Two sides of the same coin

Flashback The lunch table smells like someone's expensive sushi and my own anxiety. I'm wearing the blue sweater- the one I bought specifically because Jeffery told me blue was his favourite colour. It's a stupid detail to remember, but I do. Everything about that moment is burned into my brain in high definition. Janet leans over and whispers something to Abigail. They both look at me and laugh. Not with me.At me. There's a difference, and I've learned to recognise it. ''What?'' I ask, already knowing I won't like the answer. ''Nothing, Abigail says, but she's still smiling that smile, the one that makes my stomach drop.''Just... Jeffery asked if you were coming to his party.'' ''Yeah, he invited me, I say. My voice sounds normal. I'm proud of that. ''Why?'' Janet exchanges a look with Abigail.''He said you could come if you wanted, but he was kind of hoping you wouldn't. He's trying to impress someone.'' The worst part isn't that Jeffery doesn't want me there. It's that Janet and Abigail think this is funny. They think I should find it funny too that they are comfortable enough with my pain to laugh about it. I laugh along with them because that's what you do when you're trying to keep people from seeing you break. Present Day The plane touches down at JFK at 2:47 PM on a Tuesday, and I decide that this is where my life actually begins. Not dramatically like I'm running away from something terrible. More like... I'm running towards something better. A version of myself that doesn't exist yet, but absolutely could if I'm willing to work for it. My parents are in New York for some business - Dad's some finance guy, Mom's into real estate - and they've decided that Cordexa International Academy is exactly where I need to be. Apparently, my grades are 'fine,' but my 'social trajectory' needs 'recalibration'. Which is parent-speak for: we noticed you have been weird and sad, and we are hoping a fancy private school in Manhattan will fix it. They're not entirely wrong. I grabbed my luggage and headed towards the arrivals area, already mentally cataloguing what I need to do. New wardrobe- nothing too trendy, just effortlessly put together—new attitude-confident but not arrogant, friendly but not desperate. New Amy: the kind of girl who doesn't get constantly left out.The kind of girl who gets chosen. The kind of girl who doesn't spend hours crying in her room because her friends thought her pain was entertainment. I'm so focused on my mental checklist that I almost walk directly into someone. Watch it, the guy says, not even looking up from his phone. I blink. He's tall, dark-haired, wearing an expensive-looking coat, like he didn't even have to try. His expression is completely blank- the kind of blank that feels intentional, like he's worked to make sure his face remains without any emotions. ''Sorry'', I say automatically, even though he walked into me as much as I walked into him. My bad. He doesn't respond. Just steps around me like I'm an obstacle he's already forgotten about. Okay then. I watch him disappear into the crowd, feeling something sharp in my chest. That's fine. Not everybody is going to like me. That's not the point. The point is that I'm going to be the kind of person who doesn't need everyone to like me. I'm going to be so genuinely great that it won't matter if some random rude guy at the airport thinks I'm invisible. I'm going to be unforgettable. The Jackson family's penthouse is exactly what I expected: all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that probably cost more than my entire school. My parents are already here, looking slightly uncomfortable in the way wealthy people do when they're around other wealthy people- like they're all competing in a game no one explained the rules to. I looked around, analysing their family pictures. Mrs Jackson is elegant in an effortless way that makes me immediately want to study her. She has the kind of posture that suggests she's never slouched in her life. Mr Jackson is handsome in a stern way, with the same dark hair as the guy from the airport. I soon spot a familiar face, and I'm about to ask them if they have a son when- ''Amy, this is the Jackson family,'' they've generously offered to let you stay with them while you attend Cordexa. Isn't that wonderful?'' I smile and nod and shake hands, and everything is fine until Mr Jackson says, ''Our son Byron is also attending Cordexa. He's in his room at the moment, but you'll meet him at dinner. Byron. The rude guy from the airport is named Byron. He lives here, and I'm going to be living here too. He already thinks I'm the type of person who walks into people without paying attention. This is fine. This is totally fine. I can fix this. I can be charming and funny and so genuinely likeable that he'll forget he ever thought I was annoying. I can be the kind of girl who makes people regret being cold to her. I can be unforgettable. I just have to try hard enough.