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The room got quiet in that awful, hungry way rooms do when people sense a scene and decide to become furniture.
My hands clenched into fists.
Wren tried to walk away, but Chloe stepped in front of her.
“You know what’s worse?” Chloe said, sharper now. “He’s probably up there right now, watching you…” she paused. “… and he’s embarrassed.”
I took a step forward, but before I could say anything, Chloe lifted her drink.
“Let’s fix this.”
Wren tried to walk away.
Chloe poured her full cup of punch right on Wren’s chest.
It spread across the navy fabric, soaked into the careful seams, ran down the front of the dress in ugly streaks, and dripped over the badge.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then phones came out.
Wren looked down and started wiping at the badge with both hands, frantic but silent, as if speed alone could undo what had happened.
I was already moving toward Chloe when the speakers shrieked.
Phones came out.
Feedback ripped through the gym.
Everyone turned.
Susan was standing at the DJ table with a microphone in one shaking hand. Her face had gone pale.
“Chloe,” she said. “Do you even know who that policeman is to you?”
Chloe blinked, laughing once in disbelief. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“He would not be ashamed of her.” She paused. “He would be ashamed of you.”
“Do you even know who that policeman is to you?”