Contd
Ariel Beckham.
“You know what? I need to get out of here.” I march straight to the closet, yanking the door open like I’m on a mission.
“But I just got here…” Hannah trails behind me, wide-eyed in the absurdly enormous room. Then her voice picks up, full of awe. “Whoa! Is this your closet!?”
I start rummaging through the rows of jeans, my hands slide past hanger after hanger of designer denim. It is all luxury! But right now, I’m just looking for a pair that feels normal. Regular. Something that doesn’t make me look like I belong in this life.
There’s nothing. No plain jeans. No escape from wealth stitched into fabric. I groan under my breath and grab the first pair I see.
Hannah’s voice breaks my concentration. “Oh my God! Is this a Birkin?”
I glance at her, then at the bag
