Don’t Tell The Group Chat

DON’T TELL THE GROUP CHAT

Short Story Series

By Trea J. Writes

Part One — Good Morning, Beautiful People

At exactly 5:02 a.m., six phones lit up across Los Angeles.

One sat charging beside a silk sleep mask and a half-empty glass of water.

Another vibrated underneath a pile of receipts somebody had been avoiding for three weeks.

One buzzed on a kitchen counter beside architectural plans and a set of truck keys.

Another illuminated a nightstand next to a man who technically wasn’t supposed to still be there.

And somewhere across town, Gabriel Santos’s phone vibrated against his cheek because he’d fallen asleep watching TikToks.

Nobody needed to check who it was.

At 5 a.m.?

It was Camille.

⸻

SAME GIRLS, DIFFERENT LIVES 💋

5:02 AM

🙏🏾 Cami: Good morning, beautiful people. ❤️

🙏🏾 Cami: Today’s affirmation:

I release the need to control how others perceive me. I know who I am, and that is enough.

🙏🏾 Cami: Take five minutes today to sit with that.

🙏🏾 Cami: 🎥 [Video: STOP SEEKING VALIDATION FROM PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T HEALED]

Seen by Sol

Nothing else.

Three minutes passed.

🙏🏾 Cami: Sol, since you’re awake, you could say good morning.

🛠️ Sol: Morning.

🙏🏾 Cami: See? Growth. ❤️

🛠️ Sol: Don’t start.

⸻

Dr. Camille Bennett smiled at her phone.

She was already dressed.

Of course she was.

At forty-one, Camille had mastered the art of appearing like a woman who had absolutely everything under control.

Her house was quiet. Her coffee was brewing. Her workout clothes matched. Her calendar had been reviewed twice.

By seven-thirty, she’d be listening to somebody explain why they’d spent fifteen years married to a person they hated.

By eight-fifteen, she’d gently ask them why they were more afraid of divorce than misery.

By nine, she’d probably give somebody advice she herself had been avoiding for three years.

Camille called that professional compartmentalization.

Gabe called it bullshit.

Her phone buzzed.

⸻

5:19 AM

💅🏾 Mona: Gooood morninggggg ☀️

💅🏾 Mona: Look at my BABIES.

💅🏾 Mona: 📸 [Photo: Kids’ OOTD]

💅🏾 Mona: Giving generational wealth.

🛠️ Sol: Giving school.

💅🏾 Mona: You have absolutely no appreciation for presentation.

🛠️ Sol: They’re going to math.

💅🏾 Mona: Elegantly.

🙏🏾 Cami: They look beautiful. ❤️

💅🏾 Mona: Thank you, Cami.

💅🏾 Mona: See Sol? That’s how normal people respond.

🛠️ Sol: Don’t care.

⸻

At 5:41, Gabe woke up.

Not naturally.

His phone had fallen off his face.

“Ow.”

He picked it up, squinted at the group chat, zoomed in on Mona’s picture and immediately frowned.

⸻

🥂 Gabe: Mona.

💅🏾 Mona: Good morning Gabriel.

🥂 Gabe: Why does that child have on Gucci loafers for elementary school?

💅🏾 Mona: Because I bought them.

🥂 Gabe: That’s not what I asked.

💅🏾 Mona: That’s the answer you’re getting.

🥂 Gabe: He’s about to eat a cafeteria pizza in $600 shoes.

💅🏾 Mona: $740.

🥂 Gabe: Camille, today’s affirmation clearly failed.

🙏🏾 Cami: It hasn’t even been an hour.

🥂 Gabe: Exactly. Mona has already sought validation through a seven-year-old’s footwear.

💅🏾 Mona: Jealousy is a disease.

🥂 Gabe: And debt is a condition.

💅🏾 Mona: Fuck you.

🙏🏾 Cami: Guys.

🛠️ Sol: 😂

💅🏾 Mona: Oh NOW you know emojis.

⸻

At 6:07 a.m., Rochelle appeared.

💋 Rochelle: Why do I have 38 messages?

🥂 Gabe: Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.

💋 Rochelle: I went to sleep at two.

🙏🏾 Cami: Rochelle…

💋 Rochelle: Don’t Rochelle me.

🙏🏾 Cami: You need rest.

💋 Rochelle: And you need to stop giving free therapy before business hours.

🥂 Gabe: CLOCK HER.

🙏🏾 Cami: I hate all of you.

💋 Rochelle: No you don’t. That’s your abandonment wound talking.

There was a pause.

🥂 Gabe: OH.

🛠️ Sol: Damn.

💅🏾 Mona: 😭😭😭

🙏🏾 Cami: Rochelle, I know things about you.

💋 Rochelle: And HIPAA says you’ll keep them to yourself.

🥂 Gabe: GOODBYE 😭

⸻

And then—

6:23 AM

✂️ Tee: GOOD MORNING BITCHESSSSSSSS

Camille closed her eyes.

Sol sighed at a red light.

Mona laughed into her coffee.

Gabe sat upright.

Rochelle immediately typed:

💋 Rochelle: Absolutely not.

✂️ Tee: Okay before y’all judge me—

Five dots appeared almost simultaneously.

💅🏾 Mona: Tasha.

🙏🏾 Cami: Tee.

🥂 Gabe: No.

💋 Rochelle: Go back to bed.

🛠️ Sol: What you do.

✂️ Tee: SEE THIS WHY I DON’T TELL Y’ALL SHIT.

🥂 Gabe: You tell us everything.

💋 Rochelle: Against our will.

✂️ Tee: Can I SPEAK???

🥂 Gabe: Unfortunately.

✂️ Tee: Soooooo…

✂️ Tee: Hypothetically.

💅🏾 Mona: No.

✂️ Tee: MONA I HAVEN’T EVEN SAID NOTHING.

💅🏾 Mona: I know your hypotheticals.

🙏🏾 Cami: Everybody let her talk.

✂️ Tee: Thank you Doctor Bennett.

✂️ Tee: Anyway.

✂️ Tee: Hypothetically if somebody borrowed some money—

Sol stopped typing.

Then started again.

🛠️ Sol: How much.

No answer.

🥂 Gabe: Oh dear God.

💋 Rochelle: From WHO?

Still nothing.

💅🏾 Mona: Tasha.

🙏🏾 Cami: Tee, answer the question.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

✂️ Tee: Y’all are making this dramatic.

🥂 Gabe: You entered the chat screaming and announced hypothetical debt before sunrise.

🥂 Gabe: We didn’t make anything dramatic.

🥂 Gabe: We simply arrived at the crime scene.

✂️ Tee: It wasn’t even that much.

🛠️ Sol: How. Much.

✂️ Tee: 25.

Mona frowned.

💅🏾 Mona: Hundred?

Nothing.

💋 Rochelle: Thousand?

Still nothing.

Then:

✂️ Tee: Technically 25,000.

Nobody typed.

For eleven seconds, Same Girls, Different Lives 💋 experienced something almost unheard of.

Silence.

Then Gabe:

🥂 Gabe: I’m going back to sleep.

✂️ Tee: GABE.

🥂 Gabe: Because perhaps when I wake up you’ll have made different choices.

🙏🏾 Cami: Who did you borrow $25,000 from?

✂️ Tee: That’s the part y’all aren’t going to like.

🛠️ Sol: Name.

✂️ Tee: Sol don’t do that.

🛠️ Sol: Name.

✂️ Tee: It wasn’t like a bank-bank.

💅🏾 Mona: What the fuck is a bank-bank?

🥂 Gabe: Bank of America.

🥂 Gabe: Chase.

🥂 Gabe: Wells Fargo.

🥂 Gabe: Places with pens chained to counters.

💋 Rochelle: 😭

🙏🏾 Cami: Gabriel.

🥂 Gabe: I’m helping.

🛠️ Sol: Tasha.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Finally:

✂️ Tee: Y’all remember Peanut?

Everything stopped.

Even Gabe sat up.

💋 Rochelle: No.

💅🏾 Mona: Tasha Reynolds.

🙏🏾 Cami: Tee, please tell me you don’t mean that Peanut.

🥂 Gabe: There are approximately four million people in Los Angeles County and this woman somehow located the ONE Peanut we agreed to leave in 2003.

✂️ Tee: He’s different now.

🛠️ Sol: No he ain’t.

✂️ Tee: You haven’t seen him!

🛠️ Sol: Don’t need to.

💋 Rochelle: Why does Peanut have $25,000 to loan anybody?

🥂 Gabe: Rochelle.

💋 Rochelle: I’m asking.

🥂 Gabe: Some questions protect your peace by remaining unanswered.

Then Sol sent the message that ended the conversation.

🛠️ Sol: I’m coming.

✂️ Tee: SOL NO.

✂️ Tee: I’m literally fine.

✂️ Tee: DON’T COME HERE.

✂️ Tee: Sol???

No response.

✂️ Tee: MARISOL.

Nothing.

🥂 Gabe: She’s in the truck.

💅🏾 Mona: Definitely.

🙏🏾 Cami: Somebody call her.

💋 Rochelle: Why? So we can hear the truck?

🥂 Gabe: 😭

✂️ Tee: THIS IS WHY I DON’T TELL Y’ALL NOTHING.

🥂 Gabe: Again.

🥂 Gabe: You tell us everything.

⸻

Tasha stared at the phone.

Then at the front windows of her salon.

Then at the envelope sitting on her desk.

Because there was one tiny detail she hadn’t told them.

Peanut hadn’t loaned her twenty-five thousand dollars.

He’d loaned her fifty.

Twenty-five was simply what was due back.

Today.

Her phone rang.

🛠️ SOL CALLING

Tasha stared at it.

“Shit.”

She declined the call.

Three seconds later:

🛠️ Sol: Open the door.

Tasha’s head snapped toward the salon entrance.

Through the glass stood Marisol Vega.

Work boots.

Black T-shirt.

Coffee in one hand.

Expression flat.

Tasha slowly lowered her phone.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Sol knocked twice.

Then pointed at the lock.

Tasha didn’t move.

Sol lifted one eyebrow.

Tasha knew that eyebrow.

They’d all known that eyebrow since middle school.

It meant you can open this door willingly, or I can become irritating.

Tasha unlocked it.

Sol walked inside.

Looked around.

Then looked at her.

“Fifty?”

Tasha froze.

“…What?”

Sol took a sip of coffee.

“You always cut the number in half when you’re lying.”

Tasha blinked.

“You don’t know me like that.”

“We been friends thirty-four years.”

“People change.”

“You don’t.”

Tasha folded her arms.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Sol walked past her toward the office.

Tasha hurried behind her.

“Excuse me—where are you going?”

“To see the paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

Sol stopped.

Slowly turned around.

“Tasha.”

Tee rolled her eyes.

“God, you are exhausting.”

“Paperwork.”

Tasha stared at her.

Sol stared back.

And somewhere beneath the jokes, the attitude and thirty-four years of friendship, fear finally crossed Tee’s face.

Just for a second.

But Sol saw it.

Sol always saw it.

Her voice changed.

“How bad is it?”

Tasha looked away.

And for the first time that morning—

she didn’t have a joke.

⸻

Across town, Gabe’s phone buzzed privately.

MONA 💅🏾 + GABE 🥂

💅🏾 Mona: You think Tee is in real trouble?

Gabe stared at the message.

Then at something Tee had sent him three weeks earlier and made him promise never to tell the group.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

🥂 Gabe: Yes.

💅🏾 Mona: How much trouble?

Gabe started typing.

Stopped.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

🥂 Gabe: Ask her.

💅🏾 Mona: Gabriel.

🥂 Gabe: Mona.

💅🏾 Mona: What do you know?

Gabe locked his phone.

Because that was the problem with being everybody’s keeper.

Eventually, you knew which secrets could destroy them.

And sometimes—

you had to decide whether keeping one made you loyal…

or made you part of the lie.