“How could she-”
Ashley trailed off. Her mascara was running; her eyes were glossy white pools amidst black clouds. Under the solitary kitchen light, she sobbed like a suspect in questioning. Her elbows rested on the kitchen table and she leaned desperately into her palms, fistfuls of blonde hair in each hand.
“Oh, Ash,” replied Gwen softly, pulling a seat.

Laid out between them, the yearbook was open to Ashley’s page. Playful cursive and hearts filigreed the white space. It was a monument to Ashley’s popularity.

The problem was that the word “BITCH” was scrawled across both pages. Looked like lipstick. Puncture marks had been poked in Ashley’s eyes so that she looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

“Who – who did this?” asked Gwen, spinning the book.
“Rebecca did.”
“What?” Gwen asked. Rebecca barely knew Ashley.
“Well, I’m going to say it was Rebecca, I mean.”

Ashley smiled up through her wretched, painted face. She opened her hand to reveal the lipstick. Gwen gasped.

“So, was I believable?”