I knew those things too.
Or at least, I told myself I did.
Around five that afternoon, I heard the front door open.
“Hey, sweetheart!” I called from my laptop. “Did Grandma spend all my money?”
Normally, Tessa would’ve shouted something back.
Instead, I heard quick footsteps crossing the hallway.
I looked up just in time to see her heading for the stairs.
She was wearing a huge gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled tightly around her head.
It was nearly ninety degrees outside.
“Tessa?”
She kept walking.
I pushed my chair back.
“Why are you wearing a hoodie?”
“I’m cold.”
She didn’t look at me.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
Tessa was a terrible liar.
Not because she couldn’t invent a story, but because she always stopped looking at me when she did.
I followed her upstairs.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed when I entered, her knees pulled against her chest.
“Tess.”
“I’m tired, Mom.”
“Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
Then I saw them.
Tiny brown hairs were scattered across the shoulder of her sweatshirt.
My stomach tightened.
“Tessa.”
She went completely still.
