His eyes flashed, color flooding his cheeks. “Not about me, huh? Well, you didn’t look too surprised when Frankie told us. And if you already knew, that means Frankie chose not to tell me specifically.”
“Oh, I wonder why.”
In a flash, Mint’s anger cooled into a calm mask. But his eyes were his tell—they turned hard and cold as flint. “I forgot you knew that story about my dad.”
“Yeah, well, we used to be friends.” I sighed. “I’m sorry about him, by the way. I should have told you that last year.”
Mint’s gaze focused over my shoulder. “He hadn’t been the same for years, anyway. It was a blessing when he finally died. Miserable and alone, like he deserved.”
Mint’s dad, a fallen giant, a hero laid low. There was so much anger in Mint’s face, in the clench of his jaw, the barbed wire of his voice, it bordered on fury.
I reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. Cool silk, sharply cut lines.
He looked at me. “We used to be so much more than friends.”
My breath caught.
“Mint?” Appearing out of thin air, Courtney glared at my wrist until I dropped it from Mint’s shoulder.
Maybe it was the disappointment of getting so close to the old Mint, only to have him ripped away, but the words came out before I could check them. “Oh, good. Everyone’s favorite person.”
She stumbled a little in the grass, but caught herself. “You know what, Jessica? You lost, fair and square.” She raised her voice, sounding drunker than ever. “Do you hear me? Get over it.”
The words were like blades in my chest. I heard a giggle from somewhere close, and looked around, expecting to see mocking eyes looking back at me. People were staring—but not at me. At Courtney. Our classmates were whispering as she wobbled. To my surprise, the looks on their faces weren’t kind.
They weren’t rooting for her.
I straightened my shoulders. “Me, get over it? My college boyfriend cheated on me with you, married you, and ten years later, you’re crowing about it. I feel sorry for you, Court. How little has happened in your life that you’re still obsessed with this?”
The whispers grew louder; I thought I heard someone laugh softly. Courtney’s eyes widened. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she clutched them to keep them still. Was she just drunk? Mint’s words came back. She’s all spun up—I guess because of Eric. No—something else was going on, I could tell. This wasn’t a fair fight. But I was so hungry to beat her for once on my own that I kept going.
“Someone once told me that underneath the designer clothes and bitchiness, you were just an insecure little girl who desperately wanted to be liked. I think I finally see it. It’s okay, Courtney. We get it. You can stop lashing out.”
No one was trying to hide their laughter anymore, or bothering to whisper. I heard my name pass through the crowd.
Her face turned as crimson as her dress. Instead of replying, she ducked her head and pushed through the crowd, forcing it to part for her. Mint followed, leaving me alone, but it didn’t matter, because after a beat of fraught silence, someone who looked vaguely familiar—Brittany Lowell, Pi Phi, maybe?—raised her glass to me, and I raised mine back. And then I was flooded with people, laughing and commiserating. Jessica Miller, that was hilarious. Jessica Miller, you’re so brave. Courtney has been awful for ages; that’s exactly what she deserved.
It was a scene lifted straight from my Homecoming fantasies, so close to what I’d dreamed that it felt surreal to actually live it.
To my surprise, Mint broke back through the crowd, and everyone stepped aside, responding unconsciously to the power of his presence. He put a hand on my waist, drawing me close, his mouth brushing my ear as he leaned in and whispered. I closed my eyes. This was a dream.
“I’m sorry about that. Courtney needs to be alone.” He lifted his head, catching my eyes, and my body burst into a thousand sparks, leaking into the night like fireflies. This was the old magic. The pull and draw of him, the gravitational force. “Come talk to me?”
Motion over Mint’s shoulder caught my eye. It was Coop, stalking alone out of the tent, Caro nowhere in sight. Where was he going? Foreboding snuffed the fireflies.
I looked back at Mint. His face so close—achingly beautiful, like a prince I would have conjured when I was fourteen. The golden boy, the first boy I’d ever loved. I’d wanted this moment so badly, played it in my mind so many times. It felt like redemption, like a litany whispered in my ear: You were right. You were right. You were right.