18th October, 2024.
Static filled the screen, then fused into Mia's face, closer than I'd seen it since they'd closed her coffin. Her green eyes were red-ringed, mascara smeared.
The date stamp in the corner said 2:17 AM, one week to the day before they'd found her body.
The screen went black. When it came back on, Mia was in tears.
"I thought I knew them," she said, "God, I thought I knew everything about them. The lake house was just the beginning. What happened that night… what you saw, Riley… that wasn't even the worst of it. But they're going to try to pin everything on me. They've probably already done it."
Another glance over her shoulder. A sharp intake of breath.
Who's they? The Holy Trinity?
"There's something else you need to know. Something about that night at the party. When you thought you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" She laughed bitterly.
"It wasn't an accident. None of it was. They chose you, R. Someone outside our circle. Someone believable. I hope my little worker makes sure the real truth survives, even if I don't."
My stomach turned. The room began to spin.
"Look in the second drawer of my vanity," Mia went on.
"The one with the false bottom. I've left a few things there for you. But be warned… it's going to be shocking and heartbreaking. And don't be mad at them, okay? I always wished for a big—"
The video cut off suddenly, and I was left in the darkness; alone with my thoughts.
My phone vibrated with a private message: "Well? Ready for a field trip? To Mia's house?"
I'd written out a reply before I could stop myself: "Mia's house is a crime scene. It's sealed off."
"Is it, though? Listen to the scanner. Sounds like they'll be somewhat occupied with a break-in at the evidence lockup. Convenient, isn't it?"
As if on cue, distant sirens began wailing, heading toward downtown. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone.
"You have 30 minutes," the unknown number texted.
"Unless you want everyone to see those pictures tomorrow. Unless you want to be the Holy Trinity's next victim. Tick tock."
I was on my bicycle before I had even completed reading the message, riding through the deserted streets as if something—or someone—was pursuing me. Perhaps something was.
Mia's home was dark and quiet, the police tape over the front door was blowing in the wind. But the kitchen window was open a crack. As if waiting for me.
My phone buzzed once more: "Smart girl. You remember her tricks."
"Stop watching me," I typed back.
"No can do, Riley. We're all in the show now."
I crept upstairs, glimpsing at every creaking board. Mia's room was down the hallway, the door already open.
Police had gone through everything, but they'd been looking for evidence of suicide or murder. They'd had no clue about the false bottom in the vanity.
The drawer opened smoothly. Makeup and hair ties were scattered around inside, just as the police had left them. My fingers touched the edge of the false bottom.
Inside was a single USB drive and a folded note.
Something clicked. I raised my phone to take a look at that day's picture at the funeral. If I squinted at it in a certain way, that shining thing resembled the USB.
My phone vibrated: "Open it. Now."
I glanced around. How in the world was this person watching me?
I unfolded the paper with trembling hands. Mia's handwriting, rushed but readable:
Riley, if you're seeing this, then the video worked. Sorry for dragging you into this, but I needed someone on the outside, someone they couldn't reach. The USB has everything—the real lake house footage, Ashley's second phone records, and Diana's medical history. The truth of what actually happened that night. This is it, okay? Finally, this is it, and it's over now. But be careful who you trust. The police aren't even clean in this. Ask Officer Martinez about his daughter's alibi in crime scenes. And whatever you do, don't trus—
The note ended there, torn off mid-sentence.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I spun around, USB drive grasped to my chest, to see Diana in the doorway. Her face was pale in the moonlight that poured in through Mia's window.
"I got a text you'd be here," she said softly.
"Did you really think they'd let you find it that easily?"
"They?" My voice broke.
"Who's they, Diana? What's going on for real? And find what? The USB?"
She took a step closer. I took a step back.
"Hand over the USB, Riley. Please. Before things escalate."
"Worse than murder?"
Her face hardened.
"You know nothing of murder. Of what really happened that night. Of what Mia made us—"
A door slammed downstairs. Diana's eyes widened.
She whispered. "Run. Now!"
I did not have to be told twice. I pushed her aside and raced down the hall, leaping down the stairs two at a time. I could hear voices behind me, footsteps. The kitchen window was still open.
I was halfway when a hand held my shoulder.
"Wait," Ashley's voice was a hiss.
"Riley, you don't understand. The photos you took that night… they don't show everything. What you think you saw—"
I struggled free and ran, my heart racing in my ears. I reached my bike, struggling with the lock as footsteps drew near.
"Riley!" This time it was Jade.
"Please. We can explain everything."
I jumped on my bike and cycled as fast as I could without looking back. The USB stick was burning a hole in my pocket. My phone was vibrating continuously, but I didn't dare look at it until I was safely in my locked bedroom.
When I finally fell onto my bed, messages poured onto my screen:
Diana: "You have no idea what you just started."
Ashley: "We were trying to PU."
Jade: "Protect you. And don't trust anyone."
Diana: "I thought you guys destroyed the USB."
Ashley: "That was Jade's job."
Jade: "You know how that psycho online threatened us!"
And from the unknown number: "Round one to Riley. But the night ain't over yet. Good thing I don't need sleep anymore."
I stared at the USB drive in my trembling hands.
Something on it had led to Mia's murder. Now, three of Mia's closest friends had burglarized a crime scene to prevent me from discovering it. Officer Martinez was seemingly hiding evidence.
And somebody—or something—was impersonating Mia on the internet, threatening to reveal all our secrets.
Was it the little helper Mia spoke about?
And which secrets? The ones I thought I knew from that party night? Or the ones Mia had apparently died trying to reveal?
My phone vibrated one last time. A text from Mia's account:
"Be cautious, Riley. Some questions are best not answered. And tonight might not be the best time to watch the USB. Look after it."
I turned off my phone and shoved the USB drive under my mattress. Sleep was impossible now.
For each time I closed my eyes, I saw that metallic glint.
***
19th October, 2024.
Ms. Rodriguez's email notification arrived on my phone at exactly 7:23 AM.
Subject: AP Literature Grade Update - Immediate Action Needed
My brush paused mid-air. I hadn't checked my grades in a week, not since the funeral consumed everyone's attention. But AP Lit was my strongest subject. Had been since my freshman year.
I spat toothpaste and opened the email.
Riley, your grade has slipped to a D+.
Required tutoring sessions start today.
Your tutor: Jade Martinez. This is not optional.
"What the hell?" I muttered to my reflection.
I opened up the gradebook program, my guts twisting. There it was, in electronic black and white: failed quiz after failed quiz, missing assignments I was sure I'd handed in, zero participation grades for days I knew I'd contributed to class discussion.
There was no way. I'd been earning A's in Rodriguez's class since the day I'd enrolled at Riverbrook High. There must be some error.
Yet when I read the individual entries, each failure was dated and described. Quiz on The Great Gatsby symbolism: 34%. Essay on unreliable narrators: Not submitted. Class participation, October 15th: Absent.
October 15th.
I'd been marked absent, but I'd been there. I remembered discussing Nick Carraway's bias and remembering Ms. Rodriguez nodding in approval at my insight.
So why was the computer marking me absent with a zero for participation?
My phone vibrated with a text from a number I didn't recognize: "Don't ask questions about the grades. Just attend tutoring. Trust me, you'll be interested in what Jade will have to say."
I screenshotted it immediately.
***
Lunch period brought the second impossibility of the day.
I'd been eating by myself since the funeral; not by choice, but because my usual table of art kids had grown uneasy around me.
They'd heard whispers of my association with the Holy Trinity and seen the way teachers regarded me differently now. Guilty by association.
I was picking at my sandwich in the corner of the cafeteria when a person slid into the chair across from me. I looked up, expecting to see another grief counselor or worried teacher.
Instead, I caught myself gazing at Tyler.
Tyler, who'd never said a word to me in four years of high school. Tyler who hung with the football crew and the debate team clique. Tyler, whose girlfriend passed away 4 days ago.
He opened a bag of chips as if this were totally normal.
"So," he said conversationally, "Weird week, huh?"
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The Instagram thing. With Mia." He shoved a chip into his mouth.
"Must be pretty freaky, having a dead girl call you out on social media."
My blood ran cold. The posts were public, but they'd been removed within hours. Most people had seen screenshots at best.
"How do you—"
"Know about it?" Tyler's grin didn't extend to his eyes.
"Come on, Riley. Nothing is secret in Riverbrook. Not when it concerns the Holy Trinity's dirty laundry."
I started to pack my lunch.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Sure you don't." He leaned back in his chair, watching me.
"Mia ever mention me?"
The question took me aback.
"What?"
"Before she died. Did she ever speak about me?"
"Mia… Tyler, I hardly knew Mia. We weren't friends."
"No," he concurred, "But you were aware of her secrets. At least one of them."
He got up, his bag of chips still on the table.
"See you around, Riley. By the way, you'd best go check your locker."
The front of my locker looked like a vandal's masterpiece. Someone had spray-painted crude language in bright red on the door, as if they wanted the whole hallway to see.
There were deep gashes in the metal, as if they'd taken keys or scissors and slashed at it vindictively. There were random stickers stuck on — some of them halfway torn off, others mocking.
Gum had been smashed into the lock. It wasn't so much destruction as it was public humiliation.
I let out a deep breath despite myself and inserted my locker combination.
My locker combination had changed.
I stood there in the busy hallway, turning the dial with growing frustration. 23-07-15. My birthday.
The same combination I'd been using since freshman year, the one that had opened it just fine that morning.
"Having trouble?"
I looked around to see Ashley Cooper standing behind me, her designer purse hugged to her chest like a shield.
"Someone altered my combination," I told her, trying 23-07-15 once more. The lock stayed stubbornly closed.
Ashley stepped inside, her voice lowering.
"You've been getting them too, then? Since the last two nights?"
"Getting what?"
"The messages. The changes." She glanced around nervously.
"My class schedule got switched yesterday. I'm suddenly in AP Chemistry with Ms. Harrison, fifth period. The same class Mia was in."
A chill ran down my spine.
"That's impossible. It's almost November. They don't change schedules mid-semester."
"Tell that to my guidance counselor. She insists I asked for the switch myself. Has paperwork to back it up."
Ashley's voice broke a little. "Signed in my handwriting."
I tried the combination again: 23-07-15. Nothing.
"What if…" Ashley hesitated, "What if we tried Mia's birthday? 15-12-08."
"Why would my locker have Mia's birthday?"
Yet even as I questioned, I caught myself turning the dial. 15-12-08. Mia's birthday.
The lock clicked open.
Ashley and I looked at each other in shock.
"This is impossible," I whispered.
"No," Ashley whispered, "this is intentional."
"What is the police doing regarding it? The account?" I had a chance to ask her.
Ashley shrugged, but her voice was irritated.
"They can't do much. The account's been inactive since the funeral, but whoever it is, is still posting under it somehow. Officer Martinez says Instagram won't cooperate with them without a federal warrant, and they don't have grounds for that because technically there haven't been any actual threats."
She picked at her nail polish.
"Plus, the posts are coming from different IP addresses every time—public WiFi spots, the library, random cafes. Whoever's doing this knows how to cover their tracks. They're using VPNs or something."
I nodded in appreciation. In spite of the fear of shattering the normalcy, I managed to inquire, still not knowing how to begin,
"Were you, Diana and Jade Mia's only friends?"
She laughed, "Everyone was Mia's friend, according to her. But the ones who knew her secrets and stuck with her. Yes, it was us, guilty as charged."
"Did she have a little sister?"
"No. Why are you asking me this?"
I faltered, the words of Mia's video repeating in my mind. I hope my little worker ensures the truth lives on, even if I don't.
"I just...I heard someone say she had help with things sometimes. Like, someone who did things for her?"
Ashley's expression altered, her face more cautious.
"Help with what kind of things?"
"I don't know, just..." I attempted to sound nonchalant, but my voice was tight.
"Like somebody who was always there but not, like, part of your crowd? Somebody quiet?"
Ashley shrugged, seeming truly perplexed.
"I mean, Mia got a lot of people to do things for her. She was good at that… making people feel special for like five minutes so they'd help her with homework or whatever. But no one in particular, you know? Just random classmates here and there."
She wrinkled her face, thinking.
"We weren't attached at the hip 24/7. Mia did have her own life outside of our group and talked to plenty of people at school. But as for anyone who really knew her secrets or was like, doing her a solid on big things all the time? That was just us three. Why are you asking?"
The bewilderment in her tone appeared to be real, which made me even more disturbed.
My phone vibrated. New Instagram notification.
@MiaGeredy posted a story
I opened it with trembling hands. It was a picture of the hall we were standing in, taken only a few feet away. Ashley and I were easily recognizable, standing in front of my open locker.
The caption read: Perfect casting for the replacement.
"Oh God," Ashley breathed, looking over my shoulder. "Riley, we have to—"
The story disappeared mid-sentence, like it had never existed at all.
"Did you take a screenshot?" I asked in panic.
Ashley shook her head.
"It's gone."
"How can that be?" Ashley whispered.
"We have to find JD. Ugh, Jade and Diana, Ashley exclaimed.
"This is getting—"
"Getting what?" I said when she trailed off.
She was staring at my phone screen, her face white as paper.
There was a new post:
"Some people are chosen. Others are guided. Riley, which one do you think you are?"
It contained the same photo: Ashley and me. That was not what was disturbing, however.
The unsettling part was Mia, a few steps behind me in the picture.
Only Mia was dead. Had been dead for two days.
"That's impossible," Ashley whispered.
"Where is this psycho getting these photos?"
I enlarged the picture. There was this girl, her face quite indistinct with a profile view, in the same green dress that Mia had been buried in.
Her face was pale in profile, her dark hair stringy and wet, but she was there quite clearly.
Right behind me, near enough to touch.
Ashley and I glanced around. Indeed, there was not a single student in sight.
I looked at the CCTV and saw that its tilt was the same as in the photo.
Access to the CCTV. Editing skills.
I rushed to the CCTV room, only to be greeted by no one.
***
Tutoring with Jade ended up being less about The Great Gatsby and more about indirect interrogation.
"So," Jade said, sliding a study guide across the desk in the empty classroom, "tell me about unreliable narrators."
I read the paper. Each question had to do with truth, lies, and hidden agendas.
"This doesn't feel like standard AP Lit material."
"Ms. Rodriguez wants us to consider real-life scenarios."
Jade's smile was sharp.
"Like when somebody might witness something and get it wrong about what they witnessed."
"Jade, what are we doing here?"
She leaned forward, dropping the pretense.
"We're figuring out who's messing with us. And why they think you're so important."
"I'm not significant. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Were you?" Jade reached for her phone.
"Because I've been thinking about that night. The party at the lake house. You appeared out of nowhere."
"I was invited. Steven invited me." I lied.
"He barely speaks to anyone besides drama club." Jade's eyes narrow.
"So who exactly invited you, Riley?"
The question hung in the air like a loaded gun. Because the truth was, I was forced into it by Bethany.
"I don't know," I confessed.
"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"
"I really don't remember."
Jade studied my face for a while.
"Okay. Let's approach this from another angle. What was it that you saw that night?"
"I saw enough," I replied cautiously.
"Enough to get yourself threatened by a dead girl's Instagram account?"
Before I could answer, both our phones buzzed simultaneously.
@MiaGeredy posted 2 minutes ago
"Enjoying your study session, girls? Don't worry, Riley, your true education has only just started."
The entry featured another picture: Jade and I, sitting in this very classroom, photographed from the outside window.
We were easily recognizable through the glass, leaning over the table in what appeared to be a furtive discussion.
But this is what froze my heart: the window was on the third floor. There was no conceivable way to take a picture at that angle unless someone was floating in mid-air.
Or standing on the fire escape.
Jade and I rushed to the window, our faces pressed against the glass.
The fire escape was clear. Had been rusted shut for years, so the safety notices in every corner of the building claimed.
"This is impossible," Jade whispered.
My phone vibrated with a private message:
"Check your backpack when you get home. I left you a gift. – M"
The journey home was a blur of paranoia and confusion. Every car was tailing me. Every individual on the sidewalk was a suspect. When I got to my room, I dumped my backpack onto my bed.
Textbooks, notebooks, pens, and a calculator. And something that had definitely not been there that morning.
A little jewelry box, covered in black tissue paper.
I knew what it was before I opened it. Had seen it every day for months, gleaming on Mia's wrist in AP Chemistry, catching the light when she raised her hand to answer questions.
Mia's charm bracelet. The same one she'd been wearing the night she died. The same one the police had had. Until now.
I lifted it with trembling fingers. Each charm was exactly as I had remembered: the tiny soccer ball from her JV years, the eighth-grade graduation cap, the heart-shaped locket with the picture of her parents inside.
And one new addition that made my blood freeze.
A small silver charm in the shape of a camera.
My phone buzzed a final time:
"Sweet dreams, Riley. Tomorrow we play for real. And just so you know. You're not the only one who saved souvenirs from that night."
"P.S. Look under your pillow. I think the time is just right now to look at the USB. "
That's when I recalled. Right. I raised my pillow with numb fingers. I could hardly believe it.
The USB was charred—its plastic casing blistered, metal tip blackened. A faint burnt smell rose from it. Someone found it. Someone came to my home.