Chapter 3: Fake FriendThey Mocked The Wrong Girl

The orientation ended at five, and the broadcasting club was still playing. I avoided the throng and waited inside the abandoned art room beside Bamboo Park. The dusty window on the second floor gave a perfect vantage point over the whole low-lying garden.

…

At quarter past five, Wendy and a dozen people entered the park. She was wearing full makeup and a fitted floral dress, and she took up the place of leadership. "Move it, people. In your position.

"Harold, get some guys and hide behind the fake mountain. Best vantage there. Winona, hide under the wisteria pergolas, and turn on silent mode. Make sure the flash isn't on."

I watched them spread out and took cover, while Harold took out a bluetooth speaker. "I got the sound effects right here, Wendy. Elephant footsteps and trumpets. It'll be a blast."

He pressed play, and the dull sounds reverberated in the park.

Claire stood on the edge of the pergola, frowning. "This is going too far, Wendy. We're all at the same university. You don't have to push her to the edge."

Wendy's smile disappeared, and she turned to Claire. "Trying to be a saint, are you? She's the one who promised to do this. She wants fame, so I'm helping her. Besides, we're just here to witness the passion of youth. This isn't a prank."

She really could twist anything into a different story. I never doubted that for a second. Claire clenched her teeth and said nothing, then she hid in the shadows.

Wendy sneered and hung the pink tutu dress on the pavilion's pillar. "I'll make her wear this when she shows up." She gestured toward Harold. "She listens to me. All I have to do is cry a little, and she'll do as I say."

…

At five-forty, footsteps rustled at the entrance of Bamboo Park. The whispering crowd immediately went silent and ducked deeper into their hiding places.

In came Jonathan. He sported a black shirt and was holding an unsealed pack of cat food. Tall and lean, he moved quietly through the park. Several stray cats emerged from the bushes and wound themselves around his ankles as though they had known him for years.

Jonathan crouched down and poured out the food. The late-afternoon sunlight fell across his face, sharpening every line of his features.

He got up and scanned the pavilion, and his eyes rested on the pink tutu dress for a moment. He then looked at the fake mountain, where someone's phone's camera was reflecting the light. A frown creased his forehead, and the look in his eyes turned cold.

Wendy quickly stepped in and pretended this was a chance encounter. "What a coincidence, Jonathan." She flipped her hair and put on a smile. Jonathan did not look at her. His eyes were still on the reflection.

"What are you doing?" His voice was flat.

Wendy's smile stiffened.

Then, almost instantly, concern replaced it. "Here's the thing."

She stepped forth and said in a low voice, "My best friend Emilia—you know, the girl from the confession wall—wants to confess to you today. You know she's insecure and sensitive about her size."

Wendy sighed. Her eyes reddened at just the right moment. "Everyone's hiding to encourage her. She's fragile. When she shows up, can you…" She bit her lip. "Can you reject her gently? I don't want the rejection to hurt her too much. She might do something extreme."

It was a perfect request, and she made sure Jonathan had to play according to her . Jonathan looked at the woman who was playing the act of a concerned friend. He said nothing and checked his watch.

"When is she coming?"

That stunned Wendy. She answered without thinking, "Six."

Jonathan nodded and sat on the bench under the pergola. "I'll be waiting right here."