If nerves had a volume button, mine were stuck on max.
The next morning, I sat in English pretending to care about metaphors while my brain replayed the conversation with Ms. Torres. Executive producer. Documentary. Me, actually asking people to sit in front of a camera I was holding.
By the time the lunch bell rang, my stomach was in full gymnastics mode.
"Okay, you're walking like you just swallowed an exam," Seraph said as we stepped into the hallway.
"I did something," I blurted.
Niqua's eyes lit up. "Good something or 'call a lawyer' something?"
"Media Studies something," I said. "I talked to Ms. Torres. We're… making a documentary."
They both froze.
"In this economy?" Seraph gasped dramatically.
"About what?" Niqua asked, more serious.
"About us," I said. "Not just me. Kids at this school. Where we're from. What we carry. All the stuff people never ask about because they're too busy stalking our socials."
We found an empty table by the window in the cafeteria. Trays down, gossip low-key on pause.
Seraph leaned in. "Talk details, directora."
I toyed with my straw wrapper. "I'm tired of my name only coming up when it's attached to a boy or a rumor," I admitted. "If they're going to watch me anyway, I might as well give them something real to look at."
Niqua nodded slowly. "So this is you… changing the angle."
"Exactly," I said. "Instead of everybody reacting to Dan's videos, or Makayla's little shady captions, we build something that isn't about them at all. Maybe I can't stop them from talking, but I can decide which stories get the mic."
Seraph slapped the table once. "Okay, but that line was low-key fire. Say it again so I can put it on a hoodie."
I rolled my eyes, but the buzz in my chest wouldn't go away.
"Ms. Torres wants us to pitch an idea by next week," I continued. "And she said I can't just hide behind the camera. I have to be in it too."
"Good," Niqua said. "You started this wave. Would be weird if you disappeared underwater the second it turned into something big."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Jayla Santos: ocean girl, accidental executive producer."
Seraph grinned. "We should call it something simple," she said. "'Where I'm From.' Everyone answers it their own way. Then 'One Thing I Carry'—like Ms. Carter's thing. But make it cute."
"Cute trauma," Niqua said. "My specialty."
I laughed, the edge of my fear softening.
"Just so we're clear," I said, looking between them, "this is not going to be 'Jayla's Sad Documentary Hour.' We're not making trauma porn. I want the stupid jokes too. The small stuff. The way Asia talks when she's painting. The way Mason falls off his board and gets back up."
Seraph nodded. "Yeah. 'Cause we're not walking billboards for pain. We're funny. We're petty. We're hot. That deserves screen time too."
For a second, I just watched my friends—loud, chaotic, absolutely themselves—and the weight in my chest shifted.
"I used to beg people to see my side," I said quietly. "Now I'm busy living it."
They both went quiet, eyes on me.
"Put that in the doc," Niqua said. "Deadass."
After school, we met in the Media Studies room. Ms. Torres had promised to leave it open, and she'd kept her word; the door was propped with a stack of outdated textbooks, and the weak hum of old computers filled the air.
Mason was already there, sitting backward on a chair, spinning a camera battery in his fingers.
"Yo, EP," he said when I walked in. "Executive Princess."
"Producer," I corrected, but I couldn't help laughing.
Seraph dropped her bag with a thud. "Okay, boys and girls, welcome to the first unofficial meeting of 'Where I'm From,' working title," she announced. "Starring me."
"And other people," I added.
"Sure," she said. "As supporting characters."
Niqua hopped up to sit on a desk. "Let's focus," she said, surprisingly serious. "What's episode one?"
"Not calling it episodes," I muttered, pacing a little. "More like… portraits. Little windows."
Mason nodded. "Visual vibe?"
"I was thinking handheld," I said. "Nothing too perfect. Like you're walking with them. Real light. Real sound. Background noise and all."
He smirked. "Grainy on purpose. I can do that."
Seraph raised her hand. "Question: who's first?"
My instinct was to point at her.
My fear wanted to point at literally anyone else.
Ms. Torres's voice floated back into my head: You don't get to erase yourself in the process. That's just a different kind of hiding.
"I am," I heard myself say.
Three pairs of eyes snapped to me.
"Okay, main character," Seraph said, grinning.
Mason tossed me the camera. I caught it badly, nearly dropping it, which earned me a groan from him.
"Rule one of filmmaking," he said. "Don't murder the equipment."
"Rule one of my life," I shot back. "Don't trip in front of your whole school. Look how that turned out."
They laughed. My hands trembled around the camera body.
"Before we film anything," Niqua said, "we need questions. Simple stuff that still hits."
We grabbed markers and scribbled on the whiteboard:
Where are you from? (Heart, not just address.)One thing you carry.One thing people always get wrong about you.One thing you're scared to say out loud but you'll say here.
I stared at that last one, pulse thudding.
"Too much?" I asked.
"Maybe," Seraph said. "But in a good way."
Mason studied the board. "You realize this could actually be… important, right?" he said. "Like, not just for clout."
"Clout would be nice," Seraph added under her breath.
I swallowed.
"We're not chasing clout," I said. "We're collecting proof that we existed before the drama—and we'll exist after it too."
The room went quiet.
"Yeah," Mason said softly. "Okay. That's the one."
He tapped the camera. "Let's shoot."
We set up in the corner of the room where the light hit half-soft, half-sharp through the blinds. Not pretty, exactly, but honest.
"Sit," Seraph ordered, pointing to a chair.
I sat.
Suddenly the camera felt like a spotlight instead of a tool.
Mason checked the focus. "Whenever you're ready," he said.
My fingers twisted in my lap. The room smelled like dry erase markers and dust and teenage sweat. My heart pounded so loud I was sure it would mess up the audio.
I breathed in.
Out.
"Okay," I said. "Roll."
The little red light blinked on.
Seraph, standing just behind the camera, gave me a thumbs up. Niqua leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes soft.
"Name?" Seraph asked, trying to sound professional and failing.
I snorted. "Jayla Santos," I said. "You know this."
"Act like I don't," she replied. "Home?"
My throat tightened.
"Home is… the water," I said slowly. "San Ángel. The pier. The sound of waves against the concrete. But it's also kinda Brooklyn now. The murals. The noise. The way the trains scream and somehow I sleep through it anyway."
I glanced at the lens and forced myself not to look away.
"I used to think I had to pick," I continued. "One place. One version of me. I don't. I'm both. I was never half of anything. I was fully both, and anyone who can't handle that can unfollow."
Seraph's mouth dropped open silently.
"Okay, bars," Niqua muttered.
"One thing you carry?" Seraph asked, recovering.
"The receipt," I said immediately. "From my uncle's store. Last day in San Ángel. Chips and soda. It's stupid, but… it proves I was there. That I was real before my life turned into a For You Page circus."
My chest ached, but in a familiar, almost comforting way.
"One thing people get wrong about you?" she said.
I let out a breathy laugh.
"That I'm just the drama," I answered. "The cheating ex. The crazy girlfriend. The girl in somebody's messy storytime. But I'm not your algorithm. I'm not your plot twist. I'm the girl who loved the ocean so much she refused to let anyone else name her waves."
Mason made a low sound behind the camera, like even he couldn't pretend to be neutral.
"Last one," Seraph said gently. "One thing you're scared to say out loud."
The room felt smaller.
I swallowed.
"That I'm… happy," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "Or… learning how to be. After everything. After Dan. After Makayla. After leaving home. It feels wrong to say it when people back there are still struggling, when my sister is holding both ends of the string. But I am. Sometimes. And I'm tired of acting like my only personality trait is being hurt."
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Then Seraph stepped around the camera and flung her arms around me so hard the chair squeaked.
"Cut," Mason said softly.
He lowered the camera, eyes a little glossy.
"Damn, Santos," he said. "You weren't playing."
I laughed, shaky and relieved.
My heart was still racing, but it wasn't the same kind of fear as when Dan posted. It wasn't that ripped-open, exposed feeling.
This was different.
Calmer.
Like standing on the shore and realizing the waves aren't there to drag you under—they're there to teach you how to move.
Seraph pulled back and wiped under her eyes. "Okay, so you're annoying," she sniffed. "Because now I have to go after that."
"Good luck," Niqua said. "You better bring your A-game, loudmouth."
We spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns in the chair. Seraph talking about Brooklyn block parties and her mom's prayers. Niqua opening up about feeling like the "funny friend" people forget is also human. Mason admitting he uses jokes and skate tricks so no one sees how scared he is to fail.
Every time someone sat in front of our camera, I realized how small my own world had been. Pain looked different on everybody—but it rhymed.
When we finally collapsed onto the desks, the sky outside had gone soft and blue, early evening settling over the city.
Mason ejected the SD card and tucked it carefully into its case. "We've got something," he said. "For real."
I stared at the little piece of plastic like it was a living thing.
I thought about every lie Dan had told. Every caption Makayla had posted. Every hallway whisper that tried to pin me to a version of myself that wasn't mine.
For the first time, I didn't feel the need to log in and see what they were saying.
I knew what we had just recorded.
"This time," I thought, watching the light catch the silver contacts of the card, "when the camera rolled, I didn't feel exposed. I felt seen."
And for once, that felt like enough.