The invitation had come from Sam, passed along through James after the game. It was a general team celebration at the Retro Bar, the kind of exclusive spot Mia usually only saw in campus magazine spreads. James had been hesitant, fidgeting with the corner of a napkin when the topic came up.
"It's going to be full of Kris's crowd," James had mumbled, his gaze fixed somewhere over Mia's shoulder. "All suits and 'synergy' talk. Not exactly my scene."
Mia had felt a pang of guilt. "I know, but... it's the victory party. You should be there. You guys earned it." She tried to sound enthusiastic, to push away the image of herself feeling awkward and out of place among the self-proclaimed campus elite. "And I'll be there with you. We'll stick together, right?"
James had finally met her eyes, a small, grateful smile touching his lips. "Only if you promise not to bail on me."
"Never," Mia had vowed, though a knot of unease had already begun to tighten in her stomach. James, her loyal anchor, was now venturing into dreaded territory for her sake. The idea of him enduring an evening of forced smiles and shallow conversations, surrounded by people who valued appearances over genuine connection, weighed heavily on her.
As they approached the Retro Bar, the thumping bass vibrated through the pavement. Flashing neon lights spilled from the entrance, illuminating a line of impeccably dressed students. "Looks... lively," James commented dryly, already looking for an escape route.
Mia squeezed his arm. "Deep breaths. We'll find Sam and David, and then we'll stick to the edges."
The moment they stepped inside, her fears were confirmed. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the clinking of glasses. Laughter, a little too loud, a little too forced, mingled with the pulsating music. The main floor was a sea of designer clothes and preened smiles. Kris's inner circle, the very people Mia usually avoided, were scattered throughout, already holding court, their conversations punctuated by sharp, calculated laughs.
Mia watched as James visibly recoiled, his shoulders tensing. "This is worse than I thought," he muttered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.
"We just need to find a spot," Mia said, trying to infuse confidence into her voice she didn't feel. She took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "Come on."
They navigated the throng, Mia pulling James gently behind her, acutely aware of the curious glances they drew. She was used to being the "art girl," the one with paint stains and wild ideas, but here, she felt utterly out of place, like a splash of vibrant, chaotic color in a meticulously curated black-and-white photograph.
As the night wore on, the feeling of isolation only deepened. She tried to make conversation with a few of James's teammates, but their talk quickly drifted to internships, market trends, and abstract future plans that felt entirely alien to her. She caught glimpses of James, too, trying to engage, but his polite nods and forced smiles betrayed his discomfort. He stood out, a genuine, earnest presence in a room full of carefully constructed personas. The thought of Kris, somewhere in this crowd, undoubtedly thriving, only amplified her own sense of being an outsider.