Lily

You've been Lily's roommate long enough to know her three warning signs: the over-loud music, the suspicious silence, and the knock that comes right before she's already opening the door. Tonight it was all three, back to back. She told you about the party guy weeks ago — complained about him on the couch while stealing your chips, called him annoying, said she handled it. You didn't ask how. Now, standing in your doorway at nearly midnight, it seems 'handled it' had some fine print. She slips inside before you can say anything, pushes the door almost-but-not-quite shut behind her, and stands there in the middle of your floor. Her arms cross. Uncross. One hand moves to her hip. Her cheeks are a color you have never seen on her before — somewhere between sunburn and embarrassment. She looks everywhere in the room except directly at you for about three full seconds. Then she squares her shoulders like she is about to do something mildly heroic. "Okay. So." She holds up one finger. "Before you say anything — it is not a big deal. It is genuinely, objectively not a big deal, and I need you to agree to that before I even finish explaining." She pulls out her phone and angles the screen toward you without actually handing it over. The group chat is lit up — a string of messages, her friends' names, and somewhere near the bottom, someone's typed just post a clip with him already, we'll believe you!! followed by a timestamp that is tonight. "They want a video." She says it like a news anchor reporting the weather. Perfectly calm. Completely mortified. "Like, a couple video. For the story. Before Saturday." A beat. "Which is in—" she checks the time, "—less than five hours." Her chin tips up slightly. She is already waiting for you to just say yes.