They Said I Was Too Sensitive. Then I Found the Group Chat. | Scapegoat Stories

The Griot (0:00)

I was folding laundry in my bedroom that Saturday morning, the kind of quiet Saturday where the sun spills across the floorboards and the air smells like dust and lavender fabric softener, when my phone buzzed on the bed.

Just a soft thud against the comforter.

I didn't think twice. I picked it up, still holding a pair of jeans mid-fold, and saw it was unlocked left open from when I checked the weather earlier. The screen glowed with a notification from Messenger, a group chat, not one I remembered being in.

The name made my stomach drop. Girls Who Get It. There were four others, Margot, Lena, Simone, and Jess. I didn't know their last names. I'd met them through Cassie. I'd been friends with Cassie for two years. We'd met at a wine bar during a mutual friend's birthday. She was wearing a rust-colored slip dress and laughing at something the bartender said. I remember thinking, she's the kind of person who makes rooms feel warmer. We started meeting up monthly, then weekly.

Then she started inviting me to things with her other friends. At first, it felt like I'd finally cracked into a group I'd always watched from the outside, the kind of tight-knit circle that posted matching outfits at brunch and sent each other voice notes at midnight. I wasn't close with my own family. I'd moved to Chicago for a fresh start after a bad breakup, and I'd spent the first six months eating takeout on my couch, scrolling through old photos like they were clues to a life I'd lost. Cassie pulled me out of that. She'd text me, Come over, we're watching horror movies and eating popcorn with hot sauce, and I'd go, even if I was tired, even if I didn't love horror movies. I just loved being wanted. The group chat was from three days earlier. I scrolled back, jeans still in my hands, my thumb moving slow, like I was afraid of what it might uncover. The first message was from Margo. OMG, did you see how she reacted when Cass said she couldn't make dinner? Like full on pout, so dramatic. Then Lena, girl, she's so sensitive. I don't get why Cassie keeps inviting her. She takes everything so personally. Simone, I know. Like last time when Cassie said she was busy, and she sent that sad little oh no text. Oh, so much guilt tripping. Jess, she's a classic oversharer. I cringe every time she talks about her childhood. Like, okay, we get it, your mom was cold. We all had stuff.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, the laundry basket tipped over, a sock rolled under the nightstand. I remember the dinner they were talking about. Cassie had canceled last minute, said she had a migraine. I'd texted, oh no, and asked if she wanted soup. That was it. But reading their words, I felt like I was looking at myself through a Funhaus mirror. Distorted, ugly, pathetic. I kept scrolling. There were screenshots of my texts. Not just the oh no one, others, from group outings, from one on ones with Cassie. One was from a night we'd gone to karaoke. I'd sent Cassie a voice note later. That was so fun. I haven't laughed that hard in forever. Thank you for including me. Simone had screen shotted it and written, LOL, thank you for including me. Who says that? It's not a charity event. Margot, she acts like we're doing her a favor just by existing near her. Lena, Cassie says she cries if you don't reply fast. Is that true? Jess, low key toxic. She'll suck you dry with her neediness. I stared at the screen. My hands were cold. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator through the wall, the distant sound of a dog barking on the street below.

I thought about all the times Cassie had said, You're so sensitive, when I asked if something was wrong, when I'd noticed she hadn't texted back in two days, and I'd said, hey, just checking in, everything okay? And she'd reply, God, you're so intense. I was just busy. Or when I'd mentioned that I felt left out of plans, and she'd said, you take everything so personally, we didn't mean anything by it. I'd believed her. I'd apologized. I'd told myself I was overreacting, but here it was, not just in my head, in text, in a group chat I wasn't supposed to see. Margo, just tell her you need space. She'll cry, but she'll get over it. Lena, or just stop replying. Ghost her for a bit. She'll take the hint. Simone, she'll probably send a novel about how you're her only real friend. Ugh. Jess, Cass, you're too nice.