Chapter 3 — The Arrival

Mia

The double doors of the grand ballroom loom ahead, their ornate carvings catching the soft glow of the chandeliers beyond. My fingers smooth the skirt of my lavender gown for what feels like the hundredth time, as though perfecting each fold will somehow untangle the knots in my stomach. My chest feels tight, my pulse beats too fast, and I’m acutely aware of the weight of my silver charm bracelet resting on my wrist. Its tiny jingles remind me of my mom’s voice, calm and steady: “You don’t have to be perfect, Mia. Just be yourself.” But tonight, myself feels like a mess.

I glance at the glossy floor beneath my heels, steeling myself. What if someone asks where Alex is? What if they pity me? What if they whisper about me, about how I’m the girl who got dumped hours before prom? A flicker of movement catches my eye—two girls whispering near the entrance. They glance my way, then quickly look back at each other, their laughter muffled. My cheeks burn. Maybe they’re not even talking about me, but it doesn’t matter. The thought plants itself.

“Deep breath, Mia,” Jenna had said before I stepped out of the car, her green eyes full of determination. “You’ve got this. Remember, you’re the queen of making an entrance.”

I’d nodded mutely, too distracted by the suffocating weight of my own expectations to argue. Now, standing here alone, her words feel like a lifeline. I clutch the bracelet, the cold metal grounding me, and force my chin up. The ballroom doors swing open, and the world blooms into light and sound.

The polished wood floors gleam beneath a canopy of fairy lights strung across the high ceiling. The air buzzes with laughter, the faint strains of jazz from the live band mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Couples spin on the dance floor, their movements fluid and carefree, while clusters of students pose for photos near the flower-covered arch. The sweet scent of lilies and vanilla candles wraps around me, and for a moment, the scene is breathtaking—enchanted, like a dream brought to life.

But then the weight of glances brushes over me. My throat tightens as I imagine the questions hanging in the air: Where’s her date? Why is she alone? I try to shake the thoughts away. Focus, Mia. Own the room.

The refreshment table offers an escape, its array of hors d'oeuvres and the glistening chocolate fountain providing a convenient distraction. I make a beeline for it, grateful for the excuse to look busy. The punch bowl glimmers under the lights, and I pour myself a glass with hands that tremble just slightly. My knuckles whiten as I grip the delicate stem too tightly, the tension spreading through my body like a live wire.

“Wow, dramatic entrance much?”

The voice is low, teasing, and unmistakably familiar. My head snaps up, and there he is: Ry Bennett. My brother’s best friend. Of course.

He leans casually against the table, his tie slightly loosened, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s at a casual hangout and not the most formal event of the school year. His blond hair is tousled in that effortless way that probably took no effort at all, and his blue eyes gleam with mischief.

“Ry,” I say, my voice coming out sharper than I intend. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, tilting his head slightly. “Enjoying the show. You looked like you were about to faint when you came in. Thought I’d come save you before you passed out into the punch bowl.”

I narrow my eyes, though my lips twitch against my will. “I’m fine, thanks. No rescue required.”

“Sure about that?” He gestures toward the glass in my hand, raising an eyebrow. “You’re holding that thing like it’s a lifeline.”

I glance down at the glass, realizing he’s right. The tension in my fingers is almost comical. With a small sigh, I set it down and fold my arms. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he replies, his grin widening. But then his tone softens just slightly. “Seriously, though, you okay?”

The question catches me off guard. For all his teasing, there’s a flicker of something sincere in his gaze, something that makes me want to tell him the truth: No, I’m not okay. I feel like I’m standing on a stage I didn’t ask to be on, and I’m terrified of falling apart in front of everyone. But I don’t say that. I can’t—not here, not to him.

“I’m fine,” I say instead, forcing a smile. “Just getting used to the chaos.”

“Chaos is good,” Ry says, his grin returning full force. “Keeps things interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t exactly what I’m going for tonight,” I mutter.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You might want to rethink that. Prom’s not really the place for perfection, Mia. Sometimes the best moments are the ones you don’t plan for.”

The words linger longer than I expect them to, brushing against the edges of my tightly wound thoughts. Before I can respond, Ry straightens and gives me a playful salute. “Well, I’ll leave you to your punch. Try not to scare too many people with that death grip of yours.”

And with that, he’s gone, weaving through the crowd with an ease that feels almost enviable. I watch him go, my mind still spinning from his parting words. Chaos is good. The best moments are the ones you don’t plan for. I fiddle with my bracelet, the tiny charms jingling softly, and wonder what that’s supposed to mean for someone like me.

“Hey, Mia.”

The voice is quiet, hesitant. I turn to see Benji Kim standing a few feet away, holding two glasses of punch. His black suit is impeccably neat, and his rectangular glasses catch the light as he shifts nervously on his feet. There’s something endearingly earnest about him, like he’s spent the past minute working up the courage to approach me.

“Oh, hi, Benji,” I say, surprised. “You look… nice.”

He smiles shyly, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that way that always feels so genuine. “Thanks. You, uh, look amazing.” He holds out one of the glasses. “Thought you might want a refill. Figured it’s a good way to start over, even if it’s just with punch.”

I take the glass, touched by the gesture. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

Benji nods, his gaze darting between me and the floor. “So… how’s your night going?”

I hesitate, tempted to give him the practiced “fine” I’ve been offering everyone else. But there’s something about Benji’s quiet sincerity that makes it hard to lie. “It’s… been a bit overwhelming, to be honest,” I admit.

He nods again, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I get that. Prom’s kind of… a lot.”

I let out a small laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a brief silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Benji seems content to stand there, sipping his punch and glancing around the room. For a moment, I feel a strange sense of calm, like the noise of the ballroom has faded into the background.

“Well, I should probably…” Benji begins, gesturing vaguely toward the dance floor.

“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, not wanting to keep him if he’s uncomfortable.

But before he leaves, he hesitates. “Hey, um, if you need a break from… everything, the courtyard’s pretty quiet. Just thought I’d mention it.”

I nod, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Benji. I might take you up on that.”

He smiles again, then disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone once more.

As I turn back to the refreshment table, my gaze catches on someone across the room. Leo Martinez is leaning against the balcony railing, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a confidence that feels magnetic. The faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, like he’s in on some secret no one else knows.

For a moment, our eyes meet, and he flashes me a grin—quick, sharp, and full of mischief. My heart skips a beat, and I quickly look away, heat rising to my cheeks. I clutch my charm bracelet, the cool metal grounding me once more.

Well, this is shaping up to be an interesting night after all.