Page 48 of The Beta Test

“It’s not so much what she said, but, Aves… she was crying last night.”

The word crying punches clean through me. Guilt comes, hot and immediate. We’ve been more distant, but I know deep down she’s not to blame, not really. I am. I’ve been stuffing all my secrets down and keeping them locked up, even from my best friend. If I asked her to spend time one-on-one, she would. But that would also mean not being able to hide anything from her.

“Look,” he says while clearing his throat, “don’t tell her I said that. She’d kill me.”

He gives me a stern look and I nod. Yeah, she totally would.

“She feels like you’ve been avoiding her and she’s said that your friendship might be over. I told her that’s ridiculous, but… is it? I’ve noticed you haven’t been around our house as much lately.”

Our gazes lock; his bright blue eyes penetrate my soul in a way I can’t remember ever feeling. I open my mouth to say—something—but just then, my phone vibrates. I break our eye contact and pull it out of my pocket, thankful for the distraction. I turn slightly away from Jake to read the text but he doesn’t move. If anything he seems to get closer.

It’s from Braden!

Braden: Thinking of you while sitting in lecture this morning~

Braden: *Picture of a lecture hall full of students.*

“Why did he send you a stock photo?”

I ignore Jake long enough to tap out a quick response. What does he mean by “stock photo”? Is Jake trying to insinuate Braden is tricking me somehow? He may not always answer my texts, but that feels like a bridge too far.

Me: Miss you more than anything, and I wish I was in that lecture hall with you! *heart emoji*

“More than anything seems like a slight exaggeration.”

I whirl back towards Jake. “Maybe. But exaggerations in the name of love are appropriate, in my opinion. And it’s obviously not a stock photo—that’s absurd. Why would he send that?”

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket, taps and swipes for a few seconds, then turns the screen toward me—revealing an identical shot of a lecture hall.

“It took me like ten seconds to find this on MIT's website.”

He must see the denials rising to the tip of my tongue because he swipes back on the browser to show me the search terms he originally typed into the search bar: “stock photo MIT lecture hall.”

My throat goes tight. It isn’t even the lie that makes my stomach drop. It’s how easy it was. I see the evidence; I’m not stupid. I can’t deny it, but my brain is doing a valiant battle with my heart, and my heart is not one to be easily defeated.

“Well, maybe the professor has a rule against pictures being taken during class, so Braden grabbed a picture online to share with me so I can feel a part of his experience.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Ok.”

I huff, even though there’s a little voice deep inside getting louder, telling me to pay attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means: why are you buying his BS? You know he’s not sitting in that class right now. It’s actually kinda insulting that he thinks you’d buy that, but here you are ready to buy what he’s selling. Why, Avery?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes. Because… I don’t know. I have no idea why I’ve let Braden practically ghost me, then feed me bits of suspicious information here and there, sprinkled in just often enough to keep me content to wait for more. Then there’s the Tricia issue—who is she and why does she seem to keep popping up?

The truth is Braden and I are broken. I know that, but my loyal heart can’t let go of the boy with the beautiful brown eyes who became my best friend so many years ago. It feels impossible to accept that the same boy is now a man off at college, or wherever he is, ignoring me after making so many promises to stay in touch.

You won’t even notice I’m gone, Av. We’ll be texting and calling all the time.

Lies, all of it.

Now it’s almost Christmas and I’ve had one or two short, impersonal phone calls and texts with literal stock photos.

I look up at Jake, whose sky-blue eyes are carefully watching me. Jake has never lied to me. In fact, I distinctly remember the last time I’d accused him of lying—it was probably five or so years ago. We were at the Taylors’ house watching a movie and eating snickerdoodles still warm from the oven, but when I went to grab another cookie I discovered the plate was empty. When I’d accused Jake of eating the last one and he denied it, I’d said he was lying to cover up his cookie greed. The look on his face had seemed genuinely horrified at the idea that I thought he'd eaten it and lied. But then Jake had simply reached to his side, to his plate that I couldn’t see from my side of the couch, and handed me the last cookie. I was saving it for you, he said, so Jenna wouldn’t take it. He was looking out for me then, and I know in my heart he is trying to look out for me now.

“I don’t know, Jake,” I finally mumble, defeated. “I really don’t know. But what am I supposed to do?”

“Investigate. Find evidence. Interrogate eyewitnesses.”