Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
When we break apart, his eyes are dark. "I need to use the restroom real quick," he says. "Be right back."
He walks away, and I decide to freshen up as well, heading toward the ladies' room near the back of the ballroom.
I've just rounded the corner into the quieter hallway when I hear them.
"Look who it is," Mia says. "The barista playing dress-up."
I freeze, turning slowly. Mia stands blocking my path, Dana and Kerry flanking her like henchmen in a bad movie.
"Hi, Mia," I say. "Nice to see you."
"Is it?" Mia steps closer. "Because last time I saw you, you looked like you wanted to crawl under a table and die."
Oh, boy. Here it comes.
"So, you and Elias?" Mia tilts her head in false curiosity. "How did you manage that? Did he lose a bet?"
Dana and Kerry giggle on cue. Like I said, henchmen in a bad movie.
"We reconnected after the game," I say. "Through James."
"Right. James." Mia sneers. "Your only friend in high school, if I recall correctly."
I say nothing. There's no right answer here.
Mia examines her manicure. "The coffee you made me was really awful. Maybe find another career?"
"I like it there."
"I feel bad for you, Elise. I really do. You always had that better-than-everyone-else aura in high school, and now you're serving us drinks. Does it drive you nuts?"
Kerry jumps in. "And that dress ... just hideous. Even my grandma wouldn't wear it."
Dana nods. "Yeah, like, girl. You're with Elias King. The least you can do is buy a decent dress."
Mia laughs. "On a barista's salary? I don't think so."
Their words hit exactly where they're aimed. Right at my deepest insecurities. I'm aware of people stopping to watch, and my face burns. I want to sink through the floor and disappear.
"What does Elias even see in you?" Mia's voice is louder now, clearly playing to the gathering audience. "I mean, he could have anyone. Literally anyone. And he picks the girl who couldn't even get a date to prom?"
"Maybe it's a charity case," Kerry says. "You know how these athletes are always looking for good PR."
They laugh, and I hear others join in. The room feels like it's spinning. I'm back in high school, small, insignificant, and so, so alone.
"That's enough."
That voice. Elias. He's suddenly beside me, his body radiating tension.
"Elias!" Mia's face transforms instantly. "We were just catching up with Elise here."
"No, you weren't." His voice is ice cold. "You were being cruel, as usual."
Mia's smile falters. "I was just joking around. Elise knows that."
"Does she?" Elias slides his fingers through mine. "Because from where I'm standing, it looked like three insecure women trying to tear down someone they've been jealous of since high school."
Mia scoffs. "Jealous? Of her? Please. Give me a fucking break."
"Yes, jealous. Because if you weren't, then why the hell would you go out of your way to be mean? I can't blame you, though. Elise is beautiful and smart and genuinely kind. She also genuinely enjoys what she's doing and is good at it, while you just ... what? Post pictures and pretend to be happy?"
The crowd around us has grown. I spot James pushing his way through, his face thunderous. In all the time I've known him, I have never seen him this angry.
"You want to say something about Elise, you say it to me," Elias continues. "Because insulting her insults me. And I don't think you want to do that."
James reaches us and positions himself on my other side. "And me. You insult my friend, we have a problem, Mia. After you begged me for a free room, I don't think you want to do that to me, either."
Mia looks at James, then Elias, clearly not expecting this united front. For a moment, she seems uncertain.
I stand straighter, raise my chin, and take a half step forward away from Elias. These people—these small, mean people—don't get to make me feel worthless anymore.
I am so sick and tired of them. Calling them mean girls is too kind.
"You know what, Mia?" I say. "I get why you're doing this."
Mia blinks, thrown off by my sudden confidence. "Excuse me?"
"You're terrified of irrelevance. You peaked at eighteen, and you've been desperately clinging to that version of yourself ever since. Your entire identity is built on people thinking you're special, but deep down, you know there's nothing special about you at all."
It's suddenly so silent you can hear a pin drop.
"That's why you need to tear others down. That's why you need followers and likes and constant validation. Because without them, who are you? Just a mean girl who never grew up, who never created anything of value, who's still trying to relive her glory days a decade later."
I take a step toward her, and she actually backs up.
"I may not be famous. My novel might never get published. But at least I'm never mean, never unkind, and I never bully people. What are you doing besides posting filtered photos and preying on other people's insecurities to make yourself feel important?"