People skirt around me. No one stops. A few eye me uncomfortably before hustling away, shoving their backpacks up higher on their shoulders like shields from the emotions I’m emitting.
Who knew losing a friend could hurt so much? It’s like a betrayal of getting stabbed in the back. Only with a slightly duller blade.
I don’t give a shit about Aiden’srules. I’m not going to class. It’s Friday, and I went to every class yesterday so he wouldn’t bother me. Now? Without even being allowed to get off to comfort myself? What’s the point?
May as well drop out.
Swiping at my face, I manage to make it back to my dorm room with blurry vision. Deep sobs shudder through my lungs while I stuff random clothes and toiletries I’ll need for the weekend into an overnight bag. I head out to my nondescript, basic car. White, like everyone else’s.
That’s the point.
If I blend in, no one looks too closely.
Getting hit on by guys in middle school and having the girls ostracize me for it? My sisters calling meshowy,dramatic,too muchuntil it was easier to disappear? Being simple turned into my armor. On the outside, when I had the energy, I becamepalatable. Commercial. And what everyone else wanted. For me to fit in.Just like them.
Minimalism isn’t about taste; it’s my camouflage. I hide my things in plain mediums—neutral colors, tidy spaces, nothing that begs to be stared at. Because when I choose to stand out, it’s on my own terms.
And that makes every flash of color, every rebellion,mine.
When I go glam, that means I’m on a warpath. Or finally feel safe enough to be seen.
After an hour of punk and ska blasting loud enough to make me numb again, I park in front of my parents’ Mediterranean-style modern mansion.
It’s such a useless thing to feel so sorry for myself. But I do.
How dare Julien do this to me?
My brain circles with reasons why this is Aiden Cardell’s fault. I’m sure if I think about it for long enough, I’ll come up with a solid one.
“Asa?”
Mom’s voice rings through the house when I step inside. As I round the corner to the downstairs offices, she meets me in the foyer. “Oh. Hey, Ash! I thought you were your dad.”
She hurries forward and gives me a tight hug. “Adalyn’s working on floral arrangements, and we need his opinion.”
“Can I see?”
Her caramel-colored eyes scan me with uncertainty. “If you want to.” With a shrug, she leads me into the hall. “Didn’t think you liked that stuff.”
Lingering at the door to her office, I pause. Two of my older sisters snap with arguments about fabric swatches, flicking rapidly between samples on a metal ring to compare. Mom bounces over to the white leather settee by the back window wall and pats the seat next to her with a smack.
“Ash wants to see!”
Adalyn and Arilyn look up at me as if I were a roach crawling into their wedding cakes.
“Oh. Hey,” Adalyn says, unperturbed.
Jaw tight, I set my hands on my hips. “Collegeis going well. I’m doinggreat.”
Arilyn studies her tablet, pointing out something to Adalyn. “That’s great. Hospitality management?”
“Interior design.”
Adalyn glances at me with a scowl. “Really? But you don’t ever decorate anything.”
In my head, I do.
“Ma!” Wyatt yells from the hall and swivels around the doorframe, flinging his backpack onto a nearby chair. “The chef said they’re out of those puffs I like. The ones with the shrimp and beef, too.”