I got home just in time for breakfast, feeling furious at Flo for introducing herself as Dolores to Sunny. The issue was that she was wearing that fake frog-lady disguise. I mean, the weather lady.

Sunny had dropped me off near home, and she had thanked him graciously, to which he responded by giving her his business card. He seemed like one of those social media influencers.

"I host parties at my villa every now and then; if you're interested, feel free to join us. We have about twenty regular attendees. You can find us on the chat platform; the link is there, and we'll be announcing the date of the next party soon. Cara handles the photos and maintains the site. You'll see, it's a diverse group of interesting people!"

That's what he had said to her.

Yeah, damn, I get invited to an interesting party once a year, and now I can't even go. How am I supposed to attend as Dolores with this face?

Flo didn't appreciate my grumbling. "First, you complain that I talk to him and get in his car, and now you're complaining that you can't go to the party!"

I sighed. Well, yes, she had a point, but it was still an infuriating situation.

After waving to Sunny as he drove off, she entered the park to find a secluded spot to perform her face-changing magic behind what she referred to as hiding mirrors. Once she was done, she left the park and reentered the house through the front door, now 'disguised' as Dolores.

As soon as we were inside, she gave me the lead and I promptly stumbled, unused to control my limbs. Chuckling at my own clumsiness, I kicked off my shoes and made my way to my room.

It didn't make sense to attempt to sneak in through the window; it was too late for that, and they had likely already checked my room. They knew I had been out.

"Dolores! Good morning!" Mrs. Robertson's cheerful voice greeted me from the kitchen, where it seemed everyone had gathered.

"Good morning!" I replied, returning the greeting.

My assumption was proven wrong; not everybody was in the kitchen. A grumpy voice chimed in from the opposite side: "Where have you been?"

Mr. Robertson, who was eyeing me with an inquisitive look, was seated on the living room's sofa.

"I was outside jogging," I answered.

"Aha, that's why I saw you getting out from a convertible 10 minutes ago?" Clara's voice rang out, catching me off guard.

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

The problem was, she had seen the other Dolores with the frog-lady's face exiting the convertible, not me. But that girl had been wearing my clothes. It was possible that someone else was dressed like me. Should I deny it was me, or should I accept it as true?

If Clara said she had seen me, then she must have thought it was me, regardless of the different face.

I decided to go along with it and accept that it was me.

"That was Sunny. He stopped for a chat and offered to drive me back home; I was too far away and would have been late for school," I explained.

"Are you going to school today?" Mrs. Robertson inquired.

“Yes, Mrs Robertson.”

“Hurry up then; you'll be late!”

That was Mr. Robertson again. He seemed to be in his Mr. Hyde form that day; he regularly had such bad days.

"Robert, let the girls make their timetable," Mrs. Robertson interjected, casting a reproachful glance at her husband, but he ignored her. He was absorbed in following the news and waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, Linda, watch the news!"

How could I bring up the subject of my driver's license into the conversation?

The atmosphere was tense; it was clear the girls were under stress. On any typical day, Clara and Lola would have bombarded me with questions until I spilled everything about Sunny. Now, they limited themselves to just a couple of caustic words, and that was all.

I headed to the bathroom and hurried up. I hadn't slept all night and felt exhausted. I took a short shower to rejuvenate myself.

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When I returned to the kitchen, the girls had already left for school.

Mr. Robertson commented absentmindedly, "You're late, Dolores," as he continued to watch the news.

Mrs. Robertson placed a plate piled high with small sandwiches in front of me.

Scotch woodcock sandwiches! I couldn't help but love them.

Mmm! It brought to mind Cala's in-game plate of sandwiches, even if this dish was smaller, with 'only' about fifteen small sandwiches on it, tailored for Dolores.

White bread topped with creamy scrambled eggs, each just the right size for a mouthful, adorned with sweet red pepper slices and delicate green parsley leaves scattered around. Anchovies gracefully crowned them, creating a symphony of colors and flavors!

That lifted my spirits tremendously. If I knew any laser beam spells, my round eyes would have instantly devoured them with concentrated beams.

"Yum, yum! Oh, Mrs. Robertson, thank you!" I exclaimed gratefully.

She gave me a concerned look. "You don't look well, Dolores. Are you sure you want to go to school?"

"If she can go jogging, she can go to school too," Mr. Robertson remarked coldly, still absorbed in watching the news.

"Linda, this is not normal!" Mr. Robertson suddenly exclaimed with an alarmed tone.

I looked up, afraid he was referring to my voracious consumption of the sandwiches, but to my relief, he was commenting on the news. With a satisfied sigh, I focused back on my sandwiches. I promised myself that if I ever went to heaven, I'd have Scotch woodcock sandwiches at least once a week.

Linda shrugged. "What is normal nowadays?"

"No, no, dear. This shit is way outside the norm," Mr. Robertson insisted.

"Robert!" Mrs. Robertson interjected.

Their conversation piqued my interest. They were talking about Bounty County.

The news on TV painted a different picture from what I had seen and heard at the police station. Here, they talked about a major spill incident involving chemical pollutants. Some speculated it was nuclear waste. As if that would be so difficult to verify?

Mr. Robertson seemed overwhelmed by the news. "The entire county has been closed! Imagine that! Not even one hundred kilometers from here, the whole county is under lockdown! Everyone leaving the area has to go through a camp to be checked for contaminants!"

"How could this happen?" Linda wondered aloud.

As I finished my plate, I headed towards my room to grab my schoolbag when Mrs. Robertson placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

“Dolores, you don't look well. Rest another day. I'll call the school to inform them,” she said.

Mr. Robertson protested with a snort, “But she was already outside jogging, Linda!”

Mrs. Robertson shook her head, “Shh, Robert. Yes, she was outside, but she doesn't feel well. The young girl would like to be active, but she is too pale.” She turned towards me. “No way am I letting you go to school like this. So, to your room, young lady!”

Feeling sheepish, I headed back to my room. I was relieved to be sent back to sleep, but I hadn't yet managed to talk about my driver's license. I knew I had to do it before things got too bad. With a sigh, I returned to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Robertson,

"Can I have a cocoa, please?"

She raised a brow inquiringly, but nodded. Usually, I made the cocoa myself. I shouldn't exaggerate by asking her to do things for me, but I used my 'being sick' bonus.

As I waited for my cocoa, I started our little conversation.

“Mr. Robertson, I was thinking of buying a bike. Can you recommend one that you think would be good for me?”

I knew he was a bike fan. He had an old bike that he drove proudly, making a lot of noise, once a year through the neighborhood. The rest of the year, whenever he had time, he polished and tuned it.

At first, he was very dismissive of me driving a bike: I'm too weak, bikes are heavy. Maybe if I buy an electric one. But those accelerate too fast. There are some small ones to have without a license that would be good, but I still must be careful. Why not a bicycle or a scooter?

"Yeah, but I want one with a license."

He wasn't wholly dismissive of that, but he focused on the license part. He explained what Clara and Lola did for the license. Then he added that you get a lot of responsibility with a permit. The subject obviously pained them, and he tried to cut it short. However, it was my time to say it:

“But I already have a license; that's why I want to buy a bike?”

I brought out my new license. There was a moment of silence in the kitchen. Mrs. Robertson was the first to realize the implications.

“YOU have a driver's license?”

I answered as normally as I could muster:

“Yes, since two weeks...”

Mr. Robertson took it feverishly in his hand and examined it, not believing his own eyes. The two looked at each other.

“This changes a couple of things!” he finally said.

I played the unknowing teen, raising my brows:

“I don't understand?”

Mrs. Robertson smiled at me:

“Don't worry, darling, I think this may help us. May we keep your driver's license for a moment? Robert would like to verify something. No, it is not about you. It is a different story. I'll give it right back to you. Now go to your room and sleep. We'll talk later!”

On the way to my room, I crossed my fingers. I hoped and prayed that White Flower did a good job. Oh, darn! A lot was suddenly in the balance.