By the time I reached the dorm building, my hands were shaking from the cold—or maybe from the anger still simmering inside me. I didn't know anymore.

I trudged upstairs, unlocked the door, and stepped inside, the warmth of the dorm a stark contrast to the chill outside. I dropped my bag onto the floor and slumped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of the night pressed down on me.

"Maybe you don't belong here."

The words echoed again, and this time, I let the tears fall freely. I didn't even try to stop them.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was completely unraveling—and I had no idea how to hold myself together.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window, too bright and too sharp. My face felt puffy from crying, and my body ached—not just from the injury, but from sheer exhaustion. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep after last night's argument with Bryan. I had no memory of kicking off the boot or pulling the blanket over myself, but here I was, curled up in bed with the weight of everything still pressing on my chest.

I rolled onto my back, blinking up at the ceiling as the events of last night flooded back in vivid detail: Bryan's sharp tone, the cold look in his eyes, and the words that had cut deeper than they should have. "Maybe you don't belong here." I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it away, but it clung to me like a shadow.

A soft knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts. I froze for a second, instinctively holding my breath. "Amber? You awake?" Isabella's voice was muffled but gentle, the usual bright energy toned down.

"Yeah," I croaked, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat quickly. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Isabella stepped in, a plastic smoothie cup in each hand. She eyed me carefully as she walked toward my bed, her smile small and cautious. "I come bearing gifts," she said, wiggling the smoothies. "One for me, one for my grumpy ballerina."

I sat up slowly, wincing as I shifted my foot. "Thanks," I mumbled, reaching for the drink. My hands were still shaky, but I didn't think Izzy noticed.

She plopped onto the bed next to me, pulling her knees up to her chest as she sipped her smoothie loudly. "So, are we going to talk about it, or am I just going to have to drag it out of you?"

I blinked at her. "What?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You came back last night looking like someone ran over your puppy, limping and sniffling. And don't think I didn't hear you crying. Spill."

I looked down at my smoothie, swirling the straw mindlessly. "It's nothing."

"Amber," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You don't cry over nothing. Who do I need to fight? Bryan? Was it Bryan? Because it's always Bryan."

I let out a half-hearted laugh, but my chest still felt tight. "It's not worth it."

Her eyes softened. "He said something, didn't he?"

I hesitated, then nodded slowly. "We were tutoring, and... I wasn't doing great. I was distracted, and he—he lost his patience. Said I wasn't trying and that maybe I didn't belong here." My voice cracked slightly at the end, and I hated how small I sounded.

Isabella's jaw dropped, her expression shifting from shock to outrage in an instant. "He said that? Out loud? To you?"

"Yeah." I swallowed hard, my throat tight again. "I know I've been off lately, but... I don't know. Maybe he's right."

"Excuse me?" Isabella practically shouted, setting her smoothie down with a dramatic thunk. "Amber, don't you dare let some tattooed baseball jerk make you question yourself."

"It wasn't—"

"No," she cut me off, pointing a finger at me. "You listen to me. Bryan is not right. You've been juggling more than anyone I know: classes, babysitting, Nutcracker rehearsals, and that stupid boot. You're allowed to be tired! That doesn't mean you don't belong here."

I stared at her, the tension in my chest loosening just a little. "I guess."

"Not 'I guess,'" she corrected, giving me a fierce look. "You're one of the hardest-working people I know. Bryan's an idiot. End of story."

I couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at my lips. "You're really ready to fight him, huh?"

"Absolutely," she said, her tone deadly serious. "I'll throw my smoothie at him if I have to."

That earned a real laugh from me, one that made Izzy's face light up. "There she is," she said, grinning. "Now, here's the plan: you're going to drink that smoothie, ice your foot, and pretend Bryan Munzo doesn't exist for the rest of the day. He's not worth ruining your Friday."

"Yeah," I agreed softly, sipping my smoothie. "You're right."

The sunlight pouring through the window felt both too bright and too warm. I sat on my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror, still trying to come to terms with the day. It wasn't my real birthday—that wouldn't come until December 7, when I'd be in Costa Rica—but Isabella had insisted on celebrating early.

"It's the principle," she'd declared a week ago, holding up a box of party decorations. "You don't just skip your 20th birthday. Plus, you'll be busy hiking and ziplining in paradise. You need something fabulous here, too."

But after everything that had happened—my injury, the fight with Bryan, the constant ache of feeling behind—I wasn't sure how "fabulous" I felt. My injured foot sat awkwardly in its boot, a constant reminder of all the things I couldn't do right now.

The morning crawled by painfully slow. My first class of the day was fine—at least no one stared too much when I hobbled in with my boot. But the discomfort of sitting for so long, combined with the gnawing thoughts about the dance I couldn't perform, left me drained by the time I arrived at the studio.

The energy in the studio buzzed like usual, dancers gliding across the polished floor with ease. Mrs. Lawson greeted me with a kind but firm look as I settled into the corner, prepared to watch the entire rehearsal from a bench.

"Remember," she said, as though I hadn't already heard it a hundred times, "only arms today. Don't even think about putting weight on that foot."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, though part of me wanted to protest. Watching my classmates perform the Sugar Plum Fairy routine—the role I'd fought so hard for—without being able to join them was excruciating.

I tried to focus on moving my arms, mimicking the elegant port de bras as they twirled across the floor. But every now and then, my good foot twitched, itching to move, to leap, to dance.

Mrs. Lawson caught my wandering movements every time. "Amber," she said sternly, "don't make me send you out of the room."

I sighed, slumping back against the wall. "Yes, ma'am," I muttered.

The rehearsal felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched painfully as I sat there, my muscles aching for something more.

The kids' class was a slightly better distraction. As soon as I walked—or rather, limped—into the room, the chatter and laughter from the children filled the space. But their excited energy turned to concerned whispers as soon as they spotted my boot.

"Miss Amber!" one of the girls exclaimed, her little hand flying to her mouth. "What happened to you?"

I crouched down as best as I could, smiling reassuringly. "I hurt my foot during practice," I explained gently. "But it's okay—it's not forever."

A boy in the back crossed his arms, frowning. "You're supposed to be invincible."

"Invincible?" I repeated with a laugh.

"Yeah," he said seriously. "You're the Sugar Plum Fairy. Fairies don't get hurt."

"That's true," I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "But even fairies need to rest sometimes so they can come back stronger."

The kids crowded around me, their wide eyes filled with concern. "Does it hurt?" a tiny voice asked.

"Not too much," I lied, patting her on the head. "And besides, I still get to be here with all of you, right?"

That seemed to cheer them up, and soon enough, they were chattering about their Polichinelle costumes and the big performance.

The class went by quickly. Despite my limitations, I managed to guide them through their routine, calling out corrections and encouraging them when they nailed a tricky step. By the end, they were beaming with pride—and so was I.

As they left, several of them ran up to hug me, their little arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

"Feel better soon, Miss Amber," one of them said before skipping out the door.

I sat down on the bench, exhausted but strangely at peace. For the first time all week, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.

By the time I got back to the dorm, I was ready to collapse. But as soon as I opened the door, I was met with a whirlwind of energy in the form of Isabella. She was running around the room, stringing up banners and tossing glittery decorations onto every available surface.

"There she is!" she exclaimed, turning to face me with a wide grin. "The woman of the hour!"

I blinked, startled by the sheer volume of decorations. Streamers hung from the ceiling, balloons were tied to the chairs, and a giant banner that read BONNE FÊTE, AMBER! stretched across the wall.

"Izzy," I said slowly, "what... is all this?"

"It's your pre-birthday extravaganza!" she declared, throwing her arms out dramatically. "Obviously, it's not as fabulous as Costa Rica, but I think I nailed the vibe."

I couldn't help but laugh. "It's... a lot."

"Exactly!" she said, clapping her hands. "And guess what? I got you a dress."

"A dress?"

She pulled a garment bag from her closet, holding it up like it was a prize. "I saw this and thought, 'Amber needs this for tonight.' You're going to look stunning, boot and all."

I opened the bag hesitantly, revealing a sleek, deep green dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. "Izzy, this is..."

"Gorgeous," she finished for me, beaming. "And don't worry, I already figured out how we'll style your hair to distract from the boot. You'll look like a literal goddess."

As the evening approached, Isabella practically dragged me to her vanity, armed with makeup brushes and curling irons. "Trust me," she said as she started curling my hair, "by the time I'm done with you, Bryan will regret ever making you cry."

"Bryan?" I asked, frowning.

"Yes, Bryan," she said, rolling her eyes. "Don't act surprised—he's on the guest list. He always is. It's fine, though. Tonight isn't about him; it's about you. Your night, Amber."

I sighed, letting her work her magic. As she carefully applied my makeup, she talked nonstop about the party—who was coming, what music she'd picked, and how she planned to make me dance even if I was wearing a boot.

"Your eyes look insane with this eyeliner," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Like, ridiculously pretty."

"Thanks," I said softly, my cheeks warming.

"Now," she said, handing me the dress, "go get changed. Your adoring fans are waiting."

By the time we arrived at the party, my nerves were buzzing—but not in a bad way. Isabella had outdone herself with the dress, and even with the boot, I felt... good. Like maybe, just for tonight, everything was going to be okay.

The living room was already packed with people when we walked in, the music loud and the air filled with laughter and chatter. I spotted a few familiar faces from school, including Celeste and Blake, who waved at me from across the room.

"You made it!" Celeste said, pulling me into a careful hug. "Happy early birthday!"

"Thanks," I said, smiling.

As the night went on, I let myself relax, leaning into the warmth and joy of the evening. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again.

And even when Bryan eventually showed up, dressed casually but still effortlessly put together, I refused to let him ruin it. Tonight was my night—and I wasn't going to let anything, or anyone, take that away from me.

The party had only just started, and already I felt out of place. Isabella, true to form, had turned our dorm into what could only be described as "early birthday chaos," with fairy lights draped everywhere, gold streamers hanging from the ceiling, and a "BONNE FÊTE, AMBER!" banner proudly pinned above the couch.

"You're turning 20, Amber. This is a milestone birthday!" she'd argued all week. "Plus, you'll thank me when you see how cute the cake is."

And now, here we were—surrounded by music, snacks, and more people than I'd ever seen crammed into our tiny dorm.

Blake showed up first, carrying two boxes of pizza like the knight in shining armor Isabella thought he was. "For the birthday queen," he announced, flashing me a crooked smile as he set the boxes down on the counter.

"Thanks, Blake," I said, genuinely grateful.

"Of course," he replied, giving Isabella a small grin that made her flush immediately. "Couldn't let you two starve while hosting the party of the year."

Isabella beamed, practically bouncing on her toes as she grabbed his arm. "Okay, you get the job of handing out pizza slices while Amber sits like the royalty she is."

"Absolutely," Blake teased, grabbing a paper plate like it was his life's mission.

I tried to relax, sipping at my soda while Isabella darted around the room, mingling like a social butterfly. It was nice seeing her so excited—her smile was infectious, and she made sure everyone was having fun, including me.

It was, of course, inevitable. Bryan always seemed to find his way into these moments, whether I wanted him there or not.

The door swung open, and suddenly, the low hum of conversation seemed to stutter. I looked up just as Bryan walked in, flanked by a couple of his baseball friends.

He looked unfairly good—again. He was wearing a fitted black sweater that showed just enough of his tattoos at the collar and sleeves, paired with dark jeans and a lazy confidence that made him look like he owned the room. The casual smile he gave his friends told me he was completely unbothered, like nothing rattled him.

And then his eyes found me.

I froze mid-sip, heart skipping a beat when his dark gaze flicked to where I sat on the couch. His eyes lingered for just a second before they moved on, like I wasn't worth any more of his attention.

"Of course he's here," I muttered under my breath.

Isabella leaned over, grinning like she found the whole thing hilarious. "It's a party, Amber. You didn't actually think he'd miss it, did you?"

"I was hoping," I deadpanned, setting my drink down harder than necessary.

Isabella rolled her eyes, clearly having too much fun with this. "Well, you're going to survive. Ignore him if you have to. This is your night."

For a while, I managed to avoid him. I stayed near Blake, Celeste, and Isabella, laughing as they debated the best pizza toppings and joking about Blake's laughably terrible attempts to start a dance battle.

But Bryan was always there—just in my peripheral vision. Whether it was the sound of his low laugh, the way his friends gravitated around him like satellites, or the occasional glance I caught of him across the room, he was impossible to ignore.

It was when Isabella started cutting the cake that he finally decided to escalate things.

"Amber!" Isabella shouted from the kitchen counter, holding up a knife like a microphone. "Come blow out your candles!"

I stood, hobbling slightly because of my boot, and made my way toward her as everyone clapped and cheered like it was some kind of award show. "You are ridiculous," I whispered as I reached her, shooting her a playful glare.

"Ridiculously awesome, yes," she quipped, sticking the candles into the cake.

Just as I leaned over to blow them out, Bryan's voice cut through the noise like a dagger.

"Don't trip, Ballerina," he said from behind me, the smirk audible in his tone.

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and heat flared across my cheeks instantly. I shot up, spinning around to glare at him. He stood near the back of the group, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, that smug smile plastered across his face.

"Careful," he added, tilting his head, "wouldn't want you hurting your other foot."

The room went quiet for half a second before someone chuckled, and I wanted to sink into the floor.

I straightened, forcing my voice to sound calm even though I was burning inside. "Thanks for your concern, Bryan. I'll manage just fine."

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling like he knew he'd gotten under my skin. "Sure you will."

Isabella shot him a glare so sharp it could've cut glass. "Bryan, why don't you shut up for once?" she snapped, loud enough for everyone to hear.

A chorus of "Ooooh"s filled the room as Bryan shrugged innocently, looking completely unbothered.

Isabella stood near the kitchen counter, holding a cake aloft like it was a trophy. The top was decorated with sparkly candles and what looked like an edible glitter banner that read, BONNE FÊTE, AMBER!I blew out the candles quickly, trying to ignore the way my stomach twisted in both anger and—God help me—something else.

As the night wore on, I managed to shake it off... mostly. Bryan stayed on the other side of the room for the rest of the evening, but every so often, I could feel him watching me, like he was waiting for another opportunity to poke at me again.

When I finally flopped back onto the couch, Isabella sat beside me, handing me another drink with an exaggerated sigh. "He's insufferable."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, taking a sip.

"You want me to 'accidentally' spill soda on him?" she offered.

I snorted. "Tempting, but no."

Her grin turned wicked. "Well, just know the offer's there."

As the party raged on, I found a moment to sneak away to the corner of the room, easing myself onto the couch and resting my foot. The boot was heavier than ever, and the dull ache in my ankle throbbed with every beat of the music. I let out a long breath, sinking into the cushions as I sipped my soda.

It wasn't that I wasn't having fun—I was. People were laughing, dancing, and shouting over the music, and for once, it felt good to just... be. Isabella had done an amazing job, and seeing her so happy made it worth it.

"Hey," Blake's voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see him standing in front of me, holding a slice of pizza. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, shifting the boot. "Just needed a break."

He nodded knowingly, sitting down on the armrest next to me. "You've got a pretty dedicated party planner on your hands."

"Tell me about it," I said with a small laugh, glancing across the room where Isabella was now dancing wildly with Celeste. "She doesn't stop."

"She cares about you. That's a good friend to have."

"Yeah," I said softly, smiling to myself.

"Want me to grab you anything? Cake? Another drink?"

I shook my head, grateful. "I'm good, thanks."

Hours passed in a blur of laughter and conversations. People drifted in and out of our dorm, the music cycling between upbeat dance tracks and softer songs. Celeste somehow convinced Isabella to start a singalong, which had Blake and half the room howling at her off-key rendition of a Taylor Swift song.

I sat back, taking it all in, feeling lighter than I had in days.

Eventually, the crowd started to thin. Someone turned down the music, and the fairy lights seemed to glow softer as the energy mellowed.

Isabella plopped down next to me, her face flushed and a bit of frosting smudged on her cheek. "You're still having fun, right?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah," I admitted, surprising even myself. "This was... really nice. Thank you, Izzy."

She grinned, her tired eyes sparkling. "You deserve it, Amber. I wanted to make sure you had one good night before Costa Rica takes over our lives."

I laughed softly. "Mission accomplished."

"Good," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. "Happy early birthday, bestie."

For a moment, everything felt perfect. The noise, the decorations, even the stupid boot—it all faded into the background. I leaned my head against hers, closing my eyes briefly as I soaked in the calm.

It wasn't my real birthday. And it wasn't the perfect night. But it was enough.