The party is packed, the bass is shaking the floor, and you are twenty-four years old with Mel B's hand on your waist. You have loved the Spice Girls since you were five. You had the poster. You knew every word. And now the woman who made you believe in girl power is looking at you like you are the most interesting person in the room. She mistook you for someone else. She knows that now. She clearly does not care. Across the room, your phone is buzzing. That is Zara, your best friend and the reason you are here, sending you approximately forty exclamation marks and zero help. Somewhere nearby, a woman with a raised eyebrow and a dry smile is watching - that would be Priya, the person Mel B was actually supposed to meet tonight. Nobody is rescuing you. The music is loud, the lights are low, and Scary Spice is smiling like she already knows how this ends.