There's something about arriving at college that makes you feel like a side character in someone else's movie. Like the background extra who dies twenty minutes in—except with more glitter and less screen time.
For Riley Quinn, it started with a campus tour and ended with the worst Uber pool of her life, two duffel bags of trauma, and a triple-shot iced latte that tasted like regret. And Blackthorn University? It didn't disappoint.
It was everything the brochure promised: gothic towers, too much ivy, students who dressed like they were auditioning for a Netflix reboot of Dead Poets Society, and a history of scandals so spicy it had its own Reddit thread. Hidden among the maple trees and legacy buildings was an elite, self-obsessed student body convinced they were smarter, hotter, and more damaged than anyone else.
They might not be wrong.
Riley stepped onto the quad with her earbuds in and a carefully crafted playlist titled "Avoid Eye Contact (and Emotional Vulnerability)" playing at full volume. She wore ripped jeans, a hand-me-down denim jacket, and the deadpan expression of someone who already regretted being social.
"Riley!"
She didn't need to turn to know who it was. That voice had haunted three years of high school debates and one extremely unfortunate game of spin-the-bottle.
Jax Moreno. Music major. Six feet of emotional confusion in a leather jacket. Her on-again-off-again not-quite-ex-boyfriend who believed in open mics, anti-capitalism, and never texting back.
He had the kind of face that made girls fall in love and therapists sigh audibly.
"You followed me here," Riley said flatly.
He grinned. "You wish."
They hugged like people who weren't sure if they should be touching, then fell into step as if they hadn't spent the summer ignoring each other's existence.
"New year, new trauma?" he asked.
Riley rolled her eyes. "New major, same existential dread."
"Ah," he said, holding up a smoothie that looked offensively green. "Welcome back."
---
THE FRIEND GROUP ASSEMBLES
By mid-afternoon, the quad was littered with students—some drunk, some crying, many both. There were three booths handing out condoms, two giving away kombucha samples, and a suspiciously cheerful acapella group singing "Bad Romance" with minor chords.
Sienna Lin arrived in heels no freshman deserved to walk in and a designer tote bag that cost more than Riley's rent. She was pre-law, pre-rich, and already stressed about mock trial auditions. Her eyeliner could kill a man. Probably had.
Nova "Nia" Alvarez showed up late, wearing a glittery crop top, combat boots, and a sarcastic smile that never quite reached her eyes. She majorly majored in chaos. She also smelled faintly of tequila and coconut body spray.
And then there was Zahra Fahim—film student, introvert, and secret adrenaline junkie. Hijabi, soft-spoken, and the most observant person in any room. While others screamed during horror films, Zahra took notes.
"Hey," Zahra said, approaching quietly, her black camera bag slung across her shoulder like a crossbow.
"Hey," Riley replied. "Welcome to the circus."
"I brought snacks," Zahra offered, holding out a granola bar like a peace offering.
Nova grabbed it and bit down. "She's the only reason any of us are alive."
"Don't forget emotionally stable," Zahra added.
Jax snorted. "In this group? Lies."
They all laughed.
But not for long.
---
LYR: THE LIE. THE LEGEND. THE VIRAL NIGHTMARE.
Later that night, the five of them were crammed into Ezra Vale's off-campus apartment. Ezra was the final piece of the puzzle—film major, soft-spoken, and obsessed with true crime. He documented everything with a quiet intensity that made people nervous. And occasionally aroused.
"So, have you heard about LYR?" he asked, holding up his phone.
They all stared at the screen.
The app was simple. A weekly post, anonymous. One secret. One student. The catch? The secrets were true.
First post:
> "SOMEONE ON THE DEBATE TEAM IS PAYING PEOPLE TO WRITE THEIR PAPERS."
Second post:
> "A SCHOLARSHIP STUDENT SLEPT WITH HER PROFESSOR FOR A GRADE BUMP."
Third post:
> "SOMEONE IN THIS ROOM HAS ALREADY LIED TO YOU."
Nova choked on her soda. "What the actual hell?"
Ezra shrugged. "It's spreading like wildfire. No clue who runs it. But whoever it is… they know things."
Riley narrowed her eyes. "Things like what?"
Ezra looked at her for a beat too long.
Then smiled. "Everything."
---
THE LIE THAT STARTED IT ALL
Two nights later, the first lie hit home.
Zahra was the one who found it.
Her phone buzzed during a late-night editing binge, and she checked the app out of curiosity more than paranoia. But then she saw it—posted in bright red text.
> "THE CAMPUS SECURITY GUARD WHO QUIT LAST YEAR? HE DIDN'T RESIGN. HE WAS BLACKMAILED. BY SOMEONE WHO FILMED WHAT REALLY HAPPENED THAT NIGHT IN SOUTH HALL."
Zahra stared at it for a long time. Because she had filmed something last year in South Hall. A prank. A party. And maybe… something else. She'd deleted the file. Hadn't she?
She didn't tell the others.
Not yet.
Because secrets had a funny way of rotting from the inside out. And she wanted to believe—just for one more night—that this wasn't about her.
---
SUSPICIONS & SHADOWS
The group sat around a bonfire at Ezra's, roasting marshmallows and talking trash. Laughing too loud. Pretending the world wasn't shifting under their feet.
But Riley couldn't stop glancing at her phone.
Because a new LYR post had dropped.
And this one?
This one had her name in it.
> "RILEY QUINN ISN'T JUST A JOURNALISM MAJOR. SHE'S A LIAR. SHE DESTROYED A STUDENT'S LIFE FOR A STORY. AND HE'S BACK."
Her fingers went numb. The fire crackled. Nova kept talking. Zahra caught her eye. Jax leaned closer.
"You good?" he asked.
Riley looked at him. At all of them.
And then she lied.
"Yeah. Totally fine."