It started small. A group of kids were talking about places they'd been, things they'd done, stuff they owned. You wanted to be part of it. So you stretched the truth — said you'd been somewhere you hadn't, or done something you only sort of did. It worked. People were impressed. So you did it again. And again. Now there's a slightly bigger, cooler, more exciting version of you that lives in your friends' heads — and you've started to worry about keeping the stories straight. The you they like is partly someone you made up. And you're not sure how to climb back down.