Blind Spot

KATE'S POV

Something was off with Carol.

Kate had noticed it for weeks now—the distracted looks, the cancelled plans, the way Carol's attention seemed to drift even when they were mid-conversation. At first, she'd chalked it up to stress. Senior year was kicking everyone's ass, and Carol had always been intense about her grades, pushing herself harder than anyone Kate knew.

But this felt different.

They were supposed to meet for coffee Tuesday morning, their usual spot near campus—a tiny place called Brew Haven that made the best vanilla lattes and had booths in the back where they could spread out their stuff and talk for hours. Carol showed up fifteen minutes late, which wasn't like her. She was always the punctual one, the organized one, the person who showed up early with color-coded notes and a plan for whatever they needed to accomplish.

"Sorry, sorry," Carol said, sliding into the booth across from Kate.

Kate looked up from her phone and immediately noticed things were off. Carol's hair was still damp, like she'd rushed through a shower. She was wearing yesterday's jeans—Kate recognized them because they had that small bleach stain near the left pocket—and a sweatshirt that looked hastily thrown on. No makeup, which wasn't necessarily unusual, but combined with everything else, it painted a picture of someone who'd overslept and scrambled to get out the door.

But it was Carol's face that really caught Kate's attention. There were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn't been sleeping well. But despite the exhaustion, there was something else—a glow, maybe, or just a different quality to her expression. And her lips were curved in this small, secret smile, like she was thinking about something pleasant that she had no intention of sharing.

"I overslept," Carol explained, flagging down the server and ordering her usual vanilla latte without even looking at the menu.

Kate studied her best friend more closely. Carol was avoiding eye contact, suddenly very interested in pulling out her laptop and arranging her things on the table—tasks that didn't require nearly as much attention as she was giving them.

"Late night studying?" Kate asked, keeping her tone casual.

"Something like that." Carol still wouldn't meet her eyes, now fiddling with her phone case, picking at the corner where it was starting to peel.

Kate felt something twist in her chest. They'd been best friends since eighth grade—seven years of sharing everything, of being able to read each other's moods, of knowing when the other was hiding something. And right now, Carol was definitely hiding something.

"Carol."

"Hmm?" She was scrolling through her phone now, thumb moving across the screen with purpose.

"Are you seeing someone?"

Carol's head snapped up, eyes wide with what looked like genuine panic. "What? No. Why would you—" She fumbled her phone, nearly dropping it onto the table.

"Because you're acting weird. You keep canceling on me—we were supposed to hang out last Friday, remember? And Saturday you said you had to work, but when I called the bookstore looking for you, Trevor said you weren't on the schedule. You're always 'busy' but won't say with what." Kate leaned forward, lowering her voice. "And right now you look like someone who definitely did not spend last night studying."

She watched Carol's face cycle through several expressions in rapid succession—panic, guilt, something that might have been longing or maybe just exhaustion—before settling on forced casualness. Carol set her phone down deliberately, screen-side down, and finally met Kate's eyes.

"There's no one," Carol said, and her voice had that careful quality it got when she was choosing her words precisely. "I promise. Just... dealing with some stuff. Family stuff. You know how my mom gets."

It was a believable lie. Carol's mother could be demanding, especially since the divorce. She worked long shifts as a nurse and often leaned on Carol more than she probably should—asking her to check in on Miguel, to help with bills, to be the responsible one even though Carol had her own life to manage. Family drama was always a safe excuse, one Kate had heard before and had no reason to doubt.

Kate wanted to believe it. Wanted to accept the explanation and move on, let Carol have her privacy about whatever was actually going on.

But something in her gut said Carol was lying.

"Okay," Kate said slowly, watching Carol's shoulders relax slightly with relief. "But you know you can talk to me about anything, right? If something's going on—with your family or school or whatever—I'm here."

"I know," Carol said, and at least that sounded genuine. "I really do know that, Kate. You're the best friend I could ask for."

The words should have been reassuring, but something about the way Carol said them—with an almost desperate sincerity—made Kate feel worse instead of better.

The server arrived with their drinks, and the moment passed. They shifted into talking about their presentation, about the upcoming deadline, about anything safe and normal. But Kate couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between them, that Carol was drifting away somehow and Kate didn't know how to stop it.

---

Later that afternoon, Kate sat in her room at the duplex, supposedly working on her environmental science reading but actually staring at her phone. She opened her text thread with Carol and scrolled up, looking at the pattern of their recent conversations.

The decline was obvious once she looked for it. Three weeks ago, they'd been texting constantly—memes, complaints about professors, random observations about their days. Two weeks ago, it had started to taper off. Carol's responses became shorter, took longer to arrive. Last week, entire days had gone by with minimal communication.

And the plans Carol had cancelled weren't just occasional conflicts. Kate pulled up her calendar and counted: five times in the past three weeks. Five times Carol had made plans and then backed out with various excuses. Work. Family obligations. Not feeling well. Needing to study.

Kate had believed all of them at the time. But looking at the pattern now, it was hard not to see it as avoidance.

Her bedroom door was open, and she could hear her dad downstairs in the kitchen, making dinner. The familiar sounds—cabinets opening and closing, the sizzle of something in a pan, the quiet music he liked to play while cooking—were comforting in their normalcy.

Kate thought about going downstairs and talking to him about it. Her dad was good at giving advice, especially lately. Since the divorce, he'd made an effort to be more present, more communicative. They'd gotten closer, if anything, learning to navigate their new family structure together.

But what would she even say? *My best friend is acting strange and I think she's lying to me but I don't know why?* It seemed silly when she put it that way. Carol was allowed to have privacy. Allowed to have things going on in her life that she wasn't ready to share yet.

Except they'd never had secrets before. That was the foundation of their friendship—radical honesty, even when it was uncomfortable. When Kate's parents had announced their divorce, Carol was the first person she'd called, sobbing in her car in the school parking lot. When Carol had broken up with her high school boyfriend, she'd shown up at Kate's house at midnight, needing to talk it through.

They didn't keep secrets from each other.

Until now, apparently.

Kate's phone buzzed with a text. For a moment, she hoped it was Carol, maybe with an actual explanation, maybe ready to tell the truth about whatever was going on.

But it was Emma: *got time for a quick call? want to ask you something about Carol*

Kate's stomach dropped. If Emma had noticed something too, then it wasn't just Kate being paranoid or overly sensitive.

She hit the call button.

"Hey," Emma answered immediately. "So, I'm not trying to be weird or invasive, but has Carol seemed off to you lately?"

"Yes," Kate said, relief flooding through her at having someone else confirm her observations. "God, yes. I asked her about it this morning and she said it was family stuff, but I don't think she was telling the truth."

"Yeah, I don't buy that either." There was a pause, and Kate heard papers rustling on Emma's end. "I saw her coming out of a hotel downtown yesterday. The Meridian, you know the one on Fifth Street?"

Kate's mind went blank for a moment. "A hotel? What was she doing there?"

"That's what I asked her. She said there was some career fair for hospitality majors in the conference room."

"Carol's a psychology major."

"Exactly what I said. She gave me some bullshit about keeping her options open and then basically ran away before I could ask anything else."

Kate tried to process this information. A hotel. An obvious lie. The pattern of secretive behavior. "You think she's seeing someone."

"Don't you? I mean, what else makes sense? The sneaking around, the lies, the hotel in the middle of the afternoon." Emma's voice took on a thoughtful quality. "The question is why she's being so secretive about it. If it was just some guy from class or whatever, why not tell us?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Kate tried to think of reasons someone might hide a relationship. "Maybe he's in a relationship already? Like, maybe she's seeing someone who has a girlfriend and she's embarrassed about it?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he's a professor or something. You know, inappropriate power dynamic situation."

The thought made Kate's stomach turn. Carol was smart and principled and feminist. She wouldn't sleep with a professor, would she? But then again, Kate wouldn't have thought Carol would lie to her face either, and that had clearly happened this morning.

"I don't know what to do," Kate admitted. "Part of me wants to just let it go, trust that she'll tell me when she's ready. But another part of me is worried. What if she's in over her head with something?"

"Yeah, I'm worried too," Emma said. "Look, I'm not saying we should like, stage an intervention or anything. But maybe we should keep paying attention? Make sure she's okay?"

"That feels like spying on her."

"It's not spying, it's being concerned friends who notice when someone we care about is acting completely out of character and lying about it."

Kate sighed. Emma had a point. If Carol was in trouble or making bad decisions, shouldn't her friends try to help? But the idea of actively investigating Carol's private life felt like a violation of trust.

"Let's just... be there for her," Kate said finally. "Try to spend more time with her, make sure she knows we care. Maybe if she feels supported, she'll open up about whatever's going on."

"Okay," Emma agreed, though she sounded slightly disappointed, like she'd been hoping for a more active plan. "But Kate? If this is something serious, if she's in danger or someone's taking advantage of her, we need to step in. Promise me we won't just stand by if things get worse."

"I promise," Kate said.

After they hung up, Kate sat in her room for a long time, staring at her phone. She opened I*******m and scrolled through Carol's recent posts. Nothing unusual—photos from campus, a selfie with their study group, a sunset shot from her apartment window. The captions were normal. The comments were normal. Everything looked completely fine from the outside.

But Kate knew her best friend. And everything was not fine.

---

Downstairs, Kate found her dad plating pasta at the kitchen counter. He looked up and smiled when she entered.

"Hey, sweetheart. Hungry? Made plenty."

"Yeah, thanks." She slid onto one of the kitchen stools, watching him work. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He set a plate in front of her—penne with marinara and grilled chicken, one of his staple dinners.

"If someone you care about was acting strange and you knew they were lying to you, but you didn't know why, what would you do?"

Her dad paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and something flashed across his face—was that guilt? But it was gone so quickly Kate thought she might have imagined it.

"Is this about Carol?" he asked.

Kate blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"

"You two have been best friends for years. I've watched you navigate friend drama before." He set down his fork, giving her his full attention in that way he had, like whatever she was saying was the most important thing in the world. "What's going on?"

"I don't know exactly. She's just been... different. Distracted. Canceling plans. And today I asked her about it and I could tell she was lying." Kate pushed pasta around on her plate. "Emma thinks she might be seeing someone she doesn't want us to know about."

"Could be," her dad said carefully. "People have all kinds of reasons for keeping relationships private, especially in college. Maybe she's not ready to share yet."

"But we tell each other everything. Or we used to, anyway."

Her dad was quiet for a moment, and when Kate looked up, there was something in his expression she couldn't quite read. Sympathy, maybe. Or understanding.

"Sometimes people need privacy even from the people they're closest to," he said finally. "It doesn't mean she doesn't trust you or doesn't value your friendship. It might just mean she's working through something on her own terms."

"But what if she's making a mistake? What if whoever she's seeing—if that's even what's happening—what if they're bad for her?"

"Then you'll be there when she needs you. That's what friendship is, Kate. Trusting people to make their own choices, even when you disagree with them, and being there to support them through the consequences."

It was good advice. Rational advice. The kind of thing her dad excelled at—calm, measured responses that made sense even when emotions were running high.

Kate nodded slowly. "You're right. I just miss her, you know? It feels like she's pulling away and I don't know why."

"Give her some time," her dad said. "And in the meantime, just keep being her friend. Show up. Be present. When she's ready to talk, she'll know you're there."

"Thanks, Dad." Kate managed a smile and finally started eating her pasta.

They settled into comfortable silence, the kind they'd perfected over the past two years of it being just the two of them. Kate scrolled through her phone while eating, her dad reading something on his tablet, both of them content in each other's company.

Kate didn't notice the way her father's hand tightened around his fork when she'd mentioned Carol. Didn't see the tension in his shoulders or the way he stared at his plate a little too intently after their conversation.

She was too busy worrying about her best friend to notice that her father looked like a man carrying his own secrets.