"Mia, don't," James murmured, his voice low and urgent, laced with genuine concern. "It's not worth it. The bell's about to ring, and you know how Ms. Davis is about drama." He shot Kris a warning glare over Mia's head, a silent plea for him to back down.
Mia, however, was seeing red. She shrugged off James's hand. "No, James! He just—" She gestured furiously at the tiny, sparkling flecks on her jeans. "He tripped me, and then this! What's wrong with you, Kris? Did your pampered private school ego get bruised last night?"
Kris's smirk faltered for a second at the mention of last night, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. "Watch it, Princess. You don't know anything about my 'ego' or anything else, for that matter."
"Exactly!" Mia shot back, stepping even closer. "Which is why I can't figure out why you insist on being such a—"
"Mia! Seriously!" James's voice cut through the rising tension like a warning shot, sharper now, edged with a seriousness that stopped her mid-step. His hand was back on her arm—not just resting there this time, but gripping with intent. Not hard, but firm. Grounding.
His eyes darted anxiously to the door of the classroom, as though expecting Ms. Davis to burst in at any moment, summoned by the volume of their voices or the thick current of tension hanging in the air like static before a storm.
"You need to let it go," he said, his voice low now but urgent. "We've got a test next period, remember? A major one. You've studied for weeks—you can't throw it away for this." His brows furrowed as he looked at her, a mix of worry and exasperation flashing across his face. "Don't let him get under your skin. That's exactly what he wants."
His tone softened, but not his grip. "Mia, please."
Mia's fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she stood frozen, caught between two impulses—one to storm after Kris and demand an explanation for whatever manipulative stunt he'd pulled this time, and the other to heed James's voice of reason. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, quick breaths. She could still see Kris's smug retreating figure in her mind, the way he'd looked over his shoulder with that maddening half-smile. He always knew exactly where to poke to get a reaction.
But James was right. Of course he was.
She turned slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. They were wide with concern now, his usually easygoing expression drawn tight. He wasn't just worried about her grades or the test—he was worried about her. And suddenly, the defiance in her chest cracked a little.
"I hate him," she muttered, her voice low and tight, laced with frustration and something else she couldn't quite name. "I hate that he knows how to get to me. That he wants me to snap."
James exhaled in relief, gently releasing her arm. "I know," he said, nodding. "That's why you can't give him the satisfaction."
There was a pause. The hallway outside the classroom had grown quiet, the bustle of students heading to their next class slowly fading. The moment stretched out, taut and suspended.
Mia looked down at the floor for a second, trying to steady her breathing. The fire that had been fueling her was still there—Kris always had a way of lighting that spark—but it was flickering now, dulled by the clarity in James's voice. By his presence. By the reminder that her time, her energy, her focus—wasn't something Kris Windsor got to control.
Slowly, Mia nodded. "Okay," she said, the fight draining from her shoulders. "Okay. You're right."
James gave her a small, relieved smile, his hand brushing lightly against her arm one last time before stepping back. "Come on. Let's crush this test. Then maybe we can find you a punching bag."
A faint smile ghosted across Mia's lips. "Yeah. Preferably one that looks like Kris."
James chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."
As they moved toward the classroom door, side by side, Mia stole one last glance over her shoulder. The hallway was empty now. Kris was long gone, leaving only the echo of his manipulation behind.
But Mia had made a choice. And even though the anger still burned low in her gut, she'd chosen not to let it control her.
Not today.
Mia hesitated, her chest heaving. The sheer unfairness of it all, especially after the confusing intimacy of the previous night, ignited a fresh wave of indignation. But James's face was etched with such earnest desperation, and his grip on her arm was a tangible anchor. She knew he hated detention even more than she did. With a frustrated sigh that was half exasperation and half defeat, Mia finally let James tug her away from Kris's desk.
She shot Kris one last, scorching glare, promising silent retribution, before allowing James to guide her towards their own seats. Kris merely watched them go, his infuriating smirk back in place, a silent victor. James, letting out a quiet sigh of relief, quickly busied himself with getting out his notes, while Mia slammed her backpack onto the desk, still seething, a few stray glitters catching the light on her sleeve—a sparkling, irritating reminder of Kris's latest act of war. The fragile thread of connection from last night felt like it had been shredded and covered in cheap glitter.