His body surges forward just enough to send Tyler stumbling back half a step. His fists curl. His whole stance changes—predator ready to pounce.
I grab his wrist fast. "Zach," I whisper, urgent. "No. Not here."
His breathing is hard, shallow. But he hears me. He looks down at me, not them. And something in his eyes softens just enough for the storm to pause.
I slip my hand fully into his. "Please."
Tyler mutters under his breath, "Man, you used to have taste. So, it's just a bit disappoint—"
Zach straightens again, eyes dead cold now. "Yeah," he says. "And I still do. "Which is why I wouldn't touch the trash you two grew up to be even with a ten-foot stick."
Cici gasps.
Tyler's face reddens.
Zach slings his arm over my shoulders again, tugging me against him.
"And as for my girl? She's out of your league. Always has been. Always will be."
I swear the entire checkout lane goes silent. Even the barcode scanner seems to pause.
And that's when I step forward.
Because old me would've cried.
Old me would've shrunk.
Old me would've let them walk all over her.
Not anymore.
"You know, it's almost impressive," I say, keeping my voice steady, "how after all these years, you two have managed not to grow up even an inch."
Cici stiffens.
Tyler's jaw ticks.
I cross my arms. "And the sad part? You still think that kind of insult works."
"You're about to become parents," I add, nodding at the bump Cici keeps stroking like a prop, "and you're still acting like the only way to feel good about yourselves is to tear someone else down."
Tyler opens his mouth, but I lift a finger. "No, really, I mean it. It's sad. Not even pathetic—just sad. You're both stuck in this weird loop where the only thing that gives you any self-worth is ranking everyone else's looks or mocking someone who doesn't fit into your tiny, miserable definition of'acceptable.'"
Their faces flicker—confusion first, then discomfort, then a flash of something like embarrassment when they realize the people around us are watching.
But I'm not done.
"And the wildest part?" I tilt my head. "People like me used to think we had to take it. That we were the problem. But you're the ones who haven't changed. Three years and you're still stuck in the same rut. Everyone sees it; they just don't want to be your next target."
Cici gives a brittle, shaky laugh. "God, get over yourself."
"Maybe you should try it," I say softly. "Getting over yourselves. Might be the first adult thing you've ever done."
Zach squeezes my waist—firm, proud, like he wants to lift me right off the floor.
Cici's face flames red. She tries to glare, but it wobbles.
Tyler scoffs. "Whatever."
