Grant remembered the first time his grandfather explained the significance of the Taegeukgi. The blue and red circle in the center of the flag had roots in Taiji similar to yin and yang. That was all Grant could really ever pick up from his grandfather’s broken English.

Neither his mother nor father ever bothered to teach him Korean.They were busy arguing over who would keep the porcelain tea set or who would keep the house or who would keep him and his brother. Then they were busy figuring out how to hide the divorce from the family. Eventually they came to a mutual consensus, balanced as all warring dualities were: his mother would keep the porcelain, his father would keep the house, and they’d split their children. Michael, who was older and preparing for college, went with their mother and he went with their father. This was entirely because his mother had better connections in her family and because his father was better with a growing, changing son than his mother could ever be.

Redwood Cove was sort of like a yin-yang too. It was split in many ways: beachfront and woodside, downtown and the boonies, the poor side of town and the gated hillside, Ridgeview Private school and Redwood Public, immigrant families and red blooded Americans. All had little pieces of the other in them. That's how Grant met Marcie.

Well, first he met Hunter. They’d both attended Ridgeview since they were five, and no two boys were closer in their whole class. It was like that until they were almost ten, when Hunter met a girl at the carnival. He said she spoke funny but she was really cool and liked Pokémon like they did and also, she played the arcade cabinets at Bernillo’s Pizza even though the buttons were complicated and also also, she was really brave cause she liked really scary stuff. When he introduced her to Grant, Grant had to agree. She did speak funny and she was incredibly cool. She knew more about Pokemon than either of them even though she said the names wrong. She absolutely obliterated them at every fighting game available in Bernillo’s arcade. And she could watch the whole way through The Witches—that terrifying Jim Henson version—without so much as blinking, much less hiding behind her hands and peeping through like Grant had to.

Marcie dropped her accent as soon as she got the scholarship into Ridgeview in their sixth grade. And from there they were the trio. Nerdy, rebellious, and weird. And he loved to be in it. They were Grant, Marcie, and Hunter. Until they weren’t anymore. Over time, they became Grant and then Marcie and Hunter. And he didn't love it anymore.

So he betrayed them. Or maybe he was just being dramatic, but that’s what it felt like he did. Either way, he put away his Zelda T-shirts, took down his Oldboy and Attack the Gas Station posters (which Michael never technically gave to him but finders thrower-awayers), and started hanging around the popular kids Marcie and Hunter used to resent. His turn to the dark side wasn’t a quick transition. At first, they really weren't as bad as they believed they were. It started with Curt finding him funny and Julie taking an odd interest in him. He liked that. The attention and the cred it gave him around school. Hunter never forgave him for that.

Grant could never wrap his head around why he always cared so much about his own image. Finding the origin was easy; it was his parents fault he was that way. He always wondered why, if he knew what the problem was and where it came from, he never felt he could do anything to stop caring. Nevertheless, Marcie and Hunter were an image he didn’t want associated with himself.

In a school of pressed slacks and plaid skirts, they dressed like they wanted to be cartoon characters. It was ridiculous. And they were so rude to everyone, it was no wonder nobody liked them. They sat alone together everyday, where none of the rich snobby assholes would bother them. It was especially ridiculous that Hunter thought he was above it all; he had a mansion and was only upset that it was smaller than the other ones. Marcie had every right to think poorly of the standard Ridgeview fare, but nobody else at Ridgeview seemed to think so because she was a ‘freeloader’ who took ‘handouts’. Grant knew that the racism was strong with these ones, hell, they used to sing ‘Yerrow’ by Coldplay—with all the Ls replaced by Rs—to him every time he entered the locker room. But the true extent of the prejudice didn’t really present itself until a brown girl started walking the halls. At least they tolerated him enough to let him onto the track team and the soccer team. But they treated her like garbage. And when he said ‘they’ he meant himself included.

Trying to count the number of times they learned her locker combination just to stuff it full of trash would be like trying to count the number of individual red blood cells you have in your body. Every week it was used candy wrappers, chewed up bubblegum, snotty tissues, oily burrito bags, Marty’s cigarette butts, and much much worse. The worst of the items he dumped in was an open container of kimchi, which was especially evil, considering she used to beg him to bring some to school so she could snack on it. He was sure the experience ruined kimchi for her, and ruined her Advanced Calculus textbook which was soggy with spicy cabbage juice.

That was the tamest of the bullying they inflicted on her. They banged on lockers right in her ear to startle her because Edith heard rumors of gunshots firing in Marcie’s neighborhood and told Julie, who told Grant to start doing it. The police determined it was fireworks, but Ridgeview ran with the rumor anyways. The girls would follow her into the bathroom and talk shit about her while they knew she was in the stall. They’d said nasty things about her culture because of course they thought lengua was gross and Día de los Muertos was creepy and weird. But it was better for Grant that they were so focused on Marcie, because it meant that they were no longer making fun of bibimbap because it had a funny name or bowing to him when they found out it was Lunar New Year.

The teachers and administration turned a blind eye. Of course they did. They didn’t want their equity campaign getting flushed down the drain. Marcie was so damn stubborn that she refused to let them win. And with Hunter, the two of them seemed indestructible.

But, after they’d all graduated from Ridgeview, Hunter left. 99.9% of the student body had gone to different colleges—good colleges—so Marcie, Grant, and a handful of others were left behind in Redwood Cove. Grant’s friends that stayed started inviting Marcie around because Annabelle of all people vouched for her. It was a shock. What was even more shocking was that Marcie actually showed up. But eventually, her presence became normal even if it was still uncomfortable between them. So it was no surprise that Marcie was there the night of the kickback. And if Grant was being completely honest, even less of a surprise when she—allegedly—flung herself off the cliff.

That was what they were all there to talk about wasn’t it, Grant thought. The fact that he’d been a real dumbass and let shit slip to Hunter. And now they were all gonna ride his ass for it, tell him he had to stop, maybe even cuss him out. Whatever they needed to do to make themselves feel better. It’d only cause problems if he didn’t show up. He’d take it and then go back to secretly cutting them off.

They had the lounge in Julie Lovett’s yacht to themselves. If this is what Silicon Valley money got you, and Julie’s dad sure had a lot of it, Grant was starting to understand why his brother Michael had upended his roots and moved there to build his startup.

Julie herself was seated on the cushioned couch, crossing her arms and scowling. She was the one who sent the message to the group chat insisting they all had to meet immediately. Yet, she was deathly silent. While Grant’s encounter with Hunter during his shift was pure coincidence, Julie must have caught wind of it because she glared at him as he took a seat.

Grant took the edge of the couch closest to the stairwell down to the lounge and said a short, “Hey,” to no enthusiastic response. He could never really tell what Julie thought of him. Did she hate him that much for talking to Hunter?

He wasn’t the first to arrive. To the left of Julie, was Edith Lee, biting at her cuticles. She looked like she was about ready to jump out of her skin every time someone new showed up. Annabelle Warren, her other groupie to the right, looked about as disinterested as ever, staring at her phone and twirling her bright red hair. The air between them was tense.

He watched as the last of the group trickled in. To his slight relief, Julie was actually glaring at everyone that entered the room. Not just him.

Marty Gillman, high as expected, stumbled down the stairs, scooted around the center coffee table, and slumped down into the couch close to Annabelle. He looked her way while scratching at his thick stubble. It was painfully apparent that he’d always had an attraction to her, and Grant wondered how someone could go four years of highschool and two after, never getting the hint that she thought he was repulsive. It was clear from the look on her face and how she turned away from him.

Curtis Robert-Patrick popped up next. He must have come from the gym because he looked about as sweaty as if he’d taken a dip in the ocean right outside.

As he came down the stairs, he barrelled straight for Grant. There was no getting out of it. Curt met him with a firm dap and a bro hug.

“How you been bro?” asked Curt.

The embrace gave Grant a full mental image of Curt’s musculature. Curt was bigger, more manly, and still had less body fat. Grant could never catch up to Curt’s build despite all of the effort he put in. He felt his tight shirt tighten further around his own body when he saw that Curt’s muscles still seemed to be pulsing in some way. He should’ve been at the gym, but the stress of the text had compelled an ill-advised trip to Jack in the Box. He’d work off the burger, fries, and nuggets tomorrow, he promised himself. And he’d sweat out the soda in water weight.

“I'm good. I've been okay,” Grant replied, a little too terse.

Curt sat down next to Marty, across from Grant. Conveniently the two stinkiest members of their powwow didn’t seem to notice each other’s stench.

One more person showed up, walking hesitantly down the stairs. Grant wasn't expecting anyone else, but a girl with golden brown hair and clothes that were clearly hand-me-downs asked, “Hey, am I in the right place?”

This must’ve been Veronica Ramos, the last piece of the puzzle. She looked like she was walking into a den of lions. Grant thought that was fair. The girl was holding back contempt looking at the interior of the yacht, like it was the first time she’d ever seen luxury up close and was having an allergic reaction to it.

“You see me sitting here, don’t you?” Julie said, now directing her death glare at the new girl.

In that moment between those two, Grant felt the boat rocking. It was docked and midday sun filled the room with spots of blinding light through the windows, illuminating hanging portraits of who Grant assumed were the men who owned the Lovett wealth throughout the years. The glare of the sun seemed to get in Veronica’s face, forcing her to be the first to crack. She moved to take her seat between Edith and Grant.

“So Jules,” Curt said, pushing his damp blonde bangs back. “You wanna tell us why we're here?”

Curt was the only one who could ever talk to Julie that way.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m sure you all know that Hunter Campbell is back.”

Everyone gave nods, shrugs, and knowing silences from their different corners.

It was Edith who actually spoke, “I saw him at the optometrist. And if anyone was wondering–”

“Jesus. Eddi. Nobody cares about your LASIK surgery,” Annabelle cut in. “You look worse without glasses anyway.”

Edith shriveled into the couch cushion while Julie, with a wide-eyed ‘anyway’ look, parted her lips to speak.

“What even is LASIK surgery?” Marty asked. The question was probably supposed to be sarcastic, but it sounded painfully earnest. “And who's this?” Without moving much of his body, Marty up-nodded towards Veronica.

Before Veronica could bite Marty’s head off, which she so clearly wanted to, Annabelle chimed in first. “Veronica. She was in Marcie’s note. Keep up, coke-stain.”

Marty tried not to take offense to the jab. He limply rolled his head back to address the room, then his forehead creased to ask something else. Probably a clarification on what LASIK was.

“A note I didn’t fucking know about until you ambushed me!” Veronica accused.

“Julie had to go to your ghetto to even find you,” Edith defended. “She put herself in danger!”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Chupa mis huevos,” Veronica spat at Edith.

Grant couldn’t stop the snort that escaped his nostrils.

“What did you say?” Edith asked, scandalized, though she clearly did not understand the meaning.

Veronica launched into a flurry of rapid Spanish that Grant did not have the comprehension to keep up with. Julie, Edith, and Marty recoiled at the outburst. Grant was hardly intimidated and neither was Annabelle, who tiredly checked the time on her phone. Curt, though, straightened from a manspreaded hunch and started arguing with her.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded. “Don’t say that shit about my mother.”

Veronica threw up a finger towards Curt and he shot back with one of his own.

With a derisive sigh, like a school teacher wrangling children, Annabelle asked, “Why would we have to worry about Hunter, Julie?”

Julie seemed disappointed that Annabelle had interrupted her personal reality TV show. Grant snapped back to focus. He’d stayed silent to delay the inevitable. Instead of addressing him, Julie reached into her purse and tossed a creased piece of paper onto the coffee table.

“Because of this.”

It was a note. The note. The note that shouldn’t exist.

They had tried to burn it with Marty’s lighter over a year ago. The paper refused to light or even tear, so they buried it along with any evidence of their presence at the beach that night. It was all so weird. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything about the situation was off in some way.

The words were the same as the note from a year ago. It was dried over like it had been damp before and it was singed like it was supposed to be. The writing on this note wasn’t Marcie’s handwriting. It was awfully close, but he knew it by the way the Ts and Ls were drawn. Marcie always made loops in them like cursive even when she was writing in print. These Ts and Ls were straight-edged. Someone had gone to great lengths to recreate it.

Grant tried to glean what he could from the room’s reactions. Edith looked at it like her life was over. Marty sobered in seconds and his slouching spine went rigid. Veronica was reading it over for the first time, horrified. For the first time all afternoon, Annabelle actually seemed to take a genuine interest in something. Curt began compulsively massaging his scalp and face and bouncing his leg up and down. He tried to meet Grant’s eyes, but Grant didn’t reciprocate.

“How?” was all Marty could manage.

“I don’t know,” Julie snapped. “I just found it in my bag yesterday.”

“So they’re onto us?” Edith had picked her fingers red.

Annabelle clicked her tongue. “I want you to explain to me who ‘they’ is in what you just said. Who would be on to what, exactly? This isn’t Ocean’s Eleven, Eddi. It’s not a movie. Marcie decided to do that because of us. It was going to come back to bite us all eventually.”

“No!” Julie whipped her glare towards Annabelle, “She made a decision because she was ill. We all saw it. She was crazy.”

“We didn’t see anything.” Annabelle turned to the rest of the room. “Did anyone, other than Julie, actually see Marcie jump?”

Another unspoken answer passed between them. None of them did. Grant, particularly, was busy then, putting his middle and pointer finger down his throat. He didn’t remember much between that and leaving behind a discolored puddle to find Julie looking over the wooden fence that led off the cliff. She didn’t scream until Edith saw. Then they screamed together.

Julie wrapped her arms around her body so that her clenching fists were hidden under her armpits. You could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. “I don’t like what you’re implying. I didn’t even see her jump either. I told you I had my back turned,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah Julie would never–” Edith started.

“–Shut up, Edith!” Julie barked.

Curt cut through the air with his hands, exasperated. “Girls, girls. That’s enough. We all agreed to a united front a year ago.

“I didn’t.” Veronica raised her hand.

Curt took a brief pause and decided to ignore her. “Those who were present on the night of the incident agreed to clean it up and stay silent. This note is nothing. If anyone knew, the most they could bring was a wrongful death lawsuit. There’s no solid evidence to suggest we’d be fully culpable other than testimony from random-ass people from three to seven years ago. At most, we’d pay limited damages to her family, and if dumpster queen here is anything to go by, her family would need it.”

Veronica looked more resigned to the insult than genuinely insulted.

Everyone stared at Curt in stunned silence. He’d really thought this through. Had they really all sunk so low that the guy who’s aspirations didn’t extend beyond tomorrow’s workout routine was bringing rationality to the table?

“You didn’t tell your dad about this did you?” Julie asked.

“Of course not, Jules.”

“Great!” Edith said. “Good! We won’t go to court. I can’t get in trouble over this, the program–”

“Nobody gives a shit about your nursing program either.” Annabelle shot down.

This is how they were, always one bad day away from imploding since the moment Grant got in with them. At each other’s throats and only looking out for their own interests. He was no different than them. He was happy to have only said six words since he arrived and he was hoping it would stay that way.

Marty had taken the note in his hands. “You guys are giving me a mad migraine. Can we dial it back a bit?”

“For once I agree with Marty,” Annabelle spoke again, despite being the most recent person to throw out a non-productive jab. Irony and hypocrisy were lost on these people.

“It’s super trippy, this is like the exact same as the one we got rid of. There’s even the same burn mark.” Marty said. “Hey, wouldn’t the ink have washed off or something?”

“So you think Hunter recreated the note.” Veronica offered, turning to Julie. “Then what? Slipped it in your bag?”

Julie uncrossed her legs. The nasty glare on her face somehow seemed even colder. Grant didn’t like when Julie was calculating. “That’s what I thought at first,” Julie said. “But Marcie would've had to send it to Hunter before leaving it with us that night. But she blamed him in it too. It wouldn’t make sense. Edith, tell them what you told me.”

“Uhh–I think she ripped out a page from my notebook to write on. I found it torn later and it's the same paper. I thought Marcie just had her own notebook, same as us.” Edith said. She seemed ashamed. “But then I thought, Marcie wouldn’t have a Pines1918 hardcover! She's poor.”

Veronica's face twisted. “Maybe Hunter got her a notebook. Isn’t he rich? Who even knows what he’s gifted her?”

“I do.” Julie stated. “I looked into it.”

That was a scary thought.

“Composition. It's all she's ever used,” she said. “She wrote the note at the lot on Edith's page. Hunter doesn't even know the note exists, which means he couldn't be the one who recreated it.”

“So it's not Hunter.” Curt grunted then nodded to Veronica, “and it couldn't be you. You didn’t know about the note either.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, oh great and honorable douchebag,” Veronica said sharply.

“Which only leaves one person,” Julie said.

And then she looked at him. And so did everyone else.

Were they really accusing him of this? He’d come prepared for every defense against him talking to Hunter, but this was all just too much. He wanted to throw up.

“What!? Why me? Why not Curt or Annabelle?” Grant argued, immediately regretting being too loud and too defensive.

Julie narrowed her eyes even further towards him. “Curt’s too stupid to pull this off.”

“Hey!” Curt interjected fruitlessly.

“–And Annabelle’s not stupid enough to do it in the first place.”

Annabelle nodded in agreement.

Julie's impatience was rising. “And really, Grant. This is stupid, even for you. You know who my father is, hmm? I could know where you were every day for the last three weeks. I could convince him to buy up that shithole apartment your mom lives in with no rent control. If you don’t tell us the truth, it gets worse. Okay, Grant?”

Julie saying his name felt so piercing. Like he was staring down the barrel of a pistol and couldn’t look away. He was going to puke. He needed to leave. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you’ve been ghosting us, bro,” Curt said. “I don’t understand why you took it all so hard, you hated on Hunter and Marcie the most. All this stuff you're trying to pull, desecrating her grave, stealing her urn, whatever this was, you can talk to us about it.”

“Okay! That's crazy!” Grant yelled. He couldn't believe they thought it was him. How could it be him and not them. “I would never do anything that bad! Any of it! I agreed to the plan, same as you.”

Everyone in the room exchanged questioning looks, except Julie, whose cruel glare turned to a cruel smile. “Good. I believe you.”

Marty had practically checked into another universe, but everyone else turned their attention to Julie, shifting their eyes between her and Grant.

All this made Grant’s nausea worsen. And yet, he couldn’t excuse himself. He certainly couldn't yack in the middle of Julie Lovett’s yacht. He couldn’t stand these people but he couldn’t leave them. The lounge felt like it was getting smaller. Like the eyes of the paintings on the walls were boring holes into his skull. He wanted nothing but to make up with Hunter, but he would never regain his trust. Not if he was beholden to this fucked up vow of silence. He focused on one point to settle his stomach, fixing his gaze on Julie to look confident.

“I still don’t know who wrote this damn thing.” Julie held the note in her hand. “I’m getting rid of it again. But, I wanted to remind everyone what’s really at stake here and why we stay in communication.”

“That doesn’t seem to be your concern with me,” Veronica reasoned. “Why did you tell me about this now?”

“I need eyes on your side of town where she’s buried. You’re my eyes,” said Julie, to which Veronica slowly nodded.

“Used to be buried,” Annabelle cut under her breath.

“Things have changed with Hunter in town and all the weird shit that's been going on. I need people who understand the consequences of crossing me.” Julie said, looking back at Grant. In another universe this girl would’ve been a mob boss or something.

“We all stay in contact. Hold a united front or whatever. If we can do that, then this passes another year,” Julie concluded. “Nobody has any evidence. Nobody can come after us. Now, before you all leave, I need eyes on Hunter. Any suggestions?”

Julie’s gaze landed squarely on Grant. But what was he supposed to say? Hunter was going to treat him like the plague. The guy practically ran out of the supermarket to get away from him. Not that they knew that, it seemed.

Marty returned to the land of the living. “Hunter’s kid sister is meeting up with me tonight for a pickup.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Veronica commented.

“What? Everybody’s gotta make a livin.” He shrugged.

Julie, for her part, was back to a pissy scowl. “Okay and?”

“I can get her to keep an eye on her brother. These kids, you know, they’ll do anything as long as I don’t stop selling to them. I can just tell her to do it if she wants the next bag.”

“Okay, dude, that is actually fucked up.” Curt shook his head in disapproval.

“No. No. It’s a good plan if you’re sure you can hook her into it,” Julie decided.

“Cool,” said Marty. There was an ease in his voice after Julie’s affirmation. He was pleased with himself for getting praise from their queen bee.

“Anyone else have anything to say?” Julie addressed the room.

Edith, who’d been quiet in the corner of the couch, shook her head. Annabelle went back to staring at whatever was so important on her phone. Veronica and Curt had ended up in some sort of vitriolic staring contest. Grant didn’t want to bring any more attention to himself for fear of incurring her scrutiny, so he too, gave no answer.

“Okay. Now, everybody get off my yacht,” Julie commanded.

Yin-yang, Grant thought. There was a point in time where he told himself that he'd always been yang, he just got caught up with Hunter and Marcie’s yin. As he left Julie’s yacht, he finally determined he was actually yin, a little discolored dot among them. Despite all the threats about his part in Marcie’s death, the year they spent keeping it swept under a rug, and whatever apparent comradery it presupposed, he didn’t much care to ever talk to them again.

When Grant stepped outside, he could smell the putrid fishy scent of the wharf. The yacht club was small and tucked away from the fisheries, but the ocean breeze often carried its odors. The overwhelming sensation of it brought what little he’d been able to eat that morning up into his throat. He found a corner away from the group, behind some other big expensive boat, and dropped to his knees to vomit into the water.