"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 themmean girlsis 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?"
I hear a few scattered claps from the crowd. Someone whispers, "Damn."
Mia's face is red, her perfect composure cracking. "You ... you can't..."
"Can't what? Tell the truth?" I smile, feeling strangely light. "You haven't changed a bit. We're already in our late twenties, and you still act like you're twelve."
Dana and Kerry exchange glances, subtly stepping aside from Mia as if her humiliation might be contagious. The absolute worst henchmen of all time. As it turns out.
Mia seems to realize she's losing, her eyes darting around for support and finding none. "Whatever. Have fun with your fifteen minutes, Elise. We all know it won't last."
She turns to leave, her heels clicking rapidly as she pushes through the crowd.
For a moment, I just stand there, heart racing, not quite believing what just happened.
Then Elias turns me to face him, his expression a mixture of pride and something else. Something deeper and more intense.
"That's my girl," he says, and then his mouth is on mine.
This isn't like our previous kisses. Not the careful ones from practice, not the heated ones from his couch, nor the sweet one from the dance floor. This is him staking his claim. He wraps a hand around my jaw, holding me steady as he kisses me like he's trying to suck my soul. Like he wants everyone to see, to know, that I'm his.
And I kiss him back just as fiercely, my hands clutching his lapels, pulling him closer. In this moment, I don't care who's watching. I don't care about the reunion, Mia, or any of it. All I care about is Elias, the way he makes me feel, the connection we have.
Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else calls out, "Get a room!"
We all stand frozen in our own little bubble … until James clears his throat rather loudly. "Normally, I'd say get a room too," he says, pulling something from his pocket. "But I already reserved one for you." He holds out a keycard and grins. "Go. Before I barf from all this pent-up sexual tension."
Elias takes the keycard, never taking his eyes off me. "D'you want to get out of here?"
The question carries weight beyond the obvious. This is a turning point for us. No more pretending, no more excuses. If we leave together now, it's real.
"Yes."
