Janice picked up another rock, this one much bigger and heavier than the last. She swung her arm back and—CRASH! The rock hit the bottle alright, but instead of falling backwards like all the others had, this one fell to the side—right into another bottle, which in turns fell into the pie. KERSPLAT ! Apple pie alamode, with a side of broken bottle to go with it.

Janice’s mother heard the noise and, assuming the worst, rushed into the kitchen. Upon discovering the ruins of what had formerly been a very appetizing specimen of apple pie, her expression of worry turned almost immediately into one of annoyance, and then-upon seeing us-anger.

“Janice…â€? I could tell this was going to be bad. She was using her ‘you’re in trouble’ voice. “What happened to the pie?â€?

“Lyssa did it!â€? Janice cried, pointing her finger at me immediately.

My jaw dropped—what? I did not. I turned towards her, expecting to see her familiar smile and hear her laugh—this must be a joke.