“Our Jolin just has a habit of speaking her mind—she means well, though. Once you get to know her, you’ll see for yourself!”
“Ms. Farley is refreshingly honest and lively. It’s quite rare these days.”
Sylvia chatted easily with Mrs. Farley, while Greg laughed and drank with the friends they’d invited to join them that evening.
About five minutes later, Mrs. Farley noticed something was off with Jolin. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes unfocused, and her body was trembling uncontrollably.
“Jolin, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Farley’s voice was full of concern.
“I—” Jolin tried to speak, but instead a soft, unsteady sound escaped her lips. She braced her hands on the arms of her chair, trying to stand.
A man in a gray polo shirt, seated nearby, noticed and reached out to help. “Ms. Farley doesn’t look well!”
The moment he touched her, Jolin lost all control and clung desperately to him, her actions shockingly intimate. The entire room froze in disbelief.
Mrs. Farley’s face changed immediately. She shot up from her seat, hurried over, and pulled Jolin away, whispering urgently, “What’s going on?”
Jolin grabbed a glass of iced lemonade from the table, her hands shaking as she drank, some of the liquid spilling down her front. The coldness seemed to clear her head a little. Gritting her teeth, she glared furiously at Sylvia. “You bitch—you switched the drinks!”
Sylvia’s expression was cool and unreadable. “Ms. Farley, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jolin hurled her glass at Sylvia with a furious yell. “It was you!”
Sylvia simply tilted her head. The glass whistled past, barely grazing her hair, and shattered against the wall with a sharp, splintering crash.
It was as if the noise snapped everyone out of their stupor.
Greg shot to his feet. “Jolin!”
Jolin clung to Mrs. Farley, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood, her voice trembling. “It was her—she switched the drinks. That glass was supposed to be hers!”
“What drink?” Mrs. Farley gasped.

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