Is that what I do?
Is that what people see? An easy target?
God, he’s right.
Lukas says nothing but reaches forward, surprising me when he grips my trembling chin. With a gentle nudge, he forces me to meet his eyes, and I’m relieved to see my friend staring back at me. No anger. Just…Lukas.
His perfect jaw is tense. But when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “I’m sorry. I’m not so good with…people. I don’t mean to come across angry or annoyed. It’s just…”
His black brows press closer together. “You see so much in everyone around you, yet you see nothing in yourself. It’s fucking frustrating.”
My first thought is to apologize, but I know an apology now will only make things worse. I bite my bottom lip to keep from interrupting him.
“Someone as extraordinary as you should walk with your head held high. Only then will you recognize the effect you have on those around you. Because in the end, it’s not about what others see, but how you see yourself.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise and I can do nothing but stare at him, mind-blown.
The silence must fluster him, because he lets go of my chin to rake his hand through his hair. And then, he’s gone.
I stand there, unsure of what the hell just happened, until a familiar voice says, “Disney screwed things up for every impressionable adolescent.”
I turn to find Adam, hands jammed in his pockets while taking slow, deliberate steps in my direction.
“What?” I ask.
He grins at my confusion. “I mean, anyone can whip up some magical love story by romanticizing what they want to see. That’s easy. But in all honesty, love isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. True love is when you’re faced with truths you don’t want to hear, with words difficult to accept, but they’re spoken to better you as a person, without fear of consequence.”
Dreading exactly how much he heard, I gesture in the space previously occupied by Lukas. “It’s not…we’re not…”
Adam shakes his head, dismissing my stammering. “I’m just saying, fuck Disney. That’s all.”
I make no comment on his random observation and steer the conversation into safer, much saner territory. “So… where’s Genny?”
He chuckles, then throws an arm over my shoulder and tucks me into his tall frame. “Well, there was a lot of screaming and a few failed attempts at drawing blood, then Mr. Wyatt showed up and everyone took off. Genny wanted me to tell you she has your backpack and to meet her in the bathroom beside the cafeteria.”
I glance at my ruined dress, feeling defeated. Crap. “She’s going to dress me, isn’t she?”
Adam gives me a sympathetic look, and I frown in return.
He laughs softly as he guides me toward the cafeteria. I lean into him and nestle my head in the crook of his neck. A warm breeze stirs around us as we walk, its soft gust launching several tiny blades of freshly cut grass into the air.
Adam inhales deeply. “You smell that?”
I breathe in. “The grass?”
“No.” He shakes his head, then gives my shoulder a tender squeeze. “The winds of change.”
6
The winds of change begin within the next ten minutes.
Literally.
Instead of my pretty lavender dress and shiny silver sandals, I find myself in a pair of worn-out Docs (two sizes too big), ripped fishnet stockings, a plaid pleated skirt, and a black, oversized crop top with a skull on it.
Let me repeat that.
With. A. Skull. On. It.
After searching for, and thankfully finding, an extra pair of fingerless gloves in my backpack—I mean, any normal girl can never have too many pairs, am I right?—I slide them up my arms and finally exit the stall, only to scowl at my reflection. I grit my teeth while yanking on the hem of the shirt, but it’s a lost cause. The cotton quickly retracts to its original length, leaving a tiny sliver of skin exposed along my midriff.
I swear I hear the skull laughing.
Wait, no. I stand corrected.
That would be Genny.
Her eyes full of mirth, she approaches me from behind, meeting my horrified gaze in the mirror. Her pink hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the shorter strands falling free along the nape of her neck, covering the collar of her Sex Pistols T-shirt. The same shirt she was wearing earlier, the imprint of the hamburger patty still greased into the fabric right above her left boob.
“I am not wearing this in public,” I announce, pulling again at the bottom of the crop top.
Her expression hardens. “I wear this in public.”
I sigh. “Yes. And you look great in it, Genny, because it’s you, not me.”
Genny scoffs, shaking her head. “My dear Chloe.” She curls her fingers over the tops of my shoulders, centering my reflection in the mirror. “You have no idea who you are.”
Her expression morphs from amusement to sincerity as she begins to explain. “I’m punk. I’m all about rebelling against those who preach conformity and speaking my mind however I choose. I express myself through what I wear, the music I listen to, and the way I conduct myself in general, because I refuse to bend to archaic rules that make no exception for variation. Differences stoke change, and change is inevitable. But it’s the inability to accept those differences that hinders our movement forward as a society.”
And here I thought I’d met my speech-that-blows-Chloe’s-mind quota for the day.
Genny continues, ignoring my wide-eyed expression. “That’s who I am, unapologetically. I will continue to fight for what I believe in until the day I die. Yet the question still remains: who are you? And I’m sorry, I do not accept that you’re the pretty, pretty princess you try so hard to be. That’s your attempt to be what they want you to be, sure, but it’s not who you are. Your biggest challenge lies in”—she tightens her hold on my shoulders—“no longer denying your past, but facing it. And as you accept your reality, your hardships and triumphs, each of these defining moments become tools for embracing difference and creating change, not only for yourself, but for those around you.”
Her shoulders lift and she smiles gently. “Life goes on, Chloe, with or without you. It’s what you leave behind for others to carry forward that should define you, not what you wore to school last Thursday.” She chuckles. “Or for the remainder of today. You look hot, by the way. Not in a ‘defining’ way, though. Do not mistake what I’m saying.”
My head feels like it just exploded. “You’re exhausting.”
“I’ve heard much worse.”
With Lukas’s speech still fresh in my mind, I find courage to lower the walls guarding my innermost fears. My voice trembles as I ask, “How do you do it? How do you just not care about what other people think and say?”
I glance at the spots on her shirt, shining like a badge of honor across her chest. Slowly, my gaze drifts to her arms, the scars lining them, the courage she demonstrates in their open display…the true source of my question.
Her curious gaze follows mine, and for a moment, I panic in anticipation of her response. But when she lifts her eyes, they’re full of compassion and understanding. “Silence the voices, you mean?” She taps her temple. “In here?”