It was not the tea that had us there every week, it was each other.

All eight of us met every Thursday. We drank tea and laughed. We talked and rolled our eyes. We were the perfect set of eight.

It was our differences that made us so compatible.

Delilah’s the happy one. The only redhead. No matter what happens, she thinks of something nice to say. She’s like our own little warm ball of sunshine, bouncing through each one of our lives, separate and together. She makes her way around, making sure she talks to each of us, selfless and beautiful.

Lena is the actress. She’s mysterious and outgoing, flirting with any handsome man and always doing what we least expect. She flips her dark chestnut hair behind her and talks with her hands. She’s been in so many shows we can’t keep them all straight. Every week she comes with another story of some set designer who designed a faulty set, or a supporting actor who doesn’t kiss well enough. She bounces from show to show, director to director. Somehow, everyone wants her on their stage.

Abby’s an athlete. She plays soccer and basketball and she runs track. She always has some sort of athletic wear on, whether it just be running shorts and a tank top or her full basketball uniform. It’s a rare occasion when her shiny blonde hair isn’t up in a high ponytail. She’s the kind of person who flies to Spain just for a glimpse of some soccer player that none of us have ever heard of before.

Kayla’s the brain. Her glasses complete her pretty face. She’s the smartest girl any of us have ever met. She always knows how to solve a problem, and she always knows how to correct us. If we make a grammatical error, count on her to tell you how to properly talk. We don’t resent her, we love her. It’s just who she is.

Marie’s an artist. Almost every week she’s dyed her hair a different outrageous color. She sees beauty in everything, from the fat man in the corner to the steam rising from the coffee pots behind the counter of the diner. She’s creative and different--She doesn’t wear clothes like us, and she doesn’t like our kind of music. She’s doesn’t have any desire to fit in any social status. She writes, she paints, she sculpts, she draws, she designs, she photographs.

Belle is the rebel. She breaks the rules, she jumps fences and she takes names. She doesn’t care about getting in trouble, and she lives entirely in the moment. If she gets a crazy idea in her head, she follows through with it, no matter what it is. She’s crazy and proud and insane.

Paula’s the divorced smoker. She has the gruff voice and the blonde hair of a woman with money from several ex-husbands. She’s the kind that sleeps with her boss and gets fired, but bounces right back and somehow climbs high up in another insurance company. She wears fur and designer dresses, and she lives in the fast lane. We often compare her to Jules from St. Elmo’s Fire.

I’m Scarlet. They call me the spy. I sneak, I listen, I eavesdrop on everything. I can blend in. I can be absolutely silent. They say I’m helpful. They say I’m the sneakiest person any of them knows. I take it as a compliment.

You see, we’re not just eight women.

We are the perfect eight.

We were designed to be together. We were engineered for each other. We were custom made for our group of eight.

Each of us have separate lives. Each of us have houses and jobs and friends of our own, people who are like us.


But every Thursday, we meet again.

Every Thrursday is a meeting of the Eight.

We’re a government experiment.

The eight of us.

We could be living in a simulation.

We don’t even know if we’re real.