Honestly, Lyssa, what were you thinking? What about Root Beer?”
“Oh yeah!” I snapped my fingers. “I need to talk to you about him?—”
Caroline cut me off with a gasp. “You left Root Beer without food? Lyssa, it’s been days. You should have asked me to look after him! You should have answered my calls! You can’t take impromptu vacations when you have an animal you’re responsible for!”
I was stunned into silence.
My best friend honestly thought I would leave my cat without food or water while I flew to another country.
Caroline often acted like she was my minder and I was a helpless eccentric. I didn’t usually mind. It was nice to be coddled. I even played into it. Sometimes she was impatient with me—the same way that everyone who enjoyed object permanence and the ability to finish a thought without a new thought interrupting it were with those of us who lacked those happy abilities. Such was the burden of being a spicy-brained queen. But Caroline loved me and said so often, which made me feel special and precious.
Except today I was discovering she thought I was ditzy enough to kill my cat.
Hurt flattened my voice. “Root Beer is staying with Marguerite. She runs a pet sitting business in our neighborhood—I guess my neighborhood since you moved—and has looked after him a couple times before. He likes her. I was just going to ask if you could go and visit him sometimes. He misses you, and as much as he likes Marguerite, I think having his godmother stop by and give him kisses would be good.”
“Oh.” Caroline looked shamefaced. “Yes, of course. I leaped to conclusions.”
“Yes.” I pouted, hoping for some coddling.
“Lyssa, sweet honey bee, I’m worried about you.”
Recently, Caroline and I had agreed that extravagant nicknames would be our thing. Hearing one from her lips, I immediately felt better.
“I’m fine, thank you, Caroline, my sweet Cap’n Crunch of burlesque.”
“I don’t believe you. Lyssa, what’s going on? Tell me.”
Picking at a run in my pink polka-dot tights, I hesitated. It wasn’t possible to put this conversation off any longer, but trying to put it into words made my throat ache.
“I didn’t tell you much about why my internship ended, did I?”
“You know you didn’t. Whenever I asked, you changed the subject.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“Lyssa.”
“What?”
