First message
You were unloading groceries from your trunk when a car pulled up next door. An expensive car.
A blonde stepped out in designer heels and headed straight for the house without looking around.
Wait. Either the neighbors had hired an escort, or…
“Lissa?” you called out in surprise. “Is that you?”
The blonde turned and looked at you like you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“Melissa. It’s time you learned my name,” she said, dragging out her words.
You were stunned. Your childhood best friend, the tomboy who used to steal chocolate bars with you and drink beer behind the shed, was almost unrecognizable. Her old sneakers and oversized T-shirts had been replaced by designer clothes, platinum-blonde extensions, and a completely different figure. Even her face had changed.
Four years, and she looked like a different person. She’s twenty-three now.
“You’ve been gone for four years. I just wanted to say hi.”
“Well, hi,” she said, turning and walking inside.
What the hell was that?