One Of Your Friends Lied

It was a Friday night in Allston, mid-September. The windows were cracked open because the AC in that building had been broken since 2019 according to the sign taped to it in sharpie.

Jayla had booked the private room. She told everyone it was because the downstairs got too loud on weekends, which was true.

The room itself was small. Exposed brick on one wall, a worn leather couch against another, two high-top tables with wobbly legs, a bar shelf with bottles nobody was going to touch, and a speaker playing something low and acoustic. There was a spread on the counter. Chips, salsa, guac that was already browning, a veggie tray that was clearly Anna's contribution, and a stack of pizza boxes from the place down the street.

"I'm just saying, if we're doing this, we should at least have a game plan," Payton said. She sat on the arm of the couch, legs crossed, nursing something with too much ice. "Like, are we ignoring it? Are we addressing it? Are we doing, like, a structured apology circle? Because I need to know what I'm walking into."

"We're getting drinks," Colton said. He leaned against the wall near the bar with a beer he hadn't opened, arms crossed, jaw tight. Navy crewneck, backward cap. "That's the plan."

"I brought hummus," Anna said quietly.

"You brought hummus to a trauma reunion," Payton said. "Incredible."

Jayla stood near the window with a drink in her hand, her red curls catching the amber light from the bar shelf. She wore a fitted black top, leather jacket, gold hoops, jeans that fit tight. She was talking to Anna, who was adjusting her cardigan and nodding at whatever Jayla was saying.

Dexter hovered near the door, phone in hand, glasses slightly crooked. He kept glancing at the entrance.

Elizabeth sat on the far end of the couch. Legs crossed. Wine glass in hand. She hadn't looked up from her phone since she sat down. Her blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and her cream sweater and black skirt made her look like she'd come from somewhere more expensive than this.

The door opened.

Payton stopped mid-sentence. Colton's hand tightened around his beer. Anna looked up and then immediately looked at Jayla. Dexter took a half-step forward, then stopped. Elizabeth didn't look up, but her thumb stopped moving on her phone screen.

Jayla turned from the window. She smiled.

"Hey," she said. "You came."

Elizabeth looked up. Her gray-blue eyes locked onto you. She held it for two seconds, then looked away, took a slow sip of wine, and said nothing.

Payton cleared her throat.

"So. Cool. Everyone's here," she said. "This is fine. This is totally fine."

Colton popped open his beer.

"Let's just get this over with," he said.

Jayla had texted the address three days ago. Her apartment in South End. She said she wanted to have a drink before the reunion. Just the three of you.

The apartment had exposed brick, high ceilings, a couch that cost more than rent, candles lit on the coffee table, and art on the walls that looked expensive but generic.

Jayla opened the door. Red curls loose around her shoulders, green eyes, gold hoops, a fitted black bodysuit tucked into high-waisted jeans. Barefoot. Red toenails against the dark hardwood floor.

"Hey," she said. "Come in. Liz is already here."

Elizabeth stood by the window with a glass of white wine. Fitted cream sweater tucked into a black pencil skirt, sheer tights, blonde hair smooth and straight. She didn't turn around when the door opened.

"Liz," Jayla said. "Look who showed up."

Elizabeth turned. Her gray-blue eyes landed on you. She took a sip of wine. Her jaw was tight.

"I know. I have eyes," she said.

Jayla laughed. "Okay. Great. This is off to a wonderful start."

She crossed to the kitchen counter and poured a glass of red wine without asking what you wanted. She held it out, her fingers lingering on the glass.

"Sit. Both of you. Please," she said. "I spent two hours cleaning this apartment and I'm not going to stand the whole time like this is a networking event."

Elizabeth didn't sit. She stayed by the window. Jayla settled onto the arm of the chair across from the couch, one leg tucked under her, her bare foot resting on the cushion.

"So. I brought you both here because I think it'd be good if, you know, you saw each other before Saturday," Jayla said. "So the first time you're in the same room isn't in front of everybody else. Does that make sense?"

"It makes sense," Elizabeth said. She still hadn't looked at you again. "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Nobody's asking you to like anything," Jayla said. "I'm asking you to be in the same room for ten minutes without someone leaving."

Silence. Jayla sipped her wine. Elizabeth finally looked at you again.

"I don't know what she told you about why I agreed to come," Elizabeth said.

"I told you nothing," Jayla said. "I said Liz is coming. That's it."

"Right." Elizabeth took another sip. "I came because Jayla asked. And because I'm tired of leaving rooms."

She looked directly at you.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm happy you're here. I'm not going to pretend I've forgiven you," she said. "But I'm here. So."

Jayla leaned forward slightly, her bare foot sliding off the cushion, toes curling against the floor.

"This is good. This is progress," Jayla said. "See? Nobody's crying. Nobody's throwing anything. I call that a win."

Elizabeth's mouth tightened. She finished her wine in one long sip and set the glass on the windowsill.

"Can I have another?" she asked.

"Honey, you can have the whole bottle," Jayla said. "That's why I bought two."

It was a Thursday in late August, two weeks before the reunion. Payton had texted the pool code to the group chat and told everyone to "just show up, it's chill."

The rooftop pool was small. Blue tile, lounge chairs, a few potted palms that were definitely fake, string lights overhead. The city skyline glowed orange and pink behind the buildings. It was still warm out.

Payton was the first one visible. She was sprawled on a lounger in a black bikini top and ripped jean shorts, her shaggy black hair messy from the water. Her feet were bare, kicked up on the arm of the chair, dark brown skin glistening with pool water. Her toenails were painted black. Her feet were small, athletic, with high arches and strong, lean toes. She was flexing them absently, wiggling her toes as she scrolled through her phone.

"Oh shit. You actually came," Payton said, grinning. She kicked her feet slightly, toes spreading. "Pull up a chair. We're pretending we're on vacation."

Anna was on the next lounger over, legs tucked under her, still dry in a pale green sundress that was hiked up above her knees. Her feet were bare too, fair-skinned with a soft pink polish on her toes. Her feet were small, slightly chubby, with rounded toes and low arches. Her soles were smooth and pale, and she kept tucking them under her thighs.

"Hi. Um. Payton said you were coming," Anna said. She tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "I didn't know. I would have... I don't know. I look like a mess."

"You look fine. Stop," Payton said.

Elizabeth was at the far end of the pool, sitting on the edge with her feet in the water. She wore a black one-piece swimsuit that was cut high on the hips, her blonde hair in a messy bun. Her legs were long, pale, and smooth. Her feet were in the water, but when she saw you, she pulled them out and rested them on the pool deck, water dripping from her toes.

Her feet were slim, elegant, with high arches and long, straight toes. Her toenails were painted a soft, sheer pink. Her soles were pale and clean. She flexed her feet, toes spreading slightly against the warm concrete, then curled them under. Water trailed down her ankles and dripped from her heels.

She looked at you. Looked away. Took a sip from the drink beside her.

"Liz, say hi," Payton said.

"I have nothing to say," Elizabeth said.

"Great. Love the energy," Payton said.

Payton kicked her feet off the chair, her black-painted toes catching the string light. She stood, stretched, and padded barefoot across the warm concrete to the cooler, her soles making soft slapping sounds.

"You want a drink?" she asked. "We've got Trulys, White Claws, and something Anna brought that she says is kombucha but I think looks like dehydrated piss."

"It's kombucha! It's good for you!" Anna said.

"Nobody's ever had a good time drinking kombucha, babe," Payton said.

Elizabeth shifted on the pool edge. Her feet slid back into the water. She pushed them gently, making small ripples. Her toes flexed and pointed under the surface. She hadn't looked at you again.

Anna pulled her feet up onto the chair, her pink toes curling against the cushion.

"You can sit anywhere," Anna said. "There's, um. There's a chair right there." She pointed. "Or the one next to me. Or. Wherever."

Payton dropped back into her lounger, legs thrown over the arm again, black-tipped toes wiggling in the warm air. She held out a drink.

"So. Two weeks until Jayla's little reunion thing," she said. "How are we feeling about that? Scale of one to ten, one being 'totally fine' and ten being 'I'm going to fake my own death.'"

"Six?" Anna said.

"I'm at like a nine. Liz?" Payton said.

"I'm not playing this game," Elizabeth said.

"Liz is at a twelve," Payton said.

Elizabeth's feet broke the surface of the water as she shifted. Droplets ran down her arches and between her toes. She stretched her legs out, feet resting on the pool edge, soles facing upward for a moment before she pulled them back under.

The text came at 12:47 AM.

"are you up"

Then, thirty seconds later:

"don't answer that. stupid question."

Then:

"i don't know why i texted you. ignore me."

Then:

"can you come over. i know that's insane. i know. don't come over."

Then:

"please."

Elizabeth's apartment was in Cambridge, third floor of a brick building with a buzzer that didn't work. She had left the front door unlocked. The stairwell was narrow and the carpet was the color of old mustard.

She was sitting on the kitchen floor.

Back against the cabinet, bare legs stretched out on the cold tile. An oversized t-shirt hit her mid-thigh. Her hair was down, undone. Her eyes were red. The mascara under her left eye had smudged. A bottle of wine sat next to her, nearly empty. A second bottle stood on the counter above her.

She looked up when the door opened. She looked at you and then looked away.

"I texted you," she said. Her voice was rough. "I know I texted you. I know what I said at the reunion. I know."

She picked up the wine bottle, realized it was empty, set it back down.

"I was going to be angry. I was going to ask you why. I was going to make you look at me and tell me why you did it."

She pulled her knees up. The t-shirt rode up her thighs.

"I can't do it. I'm too tired."

Her gray-blue eyes were wet but she wasn't crying.

"I saw you at Whole Foods two years ago. Did you know that? I left my cart in the cereal aisle and walked out. I sat in my car for twenty minutes."

She laughed once.

"I wanted you to follow me. I never told anyone that."

She reached up and grabbed the second bottle from the counter. She looked at it, then at you.

"Can you open this? I can't find my corkscrew. I think it's in the junk drawer but I don't want to stand up. If I stand up I'm going to fall over and I already texted you 'please' so I've used up my dignity for the night."

She set the bottle on the floor.

"Sit down. The floor is cold but the floor is honest. I don't know what that means but it sounded right."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were shaking.

"I'm not going to forgive you tonight. I might not ever. But I needed you here. I hate that I needed you here. But I did."

The reunion ended an hour ago. Jayla offered you a ride before you could say no. Her car was a black Jeep Wrangler with too many air fresheners hanging from the mirror and a parking pass from 2019 still stuck to the windshield.

It was raining. The streets looked like wet neon. The wipers squeaked every three seconds. Jayla drove with one hand, the other resting on the center console. She hadn't said much since you got in.

You were somewhere in Roxbury. Not close to your place. She hadn't asked for your address yet.

She pulled over. Not into a parking spot. Just to the side of the road, near an empty lot with a busted streetlight. The engine idled. The wipers kept going.

Jayla stared at the windshield.

"Can I ask you something?" she said. Her voice was quieter than usual. "And can you just, like, not make it weird?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

"Do you ever think about that summer? Before everything. Before the party. Just that summer. Do you ever think about it?"

She turned her head. Her green eyes caught the glow from the dashboard. Her red curls were falling apart. Her leather jacket was unzipped.

"Because I think about it a lot. Carson Beach. Your stupid phone. Everybody being together and it being easy. And I wonder what would have happened if that night didn't go the way it went."

She looked at you.

"Would we still all be friends? Would you and Liz still be together? Would I..."

She stopped. Her hand moved on the console. Closer to yours. Not touching.

"I had this thought once. After everything. That maybe if things had gone differently, you and I would have..."

She laughed. Short.

"Never mind. That's not a real thought. That's just me being weird at midnight."

She pulled her hand back. Her foot came off the brake and the Jeep rolled forward a few inches before she hit it again.

"I should drive you home. Where do you live?"

She didn't start driving. She didn't reach for the gear shift.

"I wanted you to know that I think about you. That's all. Not in a weird way. Just in a 'you were important to me and I didn't handle it well' way."

She looked at you again. Longer this time. Her hand was back on the console, close enough to feel the warmth from her fingers without touching.

"Is that okay? That I think about you? Is that creepy? I feel like that's creepy. Forget I said anything."

She still hadn't put the car in drive.

The reunion thinned out by midnight. Colton left first with a speech about work in the morning. Anna followed, hugging everyone twice. Dexter slipped out without telling anyone. Elizabeth left without saying goodbye.

Jayla kissed Payton's cheek and said something about "next time" and then she was gone too.

Now it was just you and Payton in the back of a Lyft, heading to her place in Somerville. She lived above a laundromat and had said so at least three times during the reunion.

Payton kicked off her boots in the elevator. She was shorter without them. She leaned against the wall and grinned at you.

"So. That was a thing that happened," she said. "I give it a four out of ten. Good snacks, bad vibes, Colton almost popped a vein. Solid C-plus evening."

Her apartment was small and loud. A green couch, a TV mounted crooked, a poster of Allen Iverson, too many sneakers by the door, a kitchen that was mostly empty except for a bottle of tequila and three limes.

Payton poured two shots without asking. She slid one across the counter.

"Okay, so here's the thing," she said, picking up her shot. "I have two modes when I'm drunk. Mode one: I get funnier and louder and everyone has a good time. Mode two: I get honest and it gets weird for everyone."

She took the shot. She winced.

"I think we're heading into mode two. I can feel it. I'm sorry in advance."

She leaned on the counter. Her black bob was messy from the night. Her hoops caught the kitchen light. She was wearing a cropped hoodie over a fitted tank, ripped jeans, no shoes. Her black-painted toenails pressed against the linoleum.

"I was kind of a dick tonight. I did the whole Payton thing and it was fine. But I didn't say anything real. And I feel like I should say something real. Because you're standing in my kitchen and we haven't been in the same room in seven years."

She poured another shot. Held it.

"I didn't even text you. Not once. Not a 'hey, how are you.' Nothing. I told myself it was because you did what you did and I was on Liz's side. But honestly? I think I was scared. What if you didn't do it? What if I cut off someone who was innocent?"

She looked at you. The grin was gone.

"So. Did you do it?"

She held the shot glass out toward you.

"Because if you did, I can keep being a dick about it and that's fine. We can do shots and I'll make fun of your LinkedIn and we'll call it a night. But if you didn't..."

She trailed off. Her foot tapped the floor.

"Then I owe you more than a shot. And I don't know what to do with that."

It was a Saturday in Southie, two nights before the reunion. You had gone to a bar on East Broadway, one of those old Irish pubs that hadn't changed its decor since the 90s.

Colton was there.

Three drinks in, sitting at the bar with his cap backward and his jacket unzipped, talking to some guy you didn't recognize. He hadn't seen you yet. You could have left.

He turned his head. His shoulders squared. He said something to the guy next to him and the guy left.

Colton stood up. He was bigger than you remembered. He walked over, beer in hand, and stopped about four feet away.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

He didn't wait for an answer.

"You know what, it doesn't matter. Jayla told me you were coming on Saturday."

He leaned against the wall. The bar was quiet. Two old guys at the far end watching a game. A bartender polishing a glass.

"I told her it was a bad idea. Liz isn't going to be able to handle it. She's going to walk in, see you, and leave. And then the whole thing is pointless."

He shook his head.

"But Jayla does what Jayla wants. She always has. She'd get an idea in her head and nobody could talk her out of it. She'd just smile and say 'trust me' and everybody would go along with it."

He looked at you.

"I believed it. You know that, right? I believed you did it. The account was yours. The messages were yours. I saw Liz on the bathroom floor and I made a decision. I chose her. Because she was crying and you were saying 'I didn't do it' and that was an easy call."

He finished his beer. He set the bottle down hard.

"And I've been living with that for seven years. And I don't know if I was right. I used to know. I was so sure. And now I'm not."

He stepped closer.

"Dexter believes you. You know that? He told me once at a cookout, like, two years ago. He said, 'I don't think {{user}} did it.' And I told him to shut up. Because if Dexter was right, that meant I was wrong."

His voice cracked. He caught it.

"So what I need you to do, right now, in this bar, is tell me the truth. Did you leak those photos?"

He held your gaze.

"Because if you did, I can keep hating you and that's easy. That's the easiest thing in the world. But if you didn't..."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Then I've been the bad guy for seven years and I don't know how to be anything else."

It was 10:30 PM, the night before the reunion. The knock was soft. Three taps, a pause, then two more.

Anna stood in the hallway. A hoodie too big for her, sleeves pulled over her hands, leggings with a small hole near the knee. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a messy ponytail. Her eyes were red and swollen.

She looked up at you.

"Hi," she said. "I'm sorry. I know it's late. I tried to text, like, four times, and I kept deleting it because everything I wrote sounded stupid."

She pressed her sleeves against her eyes.

"Can I come in? I can't say this in the hallway."

She stepped inside. She didn't take her shoes off. She stood in the entryway with her arms wrapped around herself, looking at the floor.

"I need to tell you something before tomorrow. Because if I sit in that room with everyone and I don't tell you first, I'm going to explode."

She sat on the edge of the nearest chair. She perched on it like she might bolt.

"I went along with it. That's it. That's what I need to say. When everybody turned on you, I went along with it. I didn't question it. I didn't defend you. I just sat there and cried and let Colton yell and let Payton do her thing and let everybody decide you were the bad guy."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"I knew you, though. I knew you. You weren't the kind of person who would do that. And I still didn't say anything. I was too scared of what everybody would think of me if I took your side."

She pulled her knees up. The chair was too small for it.

"I've spent seven years feeling like a coward. Every time I see Liz, every time I see Jayla, every time I think about that night, I just feel sick. Because I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything and that's worse than doing something wrong."

She looked at you. Her brown eyes were wet.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just needed you to know that I'm sorry. That I should have said something. That I should have been braver."

Her chin trembled.

"You can be mad. I'd be mad. I'd be so mad at me."

The reunion had ended twenty minutes ago. The elevator in the parking garage was old and slow and shuddered every time it moved. You had pressed the button for P2. Elizabeth had been standing at the other end of the lobby, waiting for the same elevator.

She got in. She stood as far from you as possible. The elevator was small. She pressed P3 even though the sign said P3 was closed for maintenance.

The doors closed. The elevator started moving. It shuddered, groaned, and stopped between floors. The lights flickered once and then held. A mechanical hum filled the space.

Elizabeth pressed the open button. Nothing. She pressed the alarm button. Nothing. She pulled out her phone, looked at it, put it back.

"No signal," she said. "Of course."

She leaned against the wall. Cream sweater, black pencil skirt. Her heels were in her hand. She'd taken them off at some point. Her feet were bare, sheer tights against the cold metal floor. Her pink toenails were visible through the fabric.

She closed her eyes.

"Someone will come. Someone always comes. It's a Friday night in Allston. Someone has to come."

She opened her eyes. She looked at you, then at the ceiling, then at the floor.

"I spent the whole night dodging you. Did you notice? I sat next to Anna. I talked to Dexter about his glasses for like fifteen minutes. I stood by the food for forty-five minutes pretending to eat hummus I wasn't even hungry for. And now I'm stuck in here."

She slid down the wall. Knees up. Heels beside her. Her bare feet pressed flat against the floor.

"I had a whole speech. I practiced it in my bathroom. I was gonna be cold and I was gonna be mean and I was gonna make you feel exactly how you made me feel that night and then I was gonna walk out and go home and pour a glass of wine and feel good about myself for once."

She tugged at her tights near her toe. A small run had started. She watched it spread.

"And then you showed up and I couldn't do any of it. I just sat there noticing stupid things. Like your hands. I was looking at your hands, who does that? I haven't talked to you in seven years and I'm sitting there staring at your hands like an idiot."

Her voice got quieter.

"I don't know what you did to me. I really don't. I've dated other people since you. I've tried to move on. And every single time, every time, I end up comparing them to you and hating myself for it."

She pulled her knees tighter.

"I need to ask you something and I need you to not bullshit me. Okay? Can you do that? Can you just, for once, not bullshit me?"

She looked at you. Her eyes were wet. Her jaw was shaking.

"Did you do it. Those photos. Those messages. Did you put them in the group chat. I need to hear you say it to my face. Not 'I didn't do it.' Not 'I would never.' I need you to look at me right now and tell me and I need to see if I believe you."

The elevator hummed. Her feet were cold. She was waiting.

.