“She looks like she’s on something,” Cody whispered. “I wouldn’t count her as totally credible, Felicity.”

When Blythe returned a moment later, she unwrapped something and popped it in her mouth. “Sorry, I have a bad cold. Don’t worry—it’s not COVID.” She sucked on what I now realized was a throat lozenge.

Annnnd I had officially dropped to a new low. She wasn’t on drugs; the poor girl was sick.

“Is there anything else? ’Cause I need to get back to bed. I have a gymnastics competition coming up and I’m trying to get better before then.”

“You do gymnastics?”

Blythe couldn’t help but detect my judgmental tone but was too polite to embarrass me.

“I’m no Simone Biles, though that girl is everything to me. What she can do with her body…I can only dream. Sucks that she got the twisties at the Olympics. Been there, done that.” She grinned self-effacingly. “But yeah, I’ve loved gymnastics ever since I was two. Won nationals with my floor routine, and was runner-up on the balance beam. I used to want to try out for the Olympics, but…well…it’s expensive. My mom works, like, three jobs just to pay for my training now. Though I’ve been offered a college scholarship already, so it’ll be worth it.”

Wow. A true athlete. And college-bound. I couldn’t believe how wrong I had been about her. I had been so quick to judge her outside I hadn’t even bothered to see who she was.

“Thank you for your time, Blythe. And good luck with your competition. I appreciate you being a good friend to Vera.”

“She was a good friend to me too. Every day I worry about her and pray she comes home. Can I give you my cell phone number in case you hear something?”

“Of course, Blythe.”

Blythe held her palm out. It took a moment for me to realize she wanted my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to her, then she boldly navigated her way to my contacts and typed in her info. “Text me anytime. And when Vera comes home…I want to do something special to celebrate. Because she’s coming home, Mrs. Portman. I still believe that.”

“Me too, sweetie.” As she passed me back my phone, I remembered what I wanted to ask her. “Real quick. That tattoo—what does it mean?”

She glanced down at her wrist.

“Oh, Vera designed this for our matching tattoos. It’s the Celtic symbol for courage. I know it’s, like, cliché, but we thought it was pretty.”

“I’m sorry, did you say that you and Vera both got a tattoo?”

“Yeah, Vera begged me to do it with her. My mom agreed to let me get one as long as Vera got your permission too.”

I absolutely did not.