20 October, 2024.
By the time my alarm shrieked at 6:30 AM, my eyes were sore and my brain was reeling.
AP Chemistry exam or not, I couldn't handle school today. But being home by myself was somehow worse.
"You look terrible," Mom said as I dragged myself into the kitchen.
She still had on her nurse's scrubs from the night shift, with matching dark circles under her eyes.
"Nightmares again?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The last time I'd attempted to tell her about the nightmares… about what I'd witnessed that night at the party… she'd gone ahead and scheduled me with the grief counselor.
As if grief was the explanation for why I couldn't sleep.
"Perhaps you should stay home today," she said, pushing a cup of coffee across the counter.
"After all that's going on."
"I'm fine," I replied instinctively.
"Just stressed about the Chem test."
She gave me that look—the one that indicated she knew I was lying but did not know how to help.
"Well, if you change your mind..."
"Mom," I said abruptly, attempting to sound nonchalant.
"Did anybody stop by yesterday when I was at school? Like, delivery person or whatever?"
She frowned in consideration.
"Not that I know of. I slept most of the afternoon before my shift. Why?"
"Some things in my room just looked like they'd been shifted around. I'm probably just being paranoid, though."
I sipped my coffee, my head racing.
"Actually, would it be strange if we installed one of those doorbell cameras? You know, for security?"
"Security?" Mom's eyebrow rose.
"Riley, what's going on?"
"Nothing serious," I said quickly.
"Just with everything that's been happening at school lately. I'd feel safer knowing who's coming and going. Plus, didn't Mrs. Chen say someone's been going through mailboxes in the neighborhood?"
Mom studied my face for a moment.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Though those things aren't cheap."
"Thanks, Mom."
I grabbed my coffee and headed upstairs to dress, my stomach full of guilt. I hated lying to her. But how could I explain what was happening when I had barely a clue myself?
***
Riverbrook High appeared deceptively normal as I locked up my bike. Same packed parking lot, same clusters of students comparing homework answers, same morning announcements blasting in the corridors.
But beneath the surface was a current of tension, of whispers and sidelong glances.
They were all on their phones.
My stomach dropped as I reached for my phone, which I had switched off for the night. No new posts from Mia's page, at least.
But screenshots of the posts had made the rounds like wildfire through all the social groups in school. And the gossip wouldn't settle until who knows when.
"OMG, did you see?"
"Who hacked her account???"
"What went down at the lake house???"
"Poor Jade, she's been in tears all morning."
I glanced up to see Jade herself rushing down the hall, head bent, disregarding the stares. She didn't look a bit like the ice queen who'd faced me last night.
Her designer duds were wrinkled, her makeup slapped on. As she went by, our eyes met for a split second.
"Riley!"
I startled as someone took my arm, then eased—a little—when I realized it was only Bethany Wong, my AP Chem lab partner.
She yanked me into an empty classroom, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Why didn't you tell me you were involved in all this?" she demanded. "I thought we were friends!"
"Involved in what?"
"Don't play dumb. Everyone's talking about how you were tagged in those posts that night. About how you know something about what happened to Mia."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"Is it true? Were you really there that night? And what happened three months ago?"
"I...I need to go study for the test," I stuttered, moving backward.
But Bethany wasn't finished.
"Come on, Riley. We've been lab partners all year. You can trust me."
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Just tell me one thing. What went on at the lake house? I didn't see you there that time. I thought you left when I couldn't get you in."
"I don't know anything about the lake house," I said honestly.
"But you know something," she insisted.
"Those postings that night. They said you saw—"
"Let her be, Bethany."
We both turned to see Ashley Cooper in the doorway, her normally impeccable posture a little slumped.
Like Jade, she was rough around the edges—designer clothes a bit crumpled, orange hair in a messy bun rather than its sleek waves.
"This doesn't involve you," Bethany retorted, but her voice had a quiver.
"It does, actually." Ashley's voice was soft but with an edge of steel.
"And if you know what's good for you, you'll let the questioning go."
Bethany's mouth opened to argue, then she thought better of it. She shot me a look that clearly said "this isn't over yet" before dashing out of the class.
Leaving Ashley and me by ourselves.
"You shouldn't have come to school today," she said, shutting the door.
"Neither should you," I replied. "You look awful."
A ghost of her usual smirk played on her lips.
"Thanks. I've been awake all night attempting to deal with...everything."
She ran a hand through her disheveled hair.
"Look, about that night—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Too bad. Since we have to."
She moved a step nearer.
"That USB drive. You haven't viewed anything on it yet, have you?"
I thought of lying, but something in her face stopped me.
"No. It was destroyed."
She parted her lips to speak, then changed her mind.
"Uh. You were asking about those changes. Well, you're not by yourself."
"Alright," she replied without preamble.
"Tell me everything."
I reached for my phone, holding up the screenshots of the gradebook I had taken.
"Failed quizzes that I know I passed. Assignments are missing that I know I turned in. And on the 15th of October, I was marked absent from English when I was right there."
Ashley's face went white.
"Show me the timestamps."
I read through the entries.
"Most of these changes took place during school. Between the second and third period, lunchtime, after seventh period."
"When we're all in class," Ashley whispered.
"Or otherwise busy."
She hesitated. "Riley, whoever is doing this has access to the school system. Not just social media—actual administrative access."
"You think it's a teacher?"
"Or a student with SHS," she shook her head.
"Serious hacking skills. But here's what I don't understand. Why our grades in particular? Why not just mess with everybody?"
I considered Mia's video, her cryptic "helper." Perhaps someone is attempting to...take over what she was doing?
Ashley didn't say anything for a long time.
"There's one way to find out," she said at last.
"The computer lab has security cameras. If someone's been using the system during school hours—"
The bell rang, startling the two of us. Students started pouring into the hallway outside.
"Miss Cooper?" Ms. Harrison stood in the doorway, her severe expression relaxing at Ashley's rumpled state. Her gaze shifted to me.
"And Riley?" She held up a familiar sheaf of papers. "Test time."
***
I spent the next two periods mapping out how I would make my getaway from the cafeteria. But lunchtime found me walking towards their table by habit.
The Holy Trinity was seated there, looking less holy and more haunted than normal.
"Sit," Diana said.
It wasn't a request.
I scooted onto the bench, holding the table between us.
Normal lunch chatter hummed through the cafeteria, but our table was shrouded in a bubble of silence.
Diana's mouth opened to pose a question… but that was when it occurred.
SPLAT.
An egg splattered on her forehead, the shell adhering, raw yolk running down her nose in heavy streaks.
"Did someone just—" Jade started, but she didn't finish.
For a bottle of barbecue sauce came hurtling after, the lid already removed, spinning like a Molotov, and shattered at her feet.
Thick brown sauce sprayed up her legs and stained across her belly, like blood on white cloth.
"Justice for Mia!"
"Murderers! MURDERERS!"
The chants erupted like a war drum. Somebody had mounted the lunch tables, carrying a large poster of Mia's face, her smile printed like a shrine.
Ashley shrieked, and someone threw a whole tray of spaghetti at her. Noodles stuck in her hair like worms, marinara dripping down her neck.
Another student threw a balloon—a water balloon? No. A soy sauce balloon. It splattered over her backpack, drenching it in dark brown.
"THIS IS FOR MIA!" A voice yelled.
And then the unthinkable: a raw chicken leg thudded into Diana's shoulder, thrown from who-knows-where.
I couldn't believe it. I was paralyzed for a fraction of a second before my body moved.
I grabbed napkins—no, an entire roll of paper towels—and ran over to them.
Diana's hands were shaking, mascara streaking down with the yolk. I shoved the towels into her arms.
"Here—wipe it off—"
BANG.
A squeeze bottle full of mustard burst against my lower back.
I staggered, regained my balance, and spun around just in time to see a balloon of ketchup soar by my face and splatter on the wall.
And then I heard it: the sound of a slushie machine being tipped over.
Thick blue and red syrup flooded across the floor. Students slipped in it like a skating rink of vengeance.
"MURDERERS!"
"You think you can get away with it?"
Phones were out. People were recording. The chants turned to roaring. Someone was beating a metal tray against the wall like a drum.
And then—order broke through the madness.
Whistles. Screams. Teachers barging in like the SWAT team.
Mr. Lanning was calling for backup. Ms. Farrow pulled the poster kid off the table. The assistant principal slipped in the slushy mess and inadvertently took down two rioters.
Chaos turned into capture. Students were being dragged out, backpacks leaking soda, faces smug or tear-streaked.
Someone vomited from the smell of mixed condiments. Someone else tried to make a speech, but a teacher just yelled, "Detention for a month!" and that was that.
Finally, the noise faded.
And the cafeteria remained wrecked.
The four of us—Diana, Jade, Ashley, and me—sitting in the middle of the storm, dripping in sauces, eggshells, noodles, and grief.
Jade stood motionless for a second, yolk dripping from her side bangs, her sweater clinging to her like a second skin.
A fry dropped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a gentle splat. Her hands trembled slightly as she wiped her face with the tissue I'd handed her.
And then, she gazed up at me.
Calm. Cold. As if none of this had just occurred.
"Where's the drive?" she said, her voice low.
"Destroyed," I said, attempting to sound braver than I was.
"Why don't you go ahead and tell me what's happening?"
"We don't know," Ashley admitted, wiping off the food.
"That's the truth. We thought..." She glanced at the others.
"We thought we knew what had happened to Mia. We thought WK."
She shook her head as I stared at her hopefully.
"We thought we knew… but these posts, they know..."
"Things nobody knows but Mia," Diana completed.
My phone beeped at that instant.
Three new Instagram notifications from @MiaGeredy.
The first was a picture of the cafeteria riot, shot from some angle above the fray.
The caption said: "Nothing brings out people's true colors like a little food fight. But which one of my girls stayed to help? Interesting."
The second was more specific: "Diana's been doing her breathing exercises again. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. But what do you do when counting doesn't help? When the numbers scream back?"
The third made my blood freeze: "You saw, but you didn't see everything."
It was accompanied by a direct message with coordinates: 42.3478° N, 71.0466° W.
I punched the numbers into Google Maps. They pointed to the location of the old Riverside Mill, a couple of miles from school.
The same mill where teenagers went to party and make out, where rumors circulated about everything from ghosts to drug deals.
Under the coordinates was one line: "Follow the breadcrumbs, Little Red. But beware of wolves."
My phone buzzed with a new update: "Some breadcrumbs led to gingerbread houses. Others lead to ovens."
I should have ignored it. Should have been listening to what the Holy Trinity was going on about.
Instead, I was grabbing for my bike keys and a flashlight.
***
The mill sat on the edge of Riverside Park, a crumbling brick reminder of the town's factory heritage.
By day, it was just another abandoned building. But by night, it was another thing altogether—a place where secrets went to hide.
I locked my bike to a tree and went up to the front entrance. The large wooden doors were meant to be chained together, but they were not.
My phone vibrated: "I can see you, Riley. Can you see me? I've done you a little favour with the doors."
I turned, scanning the darkness.
The park was deserted but for whispering trees and far-off traffic. Yet the sensation of being watched skittered over my skin like bugs.
My flashlight beam cut across scattered wreckage: shattered glass, graffiti-tagged walls, empty beer bottles from years of teenage break-ins.
And there, hidden back behind a dropped beam by the old conveyor belt, something that hadn't been here long.
A cell phone case. Pink and sparkly, with a little charm hanging from it—a miniature soccer ball.
Mia's phone.
But was it not with the police?
Or this was the break-in in the evidence lock-up that it was for.
I crept closer to it, half-anticipating that it would disappear like everything else in this dream. But it was there, solid, warm to the touch.
The screen lit up when I went to grab it, showing a dozen or so missed calls from "Mom" and several unread messages.
The phone was still logged in to Instagram.
My hands shaking, I opened the app. There was the @MiaGeredy account, right in front of me, like Mia had just been using it.
The recent posts were all saved in the drafts folder—even the ones that weren't posted yet.
Thursday special: "Truth soup with a side of consequences. Diana's favorite meal."
"Riley's getting closer. But to what? The truth...or the trap?"
"Question Tyler about the night he tried to save me. Ask him why he didn't succeed."
That previous one was set to post in thirty minutes. Tagged with Tyler's handle.
My hands trembled as I scrolled through the recent activity on the phone: Text messages, call history, and GPS history.
Whoever had been using this phone had been diligent in keeping up the charade that Mia was still alive.
However, there was something wrong with the GPS data.
The phone's location history placed the phone at Riverbrook High the night Mia was killed. Not at the mill where they found her body.
The timestamp had her at school until almost midnight, when the GPS blacked out.
The official story was that Mia died at the mill at about 10 PM. Her phone, however, put her at school two hours later.
I looked up and saw a camera flash somewhere in the darkness above me.
Somebody was here, watching, taking pictures. The post went up on Instagram almost immediately: Me, standing in the mill with Mia's phone in my hand, terror-stricken in the bright light of the flash.
My phone—my real phone—vibrated with a new message: "Picture of Riley at the mill in real-time: Getting warmer.
I gazed at the screen, hardly blinking, the words blurring for a moment before snapping into horrific focus.
My breath caught—sudden and sharp—like it had been pulled from my lungs. A chill flush swept through me. I gasped.
My chest heaved too quickly, each breath trembling and shallow. I was aware of the thudding of my heart, beating louder than how quiet my surroundings were.
My gaze darted up from the screen. Left? Right? Over my shoulder? Something watching me. I didn't even know. I just knew I wasn't safe.
"Who's there?" I yelled, my voice echoing off the brick walls.
Silence.
I took Mia's phone in my pocket and made a run for the window, my heart racing.
But upon reaching the door, there were footsteps from the main entrance. The chains clanked, the door creaked open.
"Riley?" A voice that I knew spoke out.
"Riley, I know you're in there."
Tyler came into the moonlight, carrying his flashlight. He appeared just as nervous as I was.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, furious.
"Same as you, I suppose." He raised his phone, blank screen. "She texted me. Told me to ask you about that night," he said.
"I don't know what night she's talking about."
"Yes, you do." Tyler's voice was gentle but insistent. "The night at the lakehouse."
"Why are you even here? Just because of a goddamn post?"
"Yeah, sure, people come for free pizza—this seemed so much more dramatic."
The smile vanished as soon as his gaze caught my horrified face, replaced by something more subdued. He simply shrugged, "Okay, I don't know, I was just wondering… what are doing here anyway?"
"Tyler," I said hesitantly, "What actually happened that evening? At the lake house?"
"If I knew, Riley, I wouldn't be here to ask you the question."
Just then, our phones vibrated with fresh notifications. Three posts shared in rapid succession:
"The mill has a memory. Blood seeps into brick, and sketchbooks contain more than pretty pictures."
"Two little lambs, bleating in the dark. But the wolf already knows where you are."
The most recent post had a photo of Tyler and me, which was taken a few seconds earlier from somewhere above us in the beams of our flashlights. We were clearly visible, huddled conspiratorially together.
"What sort of sick joke is this?"
"Someone's here," Tyler whispered.
"Someone's watching us. This could be a goddamn trap. The killer who killed Mia, this could be his plan to kill us now! Wow, that's a lot of killing in one sentence."
***
"We can't go to the police," Tyler said once we were safe inside the 24-hour diner on Route 9.
We were sitting in a corner booth, Mia's phone on the Formica table between us.
"Why not?"
"Because they'll think we're insane. Or worse—they'll suspect we're implicated."
He ran a hand through his dark hair.
"A dead girl's phone, somehow operational, posting on Instagram? They'll think we broke into her account."
I turned the phone over in my hand. It was heavier than it should be.
"But the GPS information—"
"Could be faked. Could be manipulated."
Tyler leaned forward.
"Riley, someone is playing games with us. Serious games. And until we know who and why, we can't trust anyone in authority."
"Or it might be that the time and location of Mia's death would be faked. But why would someone do that?"
The diner's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in harsh white illumination.
We were the only customers except for a girl drinking coffee at the counter.
"Tyler," I whispered, "That post mentioned something about you trying to save her. What did it mean?"
His face turned white.
"I... I was going to meet her that evening. At school."
He gazed at his coffee cup.
"But I was running late. I didn't know if I was going to break up with her or not."
"What time was this?"
"I don't know. Definitely before midnight."
He glanced up at me.
"At the same time, her phone indicates she was still there."
The pieces were beginning to create a picture, but it was a picture that didn't make sense.
If Mia was at school that night, alive and active on her phone, then when had she died? And how had her body turned up at the mill? My phone vibrated.
A new post from @MiaGeredy:
"That diner on Route 9 has great coffee at 2 AM. Nearly as good as the conversation going on in booth 7. Tell Tyler I said hi, Riley. And Tyler? Don't be late next time."
We both looked around frantically. The windows were too high to be seen through from the outside. There was a girl with her back to us, and she hadn't moved in twenty minutes.
"How?" Tyler whispered.
I didn't have a chance to respond before the girl got up, left money on the counter, and headed out to a truck without a backward glance.
As she walked by our booth, I saw her profile.
It looked exactly like Diana.