Isabella
I had changed outfits three times already, three good times which was ridiculous, because I wasn’t going on a date.
I stared at myself in the mirror and frowned.
“No,” I said out loud, tugging the hem of the top down again. “This is casual.”
Except it wasn’t casual, it looked like I tried, a little bit too hard if you asked me.
I sighed and turned away, grabbing another shirt from the bed. If I ever needed a sign that the universe hated me, then this was it, because the shirt I happened to pick up next was worse, even worse.
Shit.
“How is everything wrong?” I muttered, tossing it back onto the pile.
My room looked like a storm had passed through it. It had clothes scattered across the bed, hangers on the chair, and a growing sense of regret I could physically feel creep
