ELLE
I cautiously inch towards Ace, my gaze tethered to Cassie like a magnet. I can't pinpoint why I moved, but a fragment of Jade's words echoes in the back of my mind—that Cassie wouldn't dare do a thing with Ace around. My heart pounds in my chest like a frantic drum, its rhythm urging me to flee, but my legs remain stubbornly planted, refusing to move an inch. Ace's intense gaze remains fixed on me, and I wonder if he can see how nervous I am—nervous about her reaction and swaying the crowd against me.
Ace glances over his shoulder, his frown furrowing even deeper. Tension fills the air as Cassie approaches, her heels clicking loudly in the sudden hush that falls over the party. Based on Cassie's set jaw, it's clear she's not here to make friends; making nice has never been her style. She's the queen of this social jungle, the one who sets the trends and craves the best, convinced that everything, including Ace, rightfully belongs to her. I don't want to give her the impression that I'm like a spotlight-stealing interloper—she can have the whole red carpet.
There's always been mixed rumors about them. I believed the whispers of "they are such a good-looking couple" at face value until Jade insisted that they were never a thing. I've chosen to believe her, but that doesn't mean they don't have history. For all I know, they could've slept together multiple times and are supposed to have a no-strings-attached relationship that Ace is trying to get away from.
"What are you doing here?" Ace's voice is clipped as he turns to face Cassie, his broad shoulder brushing against mine in a gesture that feels more protective than accidental. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, a part of me hoping for him to back me up even though we don't owe each other anything.
"I invited her, bro. We're all friends here." The blonde friend smugly shouts from his spot, casually leaning against the patio table next to a group of people and soaking up the attention. I notice a muscle twitch on Ace's jaw at his friend's words. I don't recall his name, but I recognize him from the soccer team. He's the resident class clown, a drama magnet who thrives on chaos and relishes getting a rise out of people. At school, I've seen him knock a friend's hat off their head for a cheap laugh, then sprint away.
"Girlfriend? Since when?" Cassie gives me a once-over, her look oozing with disdain, like I'm some bug she's ready to squash. "This little nobody isn't your type. It's a joke." Her arms are now crossed with her mini designer bag clutched in her hand.
The murmurs suddenly sound louder than before. People don't hold back about what they say, openly gawking at the unfolding drama.
"Why is he dating her?" someone scoffs.
"Seriously," another voice chimes in, "she's got no status."
Status? Here we are, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and privilege, and their only measure of a person's worth is a gaudy, outward display? Now two people need a status to date? It all sounds so shallow, so pointless—judging each other based on luxury labels and follower counts, like some messed-up social currency game.
Justin steps up next to Ace, trying to be the mediator and raising his hands placatingly. "Whoa," he interjects, plastering a charming grin on his face. "Let's just all chill, okay? It's a party, right? No need for drama."
"Drama?" She rolls her eyes at him. "This isn't drama, Justin. This is..." she trails off, her eyes raking over me dismissively. "Pathetic. Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Elle. Remember, trends fade, and you don't belong here."
Shame burns hot on my cheeks, and the sting of her words is sharper than her pulling my hair. I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out.
"That's enough, Cassie." Ace's voice holds an unfriendly edge, a warning note that, for a moment, stirs a hint of hurt in her features. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared. With a dramatic swish of her hair, Cassie sashays away, leaving behind silence.
"Well, that went...well," Justin mutters sarcastically, wiping a brow that isn't even sweating. He saunters back to Jade, who wears a concerned frown. Before she can reach me, Justin whisks her deeper into the party, saying something about a game rematch. The chatter gradually resumes.
Ace turns to me, his expression unreadable. Leaning in close, his voice drops to a hush, forcing my gaze upward. "You know she's not wrong, right? This world... it chews people up and spits them out. You wouldn't last a day."
I'm speechless.
To the onlookers, he might seem like he's comforting me, but I recognize the coldness in his tone, a familiar pattern in our interactions. Does he see me as just another fame-hungry hanger-on, playing a game I don't understand? Knowing that eyes are on us, I tighten my jaw and force a smile that feels brittle at the edges. "Maybe not." I counter, keeping my voice steady. "But maybe I don't need to be. There's more to life than popularity and trends, something you wouldn't understand with your head stuck so far up your ass."
Ace recoils slightly as if he's surprised by my response. He studies me for a moment, his cynical eyes searching mine as if trying to decipher my hidden intentions.
Before he can fire back a retort, I march back into the house, leaving him staring after me, hands jammed in his pockets. Was this a way for him to humiliate me in front of the crowd? Maybe the rumors are true; there is nothing beneath the arrogance. But one thing is clear: if I am going to put him in his place, I need to stand my ground. I won't win him over by playing his games; I need to find my value, one that doesn't depend on the fickle approval of the "in" crowd. There is a whole world out there—a world that doesn't revolve around his celebrity and shallow popularity. It's time I find my place in it, on my terms.
—
Across my messy desk, my math textbook and notebook lie flat before me. The only background sound is the low, monotonous drone of the Tokyo Ghoul theme song playing from my laptop speakers.
I can't focus on anything as my thumb scrolls through my Instagram feed, a bittersweet ache growing in my chest with each passing post. I stop scrolling. My friends from West Hill High, their faces alight with familiar smiles, fill my screen. There's the life-size Barbie doll Mackenzie, the life of the party, holding her phone aloft in a shaky laugh. She's filming an "outfit of the day" video with the camera flitting between her and the rest of the gang—Arin, Jamie, Scarlett, and Candace. They're all wrapped up in each other, laughing and joking around, which makes the empty feeling from my phone even more noticeable.
I double tap, the tiny heart filling red on the bottom corner. Suddenly, another memory of us hanging out flooded back—the loud music, the greasy feeling of cheap pizza, and the endless volley of prank calls to our crushes that had us doubling over in laughter. Everything felt alive and full of potential back then. Now, their joy feels like a foreign language, a world I no longer belong to.
We were supposed to be inseparable, an unbreakable unit. We even had friendship bracelets to prove it—beads of pastel colors and charms sit untouched in the back of my jewelry box. With a flinch, I pull my thumb away, the video on my feed blurring as my smile fades. Shame heats up in my stomach, heavy and suffocating. What kind of friend disappears without a word?—ghosting them, leaving their messages unanswered, their calls going straight to voicemail. If I were them, I wouldn't want to talk to me anymore either.
It's like I'm sleepwalking through life, pretending everything is okay. When Jamie's world crumbled after a bad breakup, I was there with tissues and her favorite chocolate bars. When Scarlett's fight with her mom threatened to tear her apart, I was the one who stayed up all night, listening to her rant and rave. I didn't give myself the same advice I would have given them; instead, I cut myself off from the very people who could've understood.
This feeling is sickening; it makes me feel gross.
I slump further in my chair and set my phone down on my desk. Notifications of likes and followers from my recent post of me in Jade's breathtaking emerald dress pile in. The funny thing is that a lot of these followers are from Harlock, probably coming in from Jade's post. I think about the party; people's faces are a shadow, but their words are loud and clear. I'm reminded that those people, that world—I could never be friends with them, not truly, but there were people like Jade who made it better.
Another notification pops up on my phone, and my breath hitches. It's a text message in a group chat labeled "grl gvng" that has been silent until now.
Mackenzie: That dress on you is everything, Elle!
Another text pops up.
Arin: Yeah, I need it in pink!
I chuckle, holding back a sob, knowing that I don't deserve them, and yet they're texting me as if I didn't ghost them for the past few months. I type a response and backspace it all, the familiar self-doubt eating at me. What can I possibly say?
Then, Scarlett. Her name flashes across the screen, and a blunt text follows that cuts straight to the chase—pure Scarlett...brash, unapologetic, and strangely comforting.
Scarlett: B*tch, we can see you typing, just say something already.
A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Maybe, just maybe, there is still a place for me in this crazy, chaotic friendship.
Me: I miss you guys.
It's a response that is truthful, but also a response I have to back up. That night, I didn't get much homework done since I spent hours texting my best friends.