Chapter 10 - The First Video Was Brooke’s Idea
I lasted six hours.
Then opened the folder.
North Hall first.
Three minutes, twelve seconds.
I watched myself call Lena upstairs.
Watched Brooke sitting on my desk.
Watched Lena enter.
Watched me hold up the laptop.
Watched Lena demand it.
Then something I had forgotten.
Brooke’s voice.
“Vanessa, put the phone on the shelf.”
I looked toward the camera.
“Why?”
“So if she freaks out, we have it.”
I paused.
Rewound.
Brooke had suggested the recording.
Not me.
I had agreed instantly.
Then, later:
Lena: “Move.”
Me: “Say you lied.”
Lena: “Get out of the door.”
Me: “Say you lied.”
Brooke behind the camera:
“Lena, just say it.”
All three of us creating pressure.
Then Lena reached.
I caught her jacket.
She grabbed my wrist.
The forty-eight-second public clip began.
After Lena left, I rubbed the red mark.
Brooke came toward me.
I laughed.
“Now she finally gave me something useful.”
Then Brooke said:
“Give me five minutes.”
I stopped the video.
My hands felt cold.
Five minutes.
She had made the first edit.
Not because I ordered it.
Not even because I asked.
She had learned the move with me.
I opened the second video.
Noah Greene.
Outside the library.
The raw recording began twenty minutes earlier than the public clip.
Brooke whispered:
“Keep asking him about the campaign account. He'll blow.”
My stomach tightened.
I had forgotten that too.
Not because Brooke made me.
Because once she suggested it, I enjoyed the idea.
I provoked Noah.
Brooke framed the reaction.
Then we laughed in my car afterward about how predictable he was.
Third video.
Cara.
Brooke again:
“Ask about Ethan.”
Me:
“She'll throw the drink.”
Brooke:
“Exactly.”
I closed the laptop.
For months I had described Brooke to myself as the camera.
Passive.
Loyal.
Sometimes uncomfortable.
She had been coauthor.
That did not make me less responsible.
It made her more.
I called.
She answered immediately.
“You watched.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then:
“You started North Hall.”
Brooke exhaled.
“I suggested recording.”
“You suggested the crop.”
“Yes.”
“You told me to keep pushing Noah.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted Cara to throw the drink.”
“Yes.”
“Why have you spent five weeks acting like I infected you?”
“I haven't.”
“You have.”
She went quiet.
I continued:
“You gave me the method.”
Brooke’s voice sharpened.
“And you became better at it.”
Both true.
“Why did you start?”
She took a long time.
“I liked knowing what was going to happen.”
That answer surprised me.
“What?”
“You were hard to control.”
I laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“Freshman year, you picked fights with people and then complained about being misunderstood.”
“You were my friend.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I filmed things, I could keep the story accurate.”
“And then?”
“You listened to me when cameras were involved.”
That hurt.
Brooke continued:
“If I said don't go over there, you'd go.”
“If I said the camera was on, you'd think.”
“So you liked the camera because it controlled me.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
She went quiet.
“Later I liked that people listened to our version.”
There.
Power.
Not trauma.
Not some noble origin.
We had found a tool that worked.
Then kept using it.
“Why turn now?”
Brooke's answer came quietly.
“Because at Cara's fundraiser, you asked me to keep filming while she cried.”
I remembered.
After the drink.
Cara realized the rumor about her boyfriend was false.
She had sat on the bathroom floor.
I stood outside.
Brooke filmed the hallway.
I told her:
Keep it running in case she comes back out crazy.
Brooke said:
“That was the first time I heard myself think, I hope she does.”
I said nothing.
She continued:
“I wanted better footage.”
That was her line.
Her boundary crossed.
Not mine.
She said:
“I stopped filming ten seconds later.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was ashamed.”
“So you waited until you could expose me.”
“Yes.”
“Very healthy.”
“No.”
She did not defend.
Then:
“What did you text me earlier?”
Brooke went quiet.
“The thing that's not about you.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
“Brooke.”
She laughed softly.
“See?”
I stopped.
I had done it again.
Demanding information because knowing existed.
She said:
“If you want it, ask me tomorrow.”
Then hung up.
I stared at the phone.
For the first time in years, I knew something was being withheld from me and did not immediately have a way to force the door.
May you like
I hated it.
That probably meant I needed the practice.
