18th October, 2024.
I should have been asleep – the next day was a school day, and tests didn't wait for anyone, not even girls who had just been to their classmate's funeral.
My phone was upside down on my nightstand, silent after the text barrage at the funeral; people asking if anyone else watched Jade Martinez break down during her eulogy, mascara streaming down her face as she called Mia her sister?
If I'd noticed how Ashley Cooper checked her phone, even when they lowered the casket into the ground? If anyone else saw Diana Peters slip away right afterward, only to reappear with red eyes and shaky hands?
The Holy Trinity, they called themselves. Mia's best friends since kindergarten. Now the whispers followed them along the Riverbrook High hallways: murderer, murderer, murderer.
The notification ping interrupted the silence.
My phone's unforgiving blue light lit up my cluttered bedroom, where I'd fallen, still in my funeral attire.
I jumped, my heart racing as I reached for my phone. Probably another message from the grief counselor Mom forced me to talk to, even though I'd barely known Mia. Though she'd barely known I existed until that night three months ago.
My phone fell from my abruptly numb fingers.
New Post by @MiaGeredy
I just stared for a moment. That wasn't possible. Her accounts had been shut down before the phone entered police custody– I'd seen Diana do it herself in front of the entire funeral, tears running down her face as she input Mia's password. "She'd want me to," she'd said. "She always said not to leave digital ghosts."
Ghosts.
I grabbed my phone with trembling hands and snapped.
My eyes grew wide as I read the posting. It was simple, just text on a black screen, but my blood froze in my veins:
"Who knew there was wifi in hell?"
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."
Another ping. Another posting:
"Promises made in the dark do not vanish with the dawn. Some debts continue to accrue interest. Some audience members are going to be participants in the play. Sweet dreams, girls. XOXO."
The timestamp said two minutes ago. The profile picture was of Mia from last month's pep rally, her blonde hair catching the stadium lights, her ocean green eyes crinkling with laughter.
My screen was filled with notifications as Riverbrook insomniacs discovered the postings. And then, cutting through the chaos, three distinct pings:
A message from Jade: "Are you watching this?"
From Ashley: "Somebody hacked into her account. Gotta be."
From Diana: "Don't respond. Any of you."
They had not texted in that group since that night three months ago. None of us has spoken about what happened since the incident. I had not intended to become involved in their lives. But that night, when I inadvertently saw something I was not supposed to – something about Mia and one of her friends that I could still not wrap my head around – I became a part of their story.
My fingers moved quicker than my mind could edit them, and I typed a response to the group: "How did they get her password?"
It was Diana who responded immediately: "They didn't. I did. I DEACTIVATED the account."
"Well, clearly you didn't." Jade shot back.
Another post interrupted us:
"The real question is: which one of you is going to crack first? Jade, with your perfect little family story? Ashley, with your family's special deliveries? Or Diana. Sweet, fragile Diana, who knows what happens when the mask of elegance slips."
Another post:
"Game time, girls. Three best friends, three dirty secrets. Who's first? Jade, do we discuss who you REALLY are? Ashley, do you want to tell us what REALLY sells? Or Diana. Oh, Diana. You and I both know what happens when you lose your temper, don't we?"
The comments and likes poured in. Even at 10 PM, no one in Riverbrook could handle drama. Particularly when it was about the death of the most popular girl in school.
Then came the final post:
"And don't forget about our little wallflower. The one who witnessed everything that night. Correct, Riley? Don't worry – your turn is coming."
My heart stopped.
Because only five people knew what I'd seen that night: me, Mia, and three of her friends. And one of them was dead.
"Meet me at school. Bleachers. Now. Or tomorrow, everyone finds out what happened that night. ALL of it. And trust me – none of you want that."
And then, three notifications appeared immediately. Private messages from Jade, Ashley, and Diana:
Jade: "Don't you dare come."
Ashley: "If you go, I'll DU."
Diana: "She meant Destroy You. And whatever you believe you saw that night. You didn't."
The clock read 10:17 AM. Mom was working night shift at Riverbrook General. Dad's sleeping pills were like a knockout punch; an earthquake would be the only thing to wake him. I could be at school in ten minutes.
This was stupid. Beyond stupid. This was horror-movie-protagonist stupid.
But when I yanked on my hoodie and retrieved my bike from the garage, I knew I had no choice. Since whoever was operating that account didn't just know what I'd witnessed – they also knew what had happened to Mia. The bit that made me consider perhaps I wasn't merely a witness.
Maybe, I was the reason for Mia ending up dead.
As I cycled down Riverbrook's empty streets, my phone vibrated with new notifications. Other kids had started replying to Mia's posts.
-
The school loomed before me, a dark form against the night sky filled with stars. The bleachers where Mia used to hold court with her three best friends stood empty now, gleaming silver in the moon's light.
As I walked closer, I found three individuals in black hoodies.
Jade. Ashley. Diana.
They'd gotten here first.
"What in the WWW is happening?" Ashley spoke first.
"Whole wide world," Diana answered after I gave Ashley a weirded look, and turned to Jade.
"If the police get to this Instagram account, and if this hacker isn't joking about shit, then..."
"I know, D." She then turned to me with icy, bloodshot eyes. For once, given the accusations against them, I was genuinely scared to be near my classmates.
"Didn't we tell you not to come here? What are you, 5?" Jade gritted her teeth.
"I came because I want answers," I said, my voice more steady than I was. "Don't pretend the three of you aren't just as afraid of what's going on."
Ashley let out a bitter laugh, running her manicured hands through her hair. "Afraid? Terrified is more like it. Someone's actually pretending to be our DBF."
DBF? Who talks like that?
"Dead best friend." Jade mentioned.
"Or perhaps," Diana spoke softly, "it's somebody who knows what took place that night."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the crickets held their breath.
"We promised never to discuss that," Jade retorted, though her voice shook a little.
"Including what she saw." She nodded her head in my direction without glancing at me.
"Well, obviously someone's speaking," I replied, folding my arms. "And they know things. Things about all of you."
"What did you see that night, Riley, exactly?" Ashley turned to me, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Since you've never really said. You just showed up at that party and then—"
"Wait," Diana cut in. "We can't do this here. Not now."
"Then when?" I pressed. "Because whoever is doing this is not just threatening you three. They're threatening me too. And unlike you, I don't even know what I'm being threatened with."
One more ping sounded from each of our phones in unison. We jumped like guilty kids caught sneaking cookies. A post from Mia's account.
"Tick tock, girls. 30 minutes until your secrets are Riverbrook High's morning announcements. Unless..."
"Unless what?" Jade whispered, and as if listening to her, the following post arrived.
"Unless one of you comes clean. About where your secrets go to take a ride, and how somebody always winds up in the pink seat."
Pink seat?
Jade's face paled. "How could they possibly know about—"
"Know about what?" I inquired.
"Nothing," the three of them said in unison, then exchanged glances.
We fell into an uncomfortable silence, both of us trapped in our heads. The minutes crawled by at the speed of hours. Each snap of a leaf made us jump. Each distant car sound made us wait with bated breath. Our phones were eerily silent.
At 10:52 PM, Diana finally spoke up. "This is useless. They're not coming."
"Or they're already here, WU," Ashley muttered, scanning the darkness beyond the bleachers.
"Watching us."
The thought sent shivers down my spine. I pulled my hoodie close, although it was not a chilly evening.
"We should go," Jade said at last. "This was stupid. Probably just some sick prank."
By 11:00 PM, we'd had enough. Without a word, we started to head back. No one wanted to be alone, but no one wanted company. I walked in silence, keeping a cautious distance from them, jumping at shadows.
As I unchained my bike, Diana suddenly grabbed my arm. Her grip was like iron.
"Whatever you think you know," she whispered, "whatever you think you saw that night – forget it. For your own good."
I jerked my arm loose. "Is that a threat?"
"No," she said, her eyes haunted. "It's a warning."
The drive home was a daze. Every vehicle was a possible stalker, every silhouette a danger. When I eventually reached my room, I fell onto my bed, still dressed, my heart pounding.
My phone vibrated one last time:
"Smart girls, going home. But don't worry – we'll do this again soon. Goodnight!"
***
I closed Instagram and opened my laptop, bringing up Gmail to send in my English paper due tomorrow. Mrs. Henderson would most likely deduct points for turning it in at midnight, but at least it would not be any late.
My inbox opened slowly, full of the usual digital detritus. Promotional emails from stores I'd shopped at once, college catalogs I'd requested months ago, notifications from apps I'd forgotten I'd downloaded. I scrolled through them half-heartedly, looking for the assignment submission thread.
Then I froze.
There, tucked between a Sephora sale notice and a reminder for yearbook photos, was an email dated October 15th—three days ago. The name of the sender caused my blood to run cold:
Mia Geredy
There was no subject line, but a paperclip icon showing an attachment. My cursor hesitated over it, shaking slightly. Three days ago. The night that Mia died.
I clicked on it, my heart racing against my ribs.
The email body was empty save for a single line:
For when you're ready to see the whole truth. -M
A video attachment.
The thumbnail was black, but the filename stopped my heart:
"Riley_knows.mp4"
And just then a new post appeared tagging me:
"I noticed you kept those pictures from that night. Good girl. Insurance policy? Guilty conscience? Don't worry – your secret's safe with me. For now."
The photos. Those that I'd sworn I'd deleted.
I should have deleted the app. Should have turned my phone off. Should have pulled my blankets over my head and hoped this all was a bad dream. What I did instead was go to DMs and type to Mia's account:
"Who are you?"
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
There was a photo attached. My heart stopped. It was from the funeral. Not from outside, where the press had been kept at bay, but from within the church. The precise angle where I'd been sitting, witnessing the Holy Trinity hold one another and weep in the front row.
But in this picture, there was something more. Something I had not seen at the service. Diana's hand dropped something into Ashley's purse. Something glinting and small.
And although it didn't appear to be a knife, it scared me.