Chapter 11 - Meg's POV

Friday, 10:07 PM — Beach Bonfire

She knew the spin would land on her before it even stopped.

She didn't believe in fate or intuition or all that "the universe is speaking" stuff—but as soon as Milo's hand left the bottle, Meg had felt it. The subtle weight shift in the air. The hush in her chest.

The bottle pointed to her like a silent dare all on its own.

Milo didn't skip a beat. "Dare or dare?"

She smirked, letting the firelight flicker across her face. "Bold of you to assume I fear anything."

He grinned wider. "Good. Because I dare you to—" he paused, scanning the group dramatically, milking the moment like the ham he was. "—recreate the 'Someday' choreography... but solo. And with full emotion. Like your soulmate's life depends on it."

The group roared.

"Nooo!" Meg laughed, burying her face in her hands. "Why would you do that to me?"

Malachi stood and mock-bowed. "I will be your background dancer."

"Absolutely not!" Meg tossed a piece of driftwood at him. "If I'm going down, I'm going alone."

"You've got this," Milo whispered, just low enough for only her to hear. She shot him a side-glare laced with affection.

She stood slowly, exaggerated and dramatic, placing a hand to her chest. "This is dedicated to every kid who was ever emotionally devastated by a musical number."

Then she launched into it.

Over-the-top arm gestures. Deep, soulful expressions. Knees hitting the sand as if she were in a stage spotlight instead of barefoot at a beach bonfire. The choreography was etched in her bones after all these years, but she added ridiculous flair to every move — hair flips, diva spins, a finger pointed to the stars.

The group was screaming with laughter by the end.

She flopped into the sand after the final note, panting. "I better win an Emmy for that."

"Legend behavior," Sway declared.

Julian wiped tears from his eyes. "That was, like... haunting."

Milo tossed her a towel like it was a medal. "You left it all on the field."

She caught it and stuck her tongue out at him.

The bottle spun again.

Julian.

Again.

He looked vaguely startled, like he hadn't expected the spotlight to swing back his way so fast. Meg saw the flicker behind his eyes — something calculating, connecting.

Milo had seen it too. He shifted subtly, leaning just enough to draw Julian's attention without seeming deliberate.

"Truth," Julian said, quieter than before.

Chandler was the first to jump in. "What's a theory you have about someone in this group that you've never said out loud?"

Meg's heart dropped into her stomach.

Julian blinked. "That's... oddly specific."

"Exactly," Chandler grinned. "We want juice."

Julian looked around the fire. Eyes drifting over MK, Sway, Malachi, Chandler... skipping Meg and Milo at first... but then circling back.

She felt her throat tighten.

"Okay," Julian said slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "I've got one. I thought maybe two people here were secretly dating. For a while."

A hush fell.

Meg didn't blink. Didn't twitch. Her toes curled in the sand under the towel.

Milo shifted slightly — crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow — totally casual.

"Thought?" MK prompted. "So... not anymore?"

Julian gave a tight shrug. "I don't know. It just doesn't add up. The people I suspected are too... natural. If it was a secret relationship, someone would've slipped by now. You know?"

He laughed awkwardly and waved it off. "Honestly, I think I made it up in my head. Too many romance movies."

Everyone let out a collective exhale, but Meg noticed Milo's hand twitch — just once — in the sand beside her.

She knew that twitch.

It meant he was rattled. Not panicking — he never panicked — but alert.

And for a second, that scared her more than Julian's almost-confession.

"Anyway," Julian said quickly, spinning the bottle, eager to move on.

It landed on Malachi.

"Dare," he said immediately, probably to redirect the tension.

Sway clapped. "I dare you to let us style your hair using only things from our beach bags."

Malachi gave an exaggerated groan. "I already know Freya has, like, four butterfly clips in there."

"Five," Freya corrected sweetly.

As the group burst into action, Meg relaxed — just a little. The pressure passed like a wave: strong, scary, then pulling back without destroying anything.

She glanced at Milo.

His eyes were on her already, soft with reassurance but also just a touch of warning. They were getting too good at this. Almost careless.

And that wasn't good.

Still... when the butterfly clips went in and everyone laughed so hard that MK fell off the log, Meg couldn't help but smile.

Not because it was over.

But because they'd gotten away with it.

For now.