Chapter 5 Like A Clown
Mia's POV
I stood near the drinks table, the string lights glowing above me like stars that didn't shine for me anymore. The music was cheerful. The laughter was loud.
But none of it was mine. Still, I didn't leave. I stayed, holding the clutch bag that carried Josh's secret. Smiling at the little brother who still believed in me.
And if my eyes stung under the lights, that was nobody's business but my own.
The string lights above flickered gently in the air, casting soft glows over the party as laughter swelled around me. I stood there pretending to scroll through my phone even though there was no signal.
Mrs. Rodriguez must have noticed, because she murmured as she passed me another tray, "You know... Daniel still likes you."
I shook my head slowly.
“No,” I said softly. “Your son never liked me.”
I forced a small, polite smile, even though my chest felt tight. “It was obvious. He didn’t even talk to me from the moment I arrived.”
I looked down at my hands, fingers curled together. “If he cared, he would have said something. But he didn’t. And that already tells me everything.”
I was about to slip back into the kitchen when I heard my name.
"Mia," came a voice behind me. I turned and found Belle standing there, arms crossed over her chest, brows slightly pinched like she was trying to look kind, but couldn't quite pull it off.
"I've been meaning to talk to you," Belle said, her voice sweet, but too rehearsed. "Can we... just step over here for a second?"
I nodded slowly, my limbs heavy. I followed her past the garden lights to a shadowed corner near the fence, where the music wasn't so loud and the others couldn't hear.
"I'm not trying to be mean," Belle began, folding her arms tighter. "But the girls... and honestly, even some of the guys... they've been noticing."
My pulse kicked up. "Noticing what?"
Belle sighed as it pained her to say it. "That you were trying to flirt with Daniel," she responded.
The air around me seemed to thin. "Mrs. Rodriguez invited me," I said softly, clutching my bag tightly.
"I know," Belle said quickly, waving her hand. "And that's fine. But... you have to stop, Mia. Especially when Daniel's around."
My stomach twisted. “Why?”
I faced Belle, my hands slowly curling into fists at my sides. “You know I like him,” I said softly. I didn’t deny it. I never had.
“But liking someone isn’t the same as flirting,” I continued, my voice steady even as something ached deep in my chest. “I never touched him. I never hinted. I never crossed a line.”
I took a breath. “I came tonight because his mother invited me. That was it. I didn’t come for him.”
My gaze dropped for a moment before I lifted it again. “And you saw it too. He didn’t talk to me. He didn’t even try. He kept his distance from the moment I arrived.”
I swallowed what I didn’t say. The quiet disappointment. The small hope that died without a word.
“So please don’t accuse me of something I never did,” I said gently. “Whatever I felt, I kept to myself.”
Belle leaned in slightly, her voice low but cutting. “We just—" she paused, then added, "I just don't want you to embarrass yourself again."
“I'm saying this as someone who used to be your friend," Belle continued, placing a hand lightly on my arm. "You need to stop chasing things that aren't meant for you. You're better off letting go. Don't make people uncomfortable. It's not good for you."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Belle gave me a pitying look. "This is coming from concern, okay? I'm not being a bitch. I just don't want people to keep thinking you're... well, pathetic."
That single word sliced through my heart. I swallowed hard and pulled my arm away. "Thank you," I said quietly, the heat in my cheeks burning now, not from embarrassment, but from the fight I was holding back. "For your... concern."
"This is the last time I'll talk to you, Mia," Belle murmured.
And I was too tired to argue. I simply turned away. I walked back toward the string lights like I hadn't just been gutted beneath them.
I passed Daniel, who looked like he wanted to speak. I didn't stop.
And when Mrs. Rodriguez called my name gently from the patio, offering another tray of cupcakes to carry, I smiled, took it, and went on pretending my heart wasn't quietly breaking all over again.
I was still carrying the tray when I noticed Chloe walking straight toward me. The moment our eyes met, my chest tightened. The mocking smile on her face was one I knew too well. I had seen it before, worn like a warning. I told myself to ignore her, to keep walking, to pretend she was nothing more than another guest in the room.
I took a step forward. And then she blocked my way. Her leg stretched out just enough to catch me off guard. I stumbled before I could steady myself, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. The tray slipped from my hands, and I hit the floor face down. Laughter exploded around me, loud and cruel, filling the room as if my pain was entertainment.
"Oops, I didn't know you were there," Chloe said, her voice dripping with mockery.
She did not offer her hand. She did not even look sorry. No one helped me up. My entire body ached, but the pain that hurt the most was not physical. It was the way my face burned, the way my chest felt tight as I realized some of the cupcakes had smashed against my face. Cream clung to my skin, sweet and sticky, turning me into a joke.
As I slowly tried to push myself up, the laughter only grew louder. They mocked me and looked at me like I was nothing more than a clown brought out for their amusement. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
"Enough!" Mrs. Rodriguez's voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding, echoing through the living room. The laughter died down, and suddenly the room felt heavy and silent.
I was shaking when she reached me. Humiliation weighed on me, pressing hard against my chest, but the moment she helped me up, something inside me cracked. She did not look at me with pity. She looked at me with concern.
She brought me to her room, away from the eyes, away from the whispers.
"I am sorry, my dear," she said gently as she closed the door behind us. "Those kids were too much. Actually, they are no longer kids. They are adults. How could they still act like that?"
Her words made my throat tighten. I could not trust my voice, so I only nodded. She opened her closet and took out a dress. "You should wear this," she said. "It might be a little short for you, but I think it will fit."
I accepted the dress with trembling hands. "Thank you, Ma'am," I whispered, my voice barely holding together.
She smiled at me, warm and reassuring. "You are so gorgeous in that dress, Mia. I think Chloe was jealous of how beautiful you looked."
Her kindness made my eyes sting. I was not used to being defended. I was not used to being seen.
"Go to the bathroom," she added softly. "Wash your face and change your gown."
As I turned toward the bathroom, my heart still hurt, but gratitude wrapped around it gently. The pain was still there. The humiliation still lingered. But in that moment, I knew one thing clearly.
Mrs. Rodriguez saved me again. I slipped out through the back door after quietly saying goodbye to Mrs. Rodriguez. She held my hands for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes soft with understanding.
"I am really glad you came tonight, Mia," she said gently. "I meant that."
Her words stayed with me as I stepped away, as if she wanted me to carry them home with me. I thanked her again, my voice low but sincere, and she smiled, the kind of smile that felt like reassurance rather than politeness. For a brief moment, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
Then I left. The ride home was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against my chest. It was filled with everything I did not say, everything I swallowed just to survive the night. I stared out the window, watching the streets blur past, and wondered why being strong always felt so lonely.
When I finally reached home, the house was dark and still. Josh was already waiting in the living room the moment I stepped inside. He looked up the second he heard the door, as if he had been listening for my return. He did not ask what happened. He did not need to.
He simply opened his arms. I walked into them, and the weight I had been carrying all night finally cracked. His presence was quiet, steady, unassuming, the kind that never demanded explanations.
"When you are ready to talk," he said softly, his voice calm and patient, "I am here."
I closed my eyes and let myself breathe. And for the first time that night, in the safety of my own home, I felt loved. The world outside could keep its cruelty.
For now, I was home with my best friend, the one I knew would love me without conditions, never judge me, and stay by my side no matter what.