I was at my high school reunion when I saw the post. I’d spent the last hour nursing a drink I didn't want, scrolling through social media to avoid eye contact, when Jackson’s latest update popped up on my feed. [Ran into the guy I hated most in high school at the reunion tonight. Seeing how pathetic his life turned out? Absolute peak satisfaction. Karma is a beautiful thing.] The comment section was already a sea of "likes" and "congrats" from people I used to share a homeroom with. I sat there, my thumb hovering over the screen, before I slowly typed out a single line: “By ‘hated,’ do you mean the way you led the entire grade to ostracize him? Or the part where you knew he and his childhood sweetheart were in love, yet you inserted yourself into their lives under the guise of being a ‘bro’ just to sabotage them, eventually bullying him into moving across the ocean?” The second I hit send, the comment vanished. Deleted. I looked up. Jackson was standing three feet away, a smug, punchable grin plastered across his face. “Miles, man, why are you dressed so... casual?” he asked, his voice carrying just loud enough for the nearby tables to go quiet. “Is life in London not treating you well? Or did you just give up?” He leaned in, the scent of expensive bourbon and cheap malice radiating off him. “Are you married? Got a girlfriend? Or are you still just drifting? Don’t tell me you’re still living paycheck to paycheck, waiting in line for a government handout.” He chuckled, glancing at the crowd for approval. “If you’re struggling, just come back home. We won’t laugh at you. Or is the reason you stayed away for ten years because you’re still holding a grudge against me?” The room went dead silent. Every head turned. I could feel those eyes—sharp, judgmental, and heavy with the same casual cruelty they’d wielded a decade ago. But I wasn't that seventeen-year-old boy anymore. I didn't shrink. I didn't look at the floor. I didn't bother telling them that I owned more than just a house and a car. I didn't mention that I held a significant stake in the very hotel group hosting this pathetic gathering. Instead, I looked Jackson dead in the eye and asked one question: “What about you, Jackson? It’s been ten years. Are you and Tina finally together?” 1 The words hit the room like a sudden drop in temperature. Tina, who had been standing a few feet away, finally broke her ten-year silence. She looked exactly the same, yet entirely different—the girl I once thought I’d spend my life with was now just a stranger in a cocktail dress. “Miles, stop it,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Don't be like that. Jackson and I... we’re just friends. We’ve always just been friends.” She stepped closer, trying to reclaim some ghost of the intimacy we once had. “I know you’re still bitter about the past, but it’s been so long. I’ve wanted to get everyone together for years just so we could finally talk, clear the air, and start over. Can’t we just move past it?” Jackson, sensing an opening, raised his glass. He tried to throw an arm around my shoulder, the way he used to do when he was mocking me. “Exactly! We’re all adults here, Miles. If I did anything to offend you back in the day, don’t take it to heart. You know me—I’ve always been a straight shooter. I never understood all that sensitive, brooding stuff you had going on.” The crowd followed his lead like clockwork, standing up with their glasses raised. “Yeah, don’t be a buzzkill, Miles. Jackson’s just a high-energy guy.” “It’s all in the past. Who keeps a grudge for ten years? That’s just petty.” “Be the bigger person. Jackson was the one who went out of his way to make sure you were invited tonight.” They framed his forced invitation as an act of charity, a seat at the table I should be grateful for. They wanted the satisfaction of my forgiveness so they could stop feeling like the villains of my story. But I’ve never been good at following a script I didn't write. I didn't touch my glass. “I can’t drink,” I said quietly. “My wife is pregnant. I have to go pick her up in a bit.” The sound of shattering glass sliced through the room. Tina’s drink had slipped from her hand, splashing red wine across the hem of her dress. Everyone stared, but Jackson was the only one whose eyes betrayed a flicker of genuine relief. Tina forced a jagged, painful smile. “You’re... you’re joking. You don’t have to lie just because you don’t want to drink with us.” “I’m not joking,” I replied calmly. “I’m married. My wife is expecting. I’m only back in the States to handle some family business acquisitions.” Jackson couldn't hide his excitement. It was the most honest he’d been all night; with me married, he finally didn't have to pretend to be Tina’s "just a friend" anymore. “When did this happen?” he asked, his voice booming. “Why wasn't there an announcement? Congratulations, man!” Tina’s voice was brittle, like dry leaves. “But... you always said... Miles, you’re lying to me, aren’t you?” One of Jackson’s flunkies stepped forward, his face reddening with secondhand indignation. “Miles, seriously? You’re going to pull this? Do you have any idea how long Tina has been waiting for you to come back?” He gestured wildly. “Look at her. You didn't come to this reunion to move on; you came to get back with her. Be a man. Don't be so dramatic. Don't miss out on a woman like her—you’ll never find another one.” I’d forgotten how much I hated the sound of their voices. I gave them a thin, effortless smile. “I really am married. As for the things I said back then? They were just the foolish promises of a kid who didn't know any better.” I looked directly at Tina, taking the very words she’d used to destroy me ten years ago and handing them back to her. “Surely you can take a joke, right?” 2 Tina and I were "the" couple. We grew up in houses that shared a fence, went to the same schools, and shared every secret from kindergarten through sophomore year. Then came Jackson. He moved to our town junior year and blew through our lives like a hurricane. He was loud, athletic, and had that "golden boy" charisma that made every guy want to be his brother and every girl want his attention. That included Tina. Suddenly, they were always together. They sat together in the back of the class, whispering about things I wasn't part of. They gamed together until 2 AM. Our walk home from school, which had been a private ritual for a decade, slowly became a trio. At first, I told myself I was being paranoid. He was just a new friend. Until the day Jackson, while "play-fighting" with Tina, knocked my glass water bottle off my desk. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. It was a custom-etched bottle Tina had given me for my birthday. Part of a set. “Whoops!” Jackson said, his voice loud and performative. He patted my shoulder with a heavy hand. “My bad, bro. I’ll buy you a new one. Don’t get all worked up about it.” I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s fine. It was an accident. Don't worry about it.” Jackson leaned down, but his voice stayed loud enough for the whole room to hear. “No, really, let me replace it. I know how you sensitive types are. You say you’re not mad to our faces, then you go home and stew about it for a week.” The air left my lungs. He was framing me as the "delicate" one, the guy who was secretly petty. The guys around us started snickering. “I said it’s fine,” I muttered, my face heating up. Jackson pointed at me, laughing for the crowd. “See? Look at that face! He’s already sulking. It’s just a bottle, man. Just tell me to buy you a new one instead of being so passive-aggressive. I hate it when people can't just be real.” He nudged Tina. “Tess, talk to your boy. Tell him to cheer up before he ruins the vibe for everyone.” Tina looked at the glass on the floor, then at me. “Miles, honestly, stop being so sensitive. I’ll just buy you another one. It wasn't even that expensive.” “You think I’m being sensitive?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat. “I’ll buy it myself. Forget it.” Tina looked like she wanted to apologize, but Jackson threw an arm around her neck, pulling her away. “Man, what did you say to him? You broke the Prince’s heart!” he joked. “Let’s go, let’s go. We’ll come back when His Royal Highness has cheered up.” And just like that, I had a nickname: The Little Prince. Every time I handed out papers for a teacher: “Careful, don’t want our delicate Little Prince getting a paper cut.” Every time I sat quietly to read: “Look at that royal posture. So much more refined than us peasants, right?” The laughter followed me through the hallways like a physical weight. The smirks, the side-eyes, the whispered jokes—they were everywhere. And Tina? She did nothing. Eventually, even she started using the narrative. When she was annoyed with me, she’d sigh and say: “God, Miles, stop acting so entitled. You don’t actually live in a castle. Drop the 'Little Prince' attitude.” 3 The cold war between Tina and me set in, and Jackson used the silence to sharpen his knives. He started targeting every little thing. If I had a simple keychain on my bag, he’d gasp: “Whoa! Look at the accessory on Miles’s bag! So chic. You really put a lot of thought into being ‘aesthetic,’ don’t you?” He’d mimic me, primping his collar with exaggerated, feminine movements while the other guys howled. If I wiped down my desk after lunch, he’d sneer: “So refined, Miles. You think the rest of us are pigs? If we’re too gross for you, why don’t you just get a private tutor at home? Why bother slumming it with us?” I could feel the resentment from the other kids growing. He was making my basic habits look like an insult to them. During the weekly seat rotation, I was moving a heavy box of books. I couldn't carry it all in one trip. Jackson walked over and put his foot right on top of the remaining box. “Man, I’m exhausted,” he shouted to the room. “Is there a brave soul willing to help our Little Prince? He’s got such frail, dainty arms, I’m worried he might snap.” The classroom erupted. People were literally doubling over, some even mocking the way I walked. Tina didn't look back. She just muttered, “That’s enough, Jackson.” Jackson gave a loud, mocking Tsk. “Oh, looks like someone’s still protective of her childhood crush.” Tina flared up, her face turning red. “I’m not protective! I’m not 'hearting' anyone, especially not a crybaby!” Jackson grinned, satisfied. “Exactly. We’re just trying to toughen him up, right? He’s too soft. He’ll never survive in the real world if he’s this in his head all the time.” Tina looked at him, her expression softening into something familiar and warm. “Yeah... I guess guys should be a bit more... rugged.” Jackson playfully punched her shoulder. “Now you’re talking! Men should act like men!” My heart didn't just break; it felt like it had been shredded. I thought if I just ignored them, Jackson would get bored. But after a month of silence, it was Tina who broke first. She caught me by the lockers. “Miles, please stop being mad. Don’t ignore me.” She looked at me with those big, tearful eyes she’d used since we were six. And like an idiot, I softened. I couldn't imagine a life without her. We were supposed to go to the same college, move to the same city. I couldn't leave her behind. So, we made up. Or at least, we pretended to. I still waited for her after her extracurriculars. We still walked home together, the streetlights casting our long shadows on the pavement. But I could feel Jackson watching us from a distance, whispering to his friends and laughing. That laughter made my skin crawl. It made me feel like I was the punchline to a joke I hadn't heard yet. I tried to tell Tina how I felt. She groaned. “You’re overthinking again. They’re just kidding around. That’s just how guys are with each other.” When she saw my face fall, she softened her voice. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them to back off the jokes.” She walked over to Jackson across the quad. I watched as Jackson threw his head back and yelled, “Oh, we can’t even joke now? Does he think he’s a god? Does everyone have to bow down to him?” “Jackson!” Tina snapped, but it sounded performative. Jackson shrugged and shot me a look of pure, unadulterated malice. During those months, Jackson’s voice and his subtle cruelties were like invisible fists. The whispering in the back of the room felt like insects crawling over my skin. But I was weak. I told myself it was only two more years. Just two more years and I’d be free. I could endure it. And then, out of nowhere, Tina confessed she loved me. 4 She asked me to meet her at the football bleachers after practice. We’d spent our whole lives hanging out at the fields, so I didn't suspect a thing. Until a few guys from class started acting weird. They kept asking me what my "big plans" were for the weekend and what I was going to wear. “Just a workout set,” I told them. “We’re hitting the gym, then the library. Just a normal Saturday.” They looked disappointed. “You’re going on a date with the prettiest girl in school and that’s the best you can do? So boring.” Boring. The word stung. Was that why Tina was spending so much time with Jackson? Because I was boring? The next day, following the "advice" of those guys, I bought a new athletic set. They told me it was "high-fashion" and "fitted" to show off my build. I wasn't the biggest guy, but I was lean and toned from years of swimming. When I met Tina, her eyes lit up. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking almost shy. I felt a surge of hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe we were finally going back to how things used to be. We sat down in the shade of the bleachers, and she started acting fidgety. “Miles,” she said, her voice small. “I’ve been holding something in for a long time. I need to tell you.” My heart started thumping so hard I could hear it in my ears. “Will you be my boyfriend?” Blood rushed to my face. I felt dizzy with relief. After a moment, I whispered, “If it’s you, Tina... then yes.” I remembered when we were seven, and she’d held my hand and told me I was the best boy in the world and she was going to marry me one day. I remembered her standing up to middle-school bullies for me like a mother hen. Miles is mine, she’d said. If you mess with him, you mess with me. Ten years of history. How could a guy like Jackson ever stand a chance against that? Tina leaned in, asking me to repeat myself. I took a deep breath and said it louder. “Yes! I love you too, Tina!” “HAHAHAHAHA!” A roar of laughter erupted from behind the bleachers. A dozen kids from our class spilled out, phones in hand, recording everything. Their faces were twisted with mockery. Jackson was at the front. “God, Tina, you really are the best. I can’t believe you actually got him to say it.” I looked at Tina. She turned her head away, refusing to meet my eyes. Jackson walked up to me, his face a mask of fake pity. “Oh man, Miles. Are you serious? You wore that outfit to a fake confession? What are you trying to prove? That you’ve actually been to a gym once?” The guys who had "recommended" the outfit were in the back, smirking and looking away. Jackson reached out and yanked the collar of my shirt, pulling it so hard the fabric strained. I stumbled back. “I was wondering why you looked so ‘buff’ today,” Jackson laughed. “It’s because the shirt is two sizes too small! He’s literally squeezing himself into a kid’s size to look tough!” “I’m not!” I shouted, my voice cracking. The crowd went wild. “Is it true, Jackson?” someone yelled. “I felt the fabric myself!” Jackson yelled back. “It’s stretched to the breaking point! Talk about overcompensating!” A few guys started whistling, their eyes scanning me like I was a freak in a circus. I looked at Tina, my face pale, my voice trembling. “What is this? What did they mean?” 5 Tina finally looked at me, but her eyes were cold. “Miles, you’re just so... uncool. You never fit in with anyone. Jackson thought this would be a good way to get you to loosen up. To stop acting like you’re better than everyone.” The betrayal felt like a physical blow to the chest. My eyes burned. “You think humiliating me like this is ‘helping’ me?” Before she could answer, Jackson stepped in. “Don’t you dare talk to her like that. You’re always playing the victim, banking on the fact that she feels sorry for you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “She didn't even want to talk to you anymore. It took me five minutes to convince her this would be funny. She even bet me that the second she showed you a little affection, you’d come crawling like a pathetic puppy. And look at you. She was right.” The world tilted. The air felt like lead. Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved Jackson as hard as I could. “MILES!” A sharp shout came from the edge of the field. Before I could move, a massive force slammed into me. I was hoisted up by my collar and slammed against the equipment shed. Pain flared in my back. Panic and rage flooded my system.
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