At the high school reunion, I scrolled past a post from the girl who used to make my life a living hell. [Ran into the girl I hated most in high school tonight. Seeing how pathetic her life turned out? Honestly, it’s better than sex.] The comment section was a sea of "LOLs" and "Karma is a queen." I stared at the screen for a moment, then quietly typed out a reply: “By ‘hated,’ do you mean the way you turned the entire class against her? Or how you knew she and her best friend were in love, but you used the ‘just one of the guys’ act to wedge yourself between them until she was forced to move across the ocean just to breathe?” The second I hit send, the comment vanished. Deleted. I looked up to see Becca’s smirking face. “Joanna! God, you look so... modest,” she said, her voice dripping with that fake-sweet honey. “Is life in London that hard? I mean, look at you. No jewelry, no designer tags.” She leaned in, making sure the people at the nearby tables could hear. “Are you even married? Do you have a boyfriend? Or are you still just drifting, waiting in breadlines or something? If you can’t hack it over there, just come 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. A dozen pairs of eyes—eyes that had watched me crumble a decade ago—were suddenly fixed on me, filled with the same old mix of malice and pity. But I wasn't that trembling girl anymore. I didn't flush, and I didn't cry. I didn't bother telling them that I owned the car I arrived in, the house I grew up in, and, incidentally, the very hotel they were holding this reunion in. I just looked Becca in the eye and asked one thing: “And what about you, Becca? It’s been ten years. Are you and Steve finally together, or are you still just ‘one of the bros’?” 1 The temperature in the room plummeted. Steve, my childhood best friend whom I hadn't seen in a decade, finally stepped out of the shadows. He looked older, tired, but he still had that same defensive edge. “Jo, don’t start,” he said, his voice tight. “Becca and I are just friends. We’ve always been just friends. I know you’re still stuck in the past, but it’s been forever. I wanted to get everyone together so we could finally clear the air. Let’s just move past this, okay?” Becca seized the moment, raising her glass with a practiced, casual air—the same "tomboy" act she’d perfected in eleventh grade. “Come on, Jo. We were kids. If I did anything to offend your delicate sensibilities back then, let it go. I’ve always been blunt; I don’t do the whole ‘passive-aggressive girl’ drama.” The table erupted in supportive murmurs. “Exactly. Don’t be so sensitive, Jo. Becca’s always been one of us.” “Seriously, who keeps a grudge for ten years? It’s a bit pathetic.” “Becca was the one who insisted on inviting you. Don’t be ungrateful.” They framed her "invitation"—which was really just a summons to be mocked—as an act of charity. They expected me to clink glasses and play along, as if my silence was a debt I owed them. But I’ve never been good at doing what’s expected. I didn’t touch my drink. I just said quietly, “I can’t. I’m pregnant.” Clatter. Steve’s glass hit the floor, shattering against the hardwood. The table went still. Only Becca couldn't hide the flash of genuine triumph in her eyes. Steve forced a jagged, painful smile. “If you don’t want to drink, just say so. You don’t have to make up a lie like that.” “I’m not lying,” I said calmly. “I’m married. I’m pregnant. I’m only back in the States to help my husband settle some business acquisitions.” Becca’s voice was practically singing now. “Oh my god! When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us? Congratulations, Jo!” It was the most honest thing she’d said all night. She was thrilled because, in her mind, the threat was gone. She wouldn't have to pretend to be Steve's "bro" anymore to keep him from me. Steve sounded like he’d swallowed glass. “Married... but you always said... you said you’d be my bride one day, Jo. You’re kidding, right?” One of the guys at the table scoffed. “Jesus, Jo. Why are you doing this? Steve’s been waiting for you for years. Everyone knows he never moved on.” He leaned forward, his tone patronizing. “Look, if you came here to make him jealous, it worked. But don’t ruin your life over a tantrum. A woman needs to know when to stop playing games if she wants a happy ending. Don’t blow it with a guy like Steve. You won’t find another one.” I remembered these people. I remembered how their words felt like sandpaper on raw skin. Now, they just felt like static. I smiled, a cold, empty thing. “I really am married. And as for those things I said when we were kids? It was just a joke, Steve.” I looked him right in the eye, handing him back the exact words he’d used to destroy me ten years ago. “You’re not going to be a baby about a little joke, are you?” 2 Steve and I were the "it" version of childhood sweethearts. We were inseparable from kindergarten through the start of high school. Our lives were a single thread. Until Becca moved to town. She was loud, athletic, and claimed she "only got along with guys because girls were too much drama." She worked her way into the center of the boys' circle, and that included Steve. Suddenly, they were sitting together in every class. They were gaming together until 2 AM. Our walk home, which used to be our sacred time, turned into a trio. At first, I tried to be the "cool friend." I didn't want to be the jealous girl. That changed the day Becca "accidentally" knocked my ceramic water bottle off my desk. It shattered into a million pieces. It was part of a matching set Steve and I had bought together. Becca gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, Jo! I’m so sorry! I’ll buy you a new one, I swear. Don’t be mad!” I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s fine. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.” Becca leaned down, her voice dropping to a whisper that only I could hear. “I’ll get you a new one. I know how you girls are—saying it’s fine to my face then crying to Steve about how mean I am behind my back.” I froze. “What?” She stood up and shouted to the room, “See? Look at that face! She’s totally mad. Jo, it’s just a bottle. Just tell me to buy you a new one instead of doing the whole two-faced thing. I seriously can’t stand girls who won't just be real.” She nudged Steve with her elbow. “Hey, Steve, tell your princess to cheer up before she goes home and tells on me.” Steve looked uncomfortable, but he shrugged. “Come on, Jo. Don’t be like that. It’s just a bottle. I’ll buy you another one. It wasn't even expensive.” “Steve,” I said, my heart sinking. “Do you really think I’m being petty right now?” I felt the blood rush to my face. “I’ll buy my own bottle. I don’t need anything from either of you.” Steve started to apologize, seeing the look on my face, but Becca threw her arm around his neck, pulling him away. “Whoops! The Princess is officially in a mood! Run for it, Steve, before she turns us into frogs. We’ll apologize when she’s finished her tantrum.” And just like that, I had a new nickname: Her Highness. If I handed out papers for a teacher, they’d whisper, “Watch out, don’t let Her Highness break a nail.” If I went to the bathroom, they’d line up in the hallway, snickering. “Make way! The Royal Procession is passing through!” The hallway became a gauntlet of muffled laughs and sidelong glances. Steve saw it all. He did nothing. Later, when I tried to talk to him, he just sighed with annoyance. “Jo, stop acting like a princess. You don’t have the crown for it, but you sure have the attitude.” 3 The cold war began then. Steve and I stopped talking, and Becca took that as a green light to escalate. If I wore a cute keychain on my bag, she’d point it out in the middle of the cafeteria. “Oh wow, Jo! Is that a Sailor Moon charm? Do you actually think you’re a magical girl, or are you just that desperate for attention?” The boys at the table would howl with laughter. If I wiped down my desk before lunch, she’d roll her eyes. “God, you’re such a try-hard. Do you think the rest of us are beneath you? If we’re too dirty for you, go get a private tutor and stay home. Why are you even here?” The other girls, sensing the social shift, started looking at me with sharpened eyes. During our weekly seat change, I was struggling to move a heavy stack of textbooks. Becca leaned her elbow on the books I hadn't picked up yet and put on a high-pitched, mocking voice. “Oh heavens! I’m simply exhausted! Is there a loyal servant in the room willing to carry Her Highness’s heavy burdens?” The classroom exploded in laughter. It was a sharp, jagged sound that felt like it was drilling into my skull. Some people actually started mimicking my walk. Steve didn’t look back. He just muttered, “That’s enough, Becca.” Becca rolled her eyes. “Oh, look. Someone’s getting soft again.” Steve snapped. “I’m not soft! I’m not worried about her. She’s just a brat.” Becca grinned, satisfied. “Exactly. We’re just trying to toughen her up, Steve. She’s too sensitive. If she can’t handle us, how is she going to handle the real world?” Steve hesitated. “I mean, it’s okay for girls to be a little soft, isn’t it?” Becca punched his arm. “Who are you calling soft? I’m a girl, and I’m not like that!” Steve looked at her, and I saw the way he smiled—with total, easy trust. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. I thought if I just ignored them, the bullying would stop. But a month into our silence, Steve broke. He came to me, looking like a kicked puppy. “Jo, please. Don’t be mad anymore. Talk to me.” His eyes were soft, pleading. And because I was young and stupid, my heart melted. We had been together since we were toddlers. We were supposed to go to college together. I couldn't just leave him behind. So, we "made up." At least on the surface. I went back to sitting in the bleachers during his games, holding his jacket. We walked home under the streetlights again. But Becca was always there in the background, watching us with that knowing smirk. Whenever she caught my eye, she’d burst into laughter with the guys around her. It made me feel naked. Like I was a joke everyone was in on except for me. I tried to tell Steve how I felt. He just frowned. “You’re overthinking it, Jo. They’re just messing around.” When he saw the look on my face, he softened his voice. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell them to knock it off when you’re around.” He walked over to Becca and whispered something. She scoffed, her voice ringing out for everyone to hear. “Oh, god! We can’t even laugh now? Does she think she’s a Disney princess? Does she think the world stops because she’s in the room?” “Becca!” Steve barked. She just rolled her eyes at me. In those years, Becca’s voice and the malice hidden in her "jokes" were like invisible hands slapping my face daily. The whispers in the back of the classroom were like insects crawling over my skin. But back then, I was too weak. I kept telling myself: Just three years. Three years and then we all go our separate ways. Just endure it. I didn’t realize that in the middle of that endurance, Steve would choose to break my heart completely. 4 He invited me to the community pool. Since we grew up together, swimming was a normal weekend activity. I didn't suspect a thing. Until a group of girls from our class suddenly became very interested in my plans. They gathered around my locker, asking what I was going to wear. I told them I was just going to wear my regular one-piece and then go to the library. They looked horrified. “You’re going out with the hottest guy in school and you’re wearing a grandma suit? Jo, live a little!” Was it boring? Maybe. But Steve and I had always been the "good kids." We studied, we hung out, we were stable. But as I watched Steve and Becca wrestling and laughing in the halls, a dark thought took root: Is he pulling away because I’m too boring? So, the next day, following the "advice" of the girls in my class, I wore a bright magenta bikini. I’ve always been pale, but I’d hit my growth spurt early. I had curves I usually tried to hide under baggy sweaters. When I showed up, the look on Steve’s face was pure shock. He looked away, scratching his neck, but I could feel his eyes tracking me as I walked to the lounge chair. A secret thrill raced through me. This is what it feels like to be liked, I thought. When we sat down in the break area, he started acting fidgety. “Jo,” he said, his voice dropping. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.” My heart started thumping against my ribs so hard I could hear it in my ears. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real?” The blood rushed to my face. I waited a beat, then whispered, “If it’s you, Steve... then yes.” Because when we were six, he’d held my hand and told me I was the prettiest girl in the world. When I was bullied in elementary school, he’d fought the boys twice his size to protect me. Jo is my sister, he’d yelled. If you mess with her, you mess with me! Ten years of history. How could one girl like Becca change that? Steve asked me again, as if he hadn't heard me. I gathered my courage and said loudly, “Yes! I like you too, Steve!” “HA HA HA HA!” A roar of laughter erupted from behind the chairs and the pool house doors. Half the class spilled out, phones in hand, faces twisted with mockery. Becca was at the front. “Oh man, Steve! You actually did it! You got the Princess to confess!” I looked at Steve. He looked at the ground. He wouldn't meet my eyes. Becca walked up to me, her eyes raking over my body with disgusting theatricality. “Oh my god, Jo. Did you really think wearing that slutty suit would make him love you? You look like a mid-life crisis in a Barbie box.” The girls who had "recommended" the suit were there, too. They looked away, snickering behind their hands. Becca suddenly reached out and flicked the fabric of my bikini top. “Whoa! I knew it! They’re padded! You’re literally faking it to get a guy. How pathetic are you?” “I’m not!” I screamed, clutching my chest. The crowd roared. “Is she lying, Becca? Let’s see!” Becca laughed. “I saw it with my own eyes. You want a closer look, boys?” The guys started whistling, their eyes wandering over me in a way that made me feel like I was covered in slime. I looked at Steve, my voice trembling. “What is this? What are they talking about?”
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