Hunter laughs, a quick bark. “Bro, that’s the best part! Even if he figures it out, he looks like a tool for believing it. It’s win-win. Either he gets pranked, or he moves on, or both.” He picks up my coffee, sips it, and makes a face. “Damn, you drink it blacker than my soul.”
I slide my cup away from him, just to have something to do with my hands. “Don’t you think this is kind of… mean?”
Hunter raises an eyebrow. “You think he doesn’t deserve it? After the shit he’s pulled with, like, every girl on campus? You’re just lucky he didn’t take a selfie with your wig as proof. Besides, it’s not like you’re stepping up to claim the title.”
There’s a sick logic to it, and I hate that he’s right. I’ve spent a week avoiding the fallout, letting the story outpace me at every turn. But the idea of using Natalie as a decoy makes my skin crawl.
I glance up. “She’s okay with it? Really?”
“She’s more than okay. She’s hyped. She even borrowed Sara’s lipstick to match the party pics.” Hunter lowers his voice, a conspirator again. “All you gotta do is lay low for a few more days. Once it goes public, the legend of Jessica dies with dignity.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “And what if Aaron finds out it’s fake? Or worse, finds out about me?”
Hunter grins, unrepentant. “Then you got yourself a new legend. Either way, you’re free. Just enjoy the show for once, will you?”
He stands, stretching, and claps me on the shoulder. “Relax, Monty. Sometimes the only way out is through.”
He leaves before I can argue, swept back into the tide of bodies at the counter.
I sit there, staring at the surface of my coffee, feeling the churn in my stomach as the story spins further out of my control.
Across the room, the fake fireplace flickers, orange light trapped in a loop. I wonder what it would feel like to be someone who didn’t mind playing with fire.
I drink the last inch of espresso, bitter as regret, and wait for the next disaster to ignite.
—ΠΩ—
The next day, I can’t bring myself to go near The Grind. Every time I think about the plan—about Natalie showing up in a red dress, about Aaron’s face when he recognizes her—I get this acid reflux spike in the back of my throat. I lurk two blocks away at the science library, headphones in but nothing playing, clicking reload on Hunter’s group chat like it’s an EKG.
He’s live-texting the disaster, minute by minute.
10:05: He’s early. Hair actually combed for once. Looks like he’s gonna hurl.
10:08: She’s here. Lipstick on point. They just did the awkward hug.
10:09: Dude he bought her a muffin. Blueberry. Is that symbolic or am I broken?
10:12: Talking. Can’t hear but she’s laughing a lot, like, A LOT. His face is ???
10:14: Oh shit. She’s pulling out the Big Lie.
10:16: Wait—he’s not buying it.
10:17: He looks… sad? Like, not mad, just crumpled.
10:18: He’s leaving. She’s sitting alone now.
Hunter’s commentary freezes me in my chair. There’s a photo attached to the last message: Aaron, backpack slung over one shoulder, pushing out through the coffee shop’s doubledoors. His face is weirdly blank, like he’s had the wind knocked out of him but doesn’t want to show it.
Sara sends me a single text:Are you okay?
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I scroll up and reread the play-by-play, picturing the scene: Natalie in the red dress, posture perfect, running lines in her head. Aaron across from her, every cell in his body tuned to disappointment.
I cycle through the versions in my head: what if Natalie had pulled it off, what if Aaron believed her, what if the legend ended neatly with a handshake and a blueberry muffin. None of it lands right. I know, deep down, that the only ending that fits is the one where everyone loses.
My phone buzzes with a new message—this time from Natalie herself. It’s a selfie, her in the dress, holding up a peace sign, the caption: “#GotHim.” There’s a link underneath, a campus account already running with the story.
I click it, and there’s a video—just a few seconds long, but enough. Natalie, sitting at the table, talking too loud on purpose. “I just felt such a connection with you in that closet, you know?” She over-enunciates every word, eyes darting to the camera as if she can see herself reflected there.
