The toaster clicks as Dad pushes down the lever, sliding a slice of bread into the single slot. "Hey Abby, how do you and Fen like Miss Wanda so far?" he asks casually, taking his seat and glancing at the staircase. I shrug, taking a sip of chocolate milk. "She's fine, I guess. Mom looks up from her coffee, sensing my unease. "What happened, honey?" "Well," I start, staring at the table. "Things were going okay. Miss Wand's was nice. But then she asked Fen to do his homework." "Okay?" Mom asks, eyebrows raised. "He said no." Mom sighs, shaking her head. "Of course he did. He really needs to do his homework." "Agreed," Dad mutters as the toaster pops. He grabs the toast and freezes, holding it up. "Huh. Sorry, Abby, this one got a bit burned." Some black crumbs fall to the table as he tries to rub them off. I look at the slice. The scorch marks at the top and side almost form an L-shape. "It's fine," I tell him, not wanting to cause a problem. Dad laughs, "Guess there’s a new toaster in our future," and passes the gleaming silver toaster over to Mom. She smiles and slips her bread in before pressing the lever down. "So," she says, turning back to me, "what else happened?" "Well, after that, she asked Fen to do the dishes. It was his turn after lunch. But he wouldn’t do it." Dad frowns. "I'll need to have a talk with him." The toaster pops, and Mom takes her toast. She doesn't see even glance at it as she spreads butter over the top, but I notice hers is burnt as well—three vertical burn marks. They stand out against the golden brown surface. Mom nudges me. "Go on." "Sure. So then she said, ‘Fenix, please turn down the volume’, because the TV was really loud. He had this metal band he was watching.” "A metal band?" Dad cuts in, looking amused. "Really?" "Yeah, and I thought it was, like, pieces of aluminum foil playing music or something," I say, a little sheepish. "Miss Wand laughed when I said that. So did Fen. But then he showed me the band playing their shiny instruments." Dad chuckles. "That's funny.” I grin then continue. "He said he wanted to 'be metal' someday." Mom snorts into her coffee. "Metal? He's got a long way to go with his guitar playing.” After a pause, she looks upstairs, “is he still sleeping I wonder?” Calling out, she commands, “Fen, come down to breakfast!” "I told him that too, that he needs to work on his playing," I say with a grin. “So she asked him to lower it, but he just refused.” Mom sets her mug down and leans forward. “That kid. He’s supposed to set the example for you, Abby.” I just stare. Looking upstairs again, she adds, “Did she punish your brother at all?" "Nope, not one bit.” I lie. “I did tell her I wouldn't mind if she did. Like giving you guys time out. As long as she didn't, like, get physical or anything." Mom mutters, getting an eyebrow raise from Dad. "Huh. I thought she told me she had a way with kids. Almost like magic, the way she gets them to behave." As Mom opens her mouth to respond, the toaster pops. Dad's toast is pitch black except for two lines on the side and a single line down the middle. He sighs and tosses it aside. "Can you pass me another slice hun," he grumbles. He slides in the fresh piece of bread, while the aroma of burnt toast starts to fill the kitchen. "Be right back. Just gonna grab the Febreze," Mom says, standing up. She heads upstairs, and I hear her bare feet creak on the carpeted floor above. After a few more creaks, she suddenly shouts. "FEN IS GONE!" Dad shoots up from his chair and bolts upstairs. I'm left sitting at the table, the burned toast still in front of me. My heart races as I hear them moving around upstairs, opening doors, calling his name. I pick up the slices of toast. There's something strange about them. The marks almost look like letters. An L on mine. An I or H on Dad's burned one. And on Mom's, the vertical lines—could they be an E? I shift them around, trying to make a word. Lie? The toaster pops again, and I glance at Dad's newest slice. I stare, my breath catching in my throat. The burn marks on this one are unmistakable. I rearrange the slices with this new one and it hits me like a bag of Lego bricks. "Mom! Dad!" I yell, my voice shaking. Their footsteps thunder down the stairs. "What is it, Abigail?!" Dad exclaims, his voice tight. I point at the toast, tears welling in my eyes. "I know where Fen is." Mom kneels beside me. "Tell me baby? Where is he?" I choke out the words. "Fen… Fen is here. The table." For a moment, they just stare at me. Then Dad says, frowning, "Abby, that's—“ "No, I'm serious!" I cut him off, “it was Miss Wand. S-she said she was g-going to teach him a lesson.” I sniffle, on the verge of tears. “She told me that I had to l-leave the room. But I saw her. She was waving a wooden stick around and talking nonsense. And there was a big flash,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath as the words pour out of me. “What did she do, Abigail? You can tell us.” Mom stares at the toast, and I see it the moment it clicks for her. Her face pales, and she whispers, "Oh my God!” Dad stares at her, his mouth open, but no sound comes out. Mom looks at the toaster. Her hand trembles as she reaches out to touch it. "Fen?" she whispers. “Nance, what’re you doing? Where’s Fenix?” Dad blurts out, confused. Mom looks up at him, tears in her eyes, before turning her gaze back to the four slices of toast in front of me. Dad stares at the burn marks—then gasps, realization dawning on him. Clenching his fists, he says the word aloud: HELP.