“Barney-Barney-Barney plops,” Pip sang, both the dog’s front paws in her hands as they danced around the dining table.

Her mom entered with a dish of roasted potatoes, placing them on a trivet on the table. “Get your brother, Pips?” she said, leaving the room.

“Josh! Dinner’s ready,” Pip called.

“Well, I could have done that,” her mom said, returning with a steaming bowl of broccoli and peas, a small knob of butter melting on top. Pip went to help her dad carry in the plates and the roast chicken, Josh sidling in behind them.

“You finish your homework, sweetie?” Pip’s mom asked Josh as they all took their seats at the table. Barney’s place was on the floor beside Pip, waiting for her to drop bits of food when her parents weren’t looking.

Josh nodded, already loading up his plate, and she turned to Pip next, her fork pointed at her. “And when’s the deadline for sending in your application?”

“November first,” Pip said. “I’m going to try to send it in early, though; maybe end of next week.”

“Have you started your personal essay yet? You want to give yourself plenty of time.”

“There’s still time. And when am I ever not on top of things, Mom?” Pip said, spearing a piece of overgrown broccoli. “If I ever miss a deadline, it will be because the apocalypse has started.”

“OK, sweetie. Just don’t spread yourself too thin.”

Pip’s phone chimed loudly from her pocket, making Barney jump and her mom scowl.

“No phones at the table,” she said.

“Sorry. Just putting it on silent.”

It could very well be the start of one of Cara’s lengthy monologues sent line by line, a chaotic scramble of buzzing and dinging. Or maybe it was Ravi. The thought almost made her smile, but she fought it, knowing her dad would ask, What’s so funny? She pulled out the phone to flick it to silent, looking down at the screen.

The blood drained from her face.

All the heat rushed down her back, churning in her stomach and pushing her dinner back up.

“Pip?”

“Uh…I…have to use the bathroom,” she said, jumping up from her chair with her phone in hand, almost tripping over the dog.

She darted from the room and across the hall. Her thick woolen socks slipped out under her on the polished oak and she fell, catching her weight on one elbow.

“Pippa?” her dad called.

“I’m OK,” she said, picking herself up. “Just slipped.”

She shut the bathroom door behind her and locked it. Slamming the toilet lid down, she turned shakily to sit, phone between both hands. She opened the new message.

You stupid bitch. Leave this alone while you still can.

From “Unknown.”