Mia POV
I told myself it would be different this year.
New dress. New lipstick. The kind of birthday where you walk in, and someone's face lights up because you walked in. I practiced it in the mirror, chin up, shoulders back, the small smile that says I belong here. I am eighteen today. That has to mean something.
The Uber drops me at the club at nine. Kyle said he would be here by eight. He did not text to say he was running late. He did not text at all. I told myself he was probably inside, saving me a seat. Planning something. Kyle is not a planner, but maybe tonight he tried.
The music hits me the second the doors open, loud and low at the same time, the bass living in my chest. The lights are purple and blue, and the room smells like cologne and spilled drinks. I smooth my dress and walk in.
I find him in less than a minute.
He is at the big corner booth, his booth, the one his friends always claim. Six of them packed in. Becca is there, her long hair over one shoulder. Marcus. Tyler. All the usual faces. Kyle is in the middle, exactly where Kyle always is. He looks good. He is laughing.
He does not see me.
I stop near the edge of the crowd and watch, because something is happening at the table. An empty bottle is spinning on the surface. Someone slaps the table and shouts. Truth or Dare. I recognize the game from the spinning and the way everyone leans in with big eyes, like whatever happens next is the most important thing in the world.
Fine. I will walk over. Tap his shoulder. He will turn around and his face will do the thing that thing where his eyes go soft and wide, just for me and whatever the game is will stop mattering.
I take one step forward.
The bottle stops.
It is pointing at Kyle.
Someone yells DARE. The whole table pounds and chants. Kyle grins that wide, easy, showing-all-his-teeth grin that I used to love. He looks around the table like he is deciding. Then Becca leans forward and whispers in his ear. His grin gets bigger.
She pulls a tissue from her bag. One thin square of white paper.
My feet stop moving.
Becca holds the tissue up to the girl on Kyle's left, a girl I have never seen before, pretty, already giggling. She places the tissue between their faces. It is so thin I can almost see through it.
Kyle leans forward.
He presses his lips to hers through the tissue.
The table explodes. Cheering, pounding fists, someone howling like it is the funniest and greatest thing that has ever happened. Kyle pulls back laughing, shaking his head like guys, guys, I can't, doing the whole modest act he pulls when he wants people to keep watching him.
I do not move.
I do not breathe.
My new lipstick feels stupid on my mouth.
I think about the mirror in my bedroom, thirty minutes ago. Chin up. Shoulders back. I think about the card I wrote this morning, Happy Birthday to me, and happy us, love you more every year. I did not give it to him yet. It is in my bag right now. Against my hip.
I should leave.
I know I should leave. Everything in me that is smart and self-protecting is saying turn around, walk out, cry in the Uber, eat cake at home. I am a practical person. I am not dramatic. I do not make scenes.
I stand there anyway.
Because I have been making myself small for this boy for two years. Leaving parties early because he wanted to stay. Picking restaurants he liked. Laughing at jokes that were not funny. Texting back in three seconds, waiting three days for him. I have folded myself in half and in half again, trying to fit into the shape of Kyle's girlfriend.
Tonight was supposed to be my night.
And he kissed another girl for a stupid dare on my birthday while I stood twenty feet away in a new dress.
I take a step forward. Then another.
I do not tap his shoulder.
I walk to where he can see me.
And I wait.
It takes four seconds.
Becca sees me first. Her smile does not disappear; it shifts. Gets smaller and sharper, like a blade going thin. She looks down at her drink.
Then Kyle turns.
Our eyes meet.
His laugh dies. Not slowly all at once, like someone turned a switch. His face goes through about six things in two seconds: surprise, guilt, the start of an excuse, then something harder when he realizes I saw the whole thing.
He says my name. I can tell by the shape of his mouth, even though I cannot hear it over the music.
I do not move.
I do not cry. I am not going to cry here, in this light, in front of Becca. I am not doing that.
Kyle stands up. He is saying something, the table has gone quiet in that way groups go quiet when they smell something happening. I can see Becca watching from the corner of her eye. Marcus is looking at his phone like he is very interested in it, suddenly.
Kyle takes one step toward me.
I hold up my hand.
He stops.
I do not know what is on my face right now. I only know that my heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my ears, and I am not sad, not yet. I am something that has not finished deciding what it is.
Kyle says something. I catch two words: just a game.
I look at him for a long moment.
Then I look at the table.
There is the bottle. Still sitting there, sideways from its last spin.
Becca says something I cannot hear, and a few people laugh, not big laughs, just the small ones you do when you need something to do with your face.
Tyler says, "Come on, Mia. It's just Truth or Dare. Play a round."
Marcus looks up from his phone. "Yeah. It's a birthday party."
Kyle's face shifts. He is not apologizing now. He is watching me the way he always does when he wants me to be easy, to laugh it off, to make it simple for him.
The bottle is right there.
I sit down.
Everyone at the table smiles. No one is ready for what I am about to do.