Chapter 5 - The Catalyst of Trivia
The climax of the party arrived around ten o’clock when Tyler dragged a whiteboard into the center of the living room and announced couples trivia.
"Alright, everyone settle down!" Tyler shouted, holding a dry-erase marker like a microphone. "We’re doing trivia. Teams of two. Partners or friends, let's see who actually knows each other!"
People groaned and laughed, shuffling into pairs. Sophie and Marissa paired up. Tyler and his boyfriend grabbed a spot by the window.
Ethan looked down at me, a tentative, apologetic smile on his face. "Want to crush them?"
"Always," I said, smiling back.
Before Ethan and I could even step forward, Brianna’s voice cut across the room like a jagged shard of glass.
"I’ll play with Ethan."
The entire room went dead silent. The upbeat indie-rock playlist playing softly over the speakers suddenly felt deafeningly loud.
Brianna stood by the kitchen island, her hands resting casually on her hips, a triumphant, untouchable smirk plastered across her face.
"We’ve known each other four years longer than Clara has," she added, laughing lightly to cover the glaring awkwardness of her proposal. "I probably know Ethan better than she does anyway. I actually pay attention to him."
Twelve people were standing within six feet of her.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody smiled.
Sophie crossed her arms and stared directly at the floorboards. Dana looked up at the ceiling. Owen leaned against the bookshelf, his expression darkening into a mask of pure contempt. Priya turned her face away, visibly mortified.
For a year, that exact sentence would have been met with chuckles, uncomfortable shifting, and Ethan’s signature dismissive phrase: “She’s just a lot, Clara. Let it go.”
I looked at Ethan.
I expected him to laugh. I expected him to rub the back of his neck, look down at his shoes, and murmur something about Brianna just being "eccentric."
Instead, Ethan’s expression changed.
The mild confusion vanished, replaced by something cold, sharp, and final. It was the look of a man who had suddenly realized he had allowed a parasite to eat away at the foundation of his house until the roof finally caved in.
He slowly removed his arm from around my waist. He stood up from the sofa, towering over the coffee table, his shoulders squared.
Brianna’s triumphant smirk faltered. Her smile trembled for a fraction of a second. "Come on," she muttered, her voice dropping an octave, losing its performative bounce. "I’m kidding. It’s a joke."
"No," Ethan said.
His voice wasn't shouting. It was calm, level, and carrying across the entire silent room with terrifying resonance.
Brianna blinked rapidly. "Ethan—"
"Real friends don't spend a year humiliating their friend’s girlfriend," Ethan said, looking directly into her wide, panicked eyes. "They don't mock her clothes, they don't hijack her life, they don't belittle her in front of everyone we know, and they certainly don't act like they own a relationship they have no business being in."
The room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
"Ethan, what are you talking about?" Brianna’s voice cracked, the high-status persona completely stripping away to reveal a desperate, cornered girl. "Everyone knows I’m just joking. Clara is the one who’s being—"
"Stop," Ethan interrupted, raising his hand slightly. "Just stop. You’re not welcome here anymore, Brianna."
She stood frozen in the center of the room, her silver dress catching the harsh overhead light. She looked around the circle of faces—Sophie, Dana, Tyler, Owen, Priya—expecting someone, anyone, to chuckle, to step in, to rescue her with a joke and restore the social hierarchy she had ruled over for years.
Sophie looked straight through her.
Dana didn't blink.
Owen crossed his arms.
Not one person laughed. Not one person moved.
Brianna’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. The humiliation she had so carefully distributed to me for twelve months finally landed squarely on her own shoulders, heavy and suffocating.
Without another word, she grabbed her black leather jacket off the back of the chair, turned on her stiletto heels, and marched toward the door.
May you like
The heavy oak front door clicked shut behind her with a sharp, echoing bang.
And not a single soul followed her.
