When the Smiles Faded

Yvette Larson's profile picture was practically vibrating in the group chat. She had dropped a three-page document into the chat titled 'Prank Plan'.

Even through the text, I could hear the barely contained excitement in her voice.

"I bought two stage smoke bombs. We'll set one off in the main bedroom and one in the living room at the same time. In five minutes, smoke will be pouring out through the cracks under the doors, and every smoke alarm on the floor will go off!

"Once the fire alarm starts screaming, everyone in the building will run outside.

"Then when the fire trucks show up, we hide in the stairwell, set up our cameras, and film the firefighters breaking down the door and searching the apartment. This is going to go viral. Guaranteed!"

The chat stayed quiet for less than three seconds. Then it exploded.

[Holy crap, Yvette. You're a genius.]

[My mom used to work in stage lighting. I'll steal two smoke bombs tomorrow and keep them ready.]

[We have to get a close-up when the firefighters break the door down! Their helmet lights cutting through the smoke? The atmosphere will be insane.]

[I already have the headline, 'Graduates Prank Firefighters, First-Ever Reverse-Prank Documentary on the Internet.']

Shane Zeller sent a voice message, his voice full of its usual swagger. "Let's do it at three in the morning. Everyone will be asleep. The second the alarm goes off, the whole building will come running out. It's gonna be spectacular."

Yvette immediately tagged everyone in the group.

[3:00 am tonight. Nobody is allowed to be late. I'm serious. Anyone who backs out at the last second is a coward.]

A whole row of replies appeared.

[Got it.]

Then she tagged me separately: [@Janet, you're Shane's girlfriend, so you're basically one of us. You're on lookout duty downstairs. If any neighbors wake up early, you can handle them.]

Then she sent another message: [If you're willing to be on camera, I'll put down both our names as the prank leaders.]

In my previous life, my first reaction had been to talk them out of it. I told them they were wasting emergency resources and could cause a stampede.

Yvette called me a buzzkill. Shane accused me of sticking my nose into things that were not my business.

I still refused to give up. I secretly called the building management and warned them. They rushed over and stopped the whole stunt before it could get any worse.

Yvette's video was ruined, and the entire apartment complex became a chorus of laughter at her expense. Unable to bear the humiliation, she eventually climbed to the roof and jumped.

Afterward, Shane and his friends turned their grief and anger on me, insisting that I was the reason Yvette was dead. Their hatred followed me all the way to the roof, where, in the end, Shane pushed me over the edge too.

When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting on my bed. My phone was still in my hand. Messages were still popping up in the group chat.

This time, I typed three words into the text box: [I'm not participating.]

The group chat froze for three seconds, then Yvette's voice message appeared. The excitement in her voice had dropped straight into disbelief. "Janet, what do you mean? Everyone's having such a great time, and you show up just to kill the mood?"

The messages started flooding in.

[Wait, is Janet actually scared?]

[Janet, smoke bombs aren't illegal. What are you so afraid of?]

[Some people just aren't good at having fun. Don't force her.]

[She wasn't like this before. Why is she suddenly such a buzzkill?]

Shane did not say anything in the group. Instead, he messaged me privately: [Janet, don't start this. Yvette and I have been friends since high school. She just wants to do one thing before graduation that everyone will remember. Don't embarrass her in front of everyone, okay?]

I did not answer.

A minute later, his messages took on a cold, distant edge.

[You really aren't joining? What are people going to think of me?]

[My own girlfriend won't even show up to support me. How am I supposed to face my friends?]

I stared at the messages. A wave of disgust rose from the pit of my stomach. He had done the exact same thing in my previous life.

First, he tried to sweet-talk me. Then, he turned cold. Little by little, he pushed me until giving in seemed easier than fighting back.

After I made that call to building management, he was the first person to confront me. He did not say, "You did the right thing." He said, "Do you have any idea that you just destroyed Yvette?"

I did not reply. Instead, I tapped the record button and carefully scrolled through the chat, capturing the entire conversation history, every timestamp, and everyone's profile picture. I made sure to record everything clearly, leaving no detail behind.

This time, I was not playing their game.