It’s perfect.
Tia tilts her head, acting like she’s not poking a hornet’s nest with a stick.
“You know,” she continues sweetly, voice dripping with false sympathy, “I’m actually impressed you had the nerve to come back here at all. Your drunk father sure as hell didn’t want you around. And as for your slutty mother… Well, we all know she’s been too busy to notice you existed in the first place.”
It’s a low blow—one that hits where it hurts the most. Aubrey can’t choose the family she was born into, just like me. Bad parents shouldn’t define us, but somehow, that’s all people see.
The cafeteria goes silent again. Deathly quiet.
Someone’s phone buzzes. A chair creaks.
Aubrey exhales slowly through her nose. “You really didn’t learn your lesson the first time, did you?”
Tia scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder like she’s in a shampoo commercial and not about to get her ass handed to her.
“Oh please. You got lucky once.”
Aubrey smiles. It’s not friendly; it’s the kind that says, “I’m about to ruin your whole damn day, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
“I kicked your ass once, Tia,” she says. “I’ll happily do it again.”
Tia laughs, but there’s a slight edge to it now—a crack in her confidence, a tremor she can’t quite hide. Her eyes flicker to the crowd, darting left then right, probably looking for backup or someone to step in and save her from the colossal mistake she just made.
No one moves.
No one even dares to breathe.
“Try it,” Tia says, voice sharp but wavering just enough that everyone can hear the fear underneath.
I grin wider.
Aubrey takes one step forward.
Just one.
Tia flinches hard, jerking back as if Aubrey just swung at her. Her arms come up defensively, eyes widening, and that perfect composure begins to crack right down the middle.
The entire cafeteria erupts in laughter—loud and unrestrained. It’s the kind of laughter that bounces off walls and sinks into your skin. People are doubled over, clutching their sides, phones out recording every moment of Tia Calloway’s public humiliation. Someone whistles. Another person gives a slow clap.
The shift is immediate. Electric. You can feel the power dynamic flip instantly. Tia’s face turns red, then white, then red again.
She wants to say something. You can see it in the way her mouth opens slightly and her eyes flash with barely contained rage. She wants to fire back, reclaim control, and remind everyone who the fuck she is and why they should be afraid.
Tia’s breathing speeds up. Her eyes dart around, searching for someone to stand with her—to remind Aubrey that she’s not untouchable.
No one moves.
Her posse stands there, suddenly fixated on the floor, on their phones, on anything except her face. Not one of them makes eye contact with her.
The humiliation is now taking over. You can see it spreading across her skin like a rash. The way her hands begin to shake. The way her flawless composure starts to fall apart at the edges.
But Tia Calloway doesn’t cry. She doesn’t fall apart in public.
She gets mean.
“You think you’re so fucking special now?” she spits, voice rising with desperation masked as anger. “You’re still trash, Aubrey. You’ll always be trash.”
Aubrey walks toward Tia, and I wonder if she’s really going to hit her. Bells once told me that Aubrey never got over breaking Tia’s nose. But right now? You wouldn’t know it.
