Enough to be seen.
I slip on heels.
Not practical.
Not safe.
Not me.
Or maybe?—
A different version of me.
When I turn back toward the room?—
They’re all staring.
Delia lets out a low whistle.
“Well damn.”
One of the girls laughs.
“Stella Cortez decided to ruin lives tonight.”
I grab my bag.
Shrug one shoulder.
“Something like that.”
But inside?—
It’s not confidence.
Not really.
It’s something closer to defiance.
If the world wants a show?—
Fine.
I’ll give them one.
Because I’m done being the girl who watches from the stands.
Even if I have to pretend.
The party is already loud when we get there.
Not just music loud—aliveloud.
Bass thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. String lights zigzag across the backyard, casting everything in warm gold and shadow. The air smells like cheap beer, expensive perfume, and something fruity burning in a vape pen nearby.
Bodies everywhere.
Girls dressed like they’re heading to a club in downtown LA instead of a frat house—tight dresses, glossy lips, hair blown out and perfect. Malibu Barbie types with bronzed skin and white teeth and effortless confidence.
