I came back to my dorm Tuesday afternoon from class to hear Valdez and Lucy in my room again—I knocked twice, out of habit, and entered when nobody responded. Valdez was sitting on his bed and Lucy on mine, and didn't pause their conversation when I entered; Valdez only gestured for me to sit down in his chair.
"OK, I think we have the script down. Should we see what Project Narcissus has to say?" Valdez asked Lucy, who nodded and began typing furiously at her laptop. "Oh, Chris is here. Tell me what you think of this."
"Think of what?"
"This video," Lucy said, and I rolled Valdez's chair closer to my bed (I didn't feel like quibbling about personal property then) to take a look. There was a shaky cellphone video in someone's apartment, or perhaps a frat house, with dim purple lighting and EDM with indiscernible vocals. The guests held red Solo cups and undulated hypnotically to the beat; there were some definite violations of personal space going on. In the foreground, like the guests had parted like the Red Sea to give them the stage, this burly kid I didn't recognize danced by himself for a few seconds before Lucy walked up to him, holding her own cup.
"Hey," she asked in a low tone, "wanna make out?"
"Of course," the burly kid said, and he and Lucy threw their cups to the ground, their contents spilling and intermingling, and began passionately kissing. I turned to Lucy blankly. She beamed, the first time I'd seen her smile so authentically, clearly proud of her work.
"What is this? A skit? Who is this guy?" I asked, unsure if I wanted the answer.
"That guy is Jose Escamillo, SCU's star running back, and he has four guest tickets to this Saturday's football game," Valdez explained. "To be more precise, he has four guest tickets he's going to give us. Cassandra's free Saturday, right?"
"I haven't asked, but stop changing the topic. When was this party? How did you get this video?"
Valdez and Lucy laughed in unison, harmoniously. "This was Saturday—neither of us were there, but Jose was there, and Jose has a tendency of getting drunk at parties and forgetting what happened. Who knows what could have happened there? Lucy, do you remember Jose making out with you?"
Lucy nodded and smirked. "Of course I do. If the video says I was there making out with a guy, how could I not remember? I remember I was wearing that black leather jacket and that fiery red lipstick... look: skip ahead to the end of the video as I sashay away, and you can see it on his face. And you see him licking his lips? He couldn't get enough of me. He can deny it all he wants, but the video doesn't lie."
"So what? He made out with a girl at a party, drunk, not the classiest act, but in the heat of the moment he lost control. Who cares?"
"His girlfriend will," Valdez interjected. "So here's the story: Jose and Michaela have been sweethearts since freshman year. They're inseparable: Jose's always hyping up Michaela to everyone, talking about how they're going to get married someday. He's the purest, most innocent guy you've ever met. Even when he gets drunk, he doesn't make a move on anyone, and nobody makes a move on him: it's the honor code. He would never dare betray Michaela."
"Until now," Lucy said with a fiendish grin.
"That's immoral! It's a crime! I didn't feel bad about telling a few white lies on my Eros profile, but this is going to devastate him. And you're fine with this, Lucy?" I asked. I searched their faces for empathy but only saw pride.
"I'm just acting," she said with a shrug.
"A crime of passion isn't a crime, my man," Valdez continued. "And it didn't happen, so he's still innocent. So here's the scheme: we send this video to him, telling him that if he doesn't give us his four free premium tickets, this video gets posted on social media. He can't prove he didn't kiss her, and no matter how much his word is worth, I don't think anyone will give him the benefit of the doubt. It's the easier move for him to give us the tickets. And then, you, me, Lucy, Cassandra, we'll enjoy the game of the semester. Are you in? Well of course you're in—you don't need to do anything but fill the now-empty seats."
I stared at the video on Lucy's computer that she left playing on loop, each time seeing some new detail that convinced me it was real, that it was human. Most of all, I saw myself in Jose, in the moment before he agreed to Lucy's advances: he seemed to stare beyond Lucy, trying to survey the timelines before him to see if there were any where he could sin without reality catching up to him. Clearly whatever he saw made it worth it. I didn't know why I was trying to read so much meaning into a hoax. I think I'm a romantic.
And now I had my own decision ahead of me: take these blood-soaked tickets, or lie and said I saw no evil and heard no evil. What if they told Cassandra I wasn't actually a world-class chef? I took my fate into my own hands:
"I'm in. Only because it's not real. But, still, there's something missing here. It's missing a spark," I said.
"Oh, this is inspired. What about," Valdez said, taking Lucy's laptop from her, "if it's her who does the deed?" And there Cassandra was, dressed in pure sapphire that glistened in the lighting, walking up to Jose. "Wanna make out?" she asked, and she twisted her head ever so slightly toward the camera. Like she saw me there and wanted to make sure I shared in the moment.
"No, stop it!" I yelled. "Not her!"
"Oh please, don't be lame," Valdez laughed. "It's just a game. I'll switch it back. So let's finish this scene. Should we workshop the dialogue, develop the worldbuilding—what's our plan of attack? Chris, you're an English major, what does this lack?"
"If I had to say..." I trailed off, trying to disassociate myself from the situation and view it solely from an academic lens.
"I want to play!" Lucy shouted. "The video ends too abruptly. The camera follows us as we weave through the crowd. We step through a door—not in front of that guy with the ugly sweater, maybe behind?"
"Excellent! This is easy—come on, Chris, speak your mind!"
"His outfit is too neat. Make him sweatier," Lucy said. I had no choice:
"Dress like Michaela—it's even pettier."
"Diabolical! How about some eye shadow?" Valdez asked.
"It does make my eyes glow..."
"Try a light silver—like snow," I suggested, imagining how nice Cassandra would look in silver.
"I'm sold!" Valdez interjected, showing us Lucy's makeover. She smirked and took her laptop back, then rewound the video to bask in her glory for a few seconds before shaking her head.
"My walk is stiff, like a marionette. Where's the spring in my step?"
"Ooh, you're such a coquette!" Valdez teased. He stood up and began strutting across the dorm room like a runway model.
"Let's check Project Narcissus," Lucy suggested, unswayed by Valdez's demonstration. "Look—this has a bit more pep!"
"You look vicious—forget silver, you deserve gold! Here, let's demo the scene," Valdez said, reaching out to Lucy, who stood up. Valdez stood by the door, affecting an expression I'd best describe as drugged-out—Jose didn't even look like that in the video. Lucy picked up Valdez's thermos and walked toward him, mimicking video Lucy's lithe grace.
"Hey, wanna make out," she asked, and they burst into laughter.
"Hey, wanna make out," Valdez repeated, adding a "Duhhh" at the end for good measure. "He is such an idiot. Your turn, Chris," and he walked over and pulled me up. Lucy approached me, oozing flirtation:
"Hey, wanna make out," she purred, standing just a bit too close for my personal comfort. I stumbled for the words even though they were easy to remember:
"Of course," I said, with more of a mumble than Valdez, and they all laughed. I laughed too.
"I'll check the video one last time... it looks clean!" Valdez declared. "We need a team name for us three brave volunteers."
"The Three Stooges!" I called out, hesitantly.
"How about 'The Three Musketeers?'" Lucy countered. Valdez nodded, and the decision was made.
"Put your hands in the center, everyone!" he commanded. "One, two, The Three Musketeers! Boy, that was fun. You've become one of us now, Chris. I'll send the video now, and we'll see when this numbskull responds."
"Bye, everyone," Lucy said with a petite wave, clearly seeing no need to enjoy our company now that the task was finished.
"Well, that was fun, but now it's me time," Valdez declared, and he put in his AirPods and reclaimed his seat. That left me, sitting on my bed where Lucy had just a few minutes prior set into motion a plan that would ruin at least one person's reputation, if not two, maybe even more—and all for a few football tickets. There had to have been a better way out of this: we could have made fake press passes, or printed realistic-looking tickets that would scan, or better yet found some other way to use our powers for benefit that did not harm others. These were not the polite sort of lies. These lies were lies for the sake of lying, plans for the sake of reveling in their own cleverness and not because they were efficient or necessary.
I pulled up Jose's Instagram profile, curious to put a face to a name. Almost all his pictures were with Michaela, on the beach somewhere, at museums, eating meals together, one video of them singing a romantic duet at a karaoke bar. Nowhere did he look as I had known him previously, a deer perpetually stuck in the headlights of the Lucymobile. His joy was heartwarming, not because the pictures looked any different than ones I could conjure, but because I knew without a doubt they were real. And to think that there might be no more memories of this sort for the two of them. Jose struck me as the sort of honest guy who would confess his mistake to Michaela, even if he didn't remember it, and even if it would mean the end of their relationship. I hoped she would understand.
While I had a taste for tragedy, I had more pressing concerns. Tomorrow was my second date with Cassandra, and it could not be the last.