At first, I thought that Jessica was really smart. She remembered all of our customers’ names at Magic Lantern Toys and if there was a random question that came up, she was always the first to educate us on it due to her time spent researching for her crossword puzzles. She was really good at them. If there was a crossword championship, she would probably win.

She said she used to be a professor in the army and I didn't know what she taught, but she said it with enough confidence that I believed her. Maybe she taught military history or some sort of a class on using psychological warfare in a combat setting. Jessica had a scar on the left side of her face. She said she got it while in service.

I’d started to wonder if Jessica was a compulsive liar.

Not long after, I heard her tell a customer that she got it while climbing a wire fence after destroying the picnic table at the community beach that she lived on because her neighbors had barred her and her family from accessing it. They said it was because she didn’t pay her HOA dues.

I asked her about it during our lunch break. Her scar, that is. Not her HOA.

“Oh, well. I had a scar there before and then I rescarred my scar,” she told me, taking a sip from her Minions mug. “Did you know that when a red-head scars, it’s more likely to develop into a keloid scar? That’s why my face caught on the fence. My scar was raised a bit higher than if you were to have a scar in the same place.”

I touched the bumpy side of my face and was grateful that I wasn’t a redhead. I already had thin lips and a nose that looked like the milky coffee drip falling off the side of Jessica's mug. I didn’t need my acne to develop into keloid scars on top of it all.

I spent half the night looking at different pictures of keloid scars on Google images. They kind of looked like if a giant earthworm was living under your skin. That’s not what I thought Jessica’s face looked like though. Her scar looked more like a crescent moon woven from mahogany thread. When Jessica smiled, the moon stretched out ever so slightly like it was waning. During our shifts together, her scar waxed and waned depending on her mood.

When I came to work the next day, Jessica was stocking these stuffed dragons that had giant purple eyeballs and tongues that stuck out too far. “I used to have one of these, but it was real.”

“You had a dragon?” Of course I didn’t think that she actually had a dragon, but I was shocked that she would even claim that she did. I punched my ID into our POS system and waited for my first customer to arrive while Jessica continued stocking.

“No, not a dragon. Well, kind of. It was a flying lizard. I had three of them.”

Jessica didn't know this because she hadn't asked, but I happened to be somewhat of a lizard enthusiast. In fact, I had applied to three different universities to begin my journey as a herpetologist. A herpetologist is someone who studies reptiles or amphibians. It’s not that other thing that you might be thinking. The first time I told my sister about my career goals she thought that I was going to take over as the woman who gives the STD talks at the high school. She laughed so hard she choked on her own spit. It was because of this that I stopped telling people what I wanted to go to school for.

I was startled from my thoughts by a man with a dark receding hair line and a chin that wobbled when he talked. “That’s impossible.” He set his Lego set on the counter. It was a replica of Notre-Dame with a $300 price tag.

“What’s impossible?” Jessica asked, plopping the last dragon stuffed animal on to the display.

“You can’t own a flying lizard,” the man informed her, taking his credit card out of a weathered black wallet. “It’s illegal. Actually, they only live in forests and they aren’t even domesticated.”

Jessica shrugged, but I could see her face beginning to heat up. Her crescent moon barely showed up against her blotchy red cheeks. “Well, my mom gave them to me for my birthday. I don’t know how or where she got them, but I had them for years.”

“What kind of an enclosure did you have for them?” The man asked, turning to roll his eyes at me. I wished I didn’t have to witness Jessica’s embarrassment.

“I don’t know. It was just a tank.”

“Liar,” the man barked out a laugh. “If you kept them in a normal sized tank, they wouldn’t have survived a month - let alone years. Even zookeepers find it difficult to keep them.”

Everything he said was correct. He knew he was right, I knew he was right, and Jessica knew he was right.

Her face cringed into a smile and her crescent moon was pulled forcibly backwards. “Well, I guess I must have been doing something correctly. Maybe I should be a zookeeper.” She shrugged again, looking manic in her attempt to look like she didn’t care if this man thought she was telling the truth or not. She brushed at her hair, but her movements were too quick. Her fingers fumbled awkwardly and hit a snarl.

“Actually, there’s a new study out showing the reason they haven’t survived that great in captivity is because people give them too much space.” The words fell out of my mouth. I was surprised that the lie came so easily.

If Jessica was surprised, she didn't say it. She just nodded. “It’s because their wings are so fragile. They damage them really easily if they’re given too much space.”

“That’s a lie. You’re both lying.”

“Sir,” I swallowed, bunching my hands into fists at my side and willing my voice to steady itself. “If you keep insulting our staff, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man looked at his Lego set and then looked from me to Jessica. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “Just ring me up. I don’t have time for this.”

Jessica grinned at me from across the dragons, her face a triumphant eclipse. I decided that I would tell her about my acceptance letter to the University of California as soon as the man cashed out.

I wanted Jessica to be all of the things she thought of herself and I wanted her to think incredible things about me too.