Stronger With You

Chapter 6

By the time I left the shelter, I smelled like disinfectant, dog hair, and one long string of bad decisions.

Again.

The sun was starting to drop behind the campus buildings, casting long shadows across the walkways. Groups of students laughed on the lawn like they didn’t have a single real problem between them. Backpacks slung over shoulders. Coffee cups in hand. Easy smiles.

Lucky them.

I kept my head down, Nico’s hoodie pulled tight around me even though it wasn’t cold. All I wanted was a shower and a full memory wipe after Nicolás Vega saw me covered in dog crap and then basically half-naked five minutes later. The worst part? He still had the nerve to look annoyingly good while making fun of me.

I turned the corner near the dorm steps.

And stopped.

Blaire.

Of course.

She stood with her usual group, heels planted like she owned the ground beneath her. Allie leaned against the railing scrolling through her phone while two other girls hovered nearby, whispering behind perfectly manicured hands.

Blaire’s eyes lit up when she spotted me.

“Oh look,” she said loudly, voice dripping with fake sweetness. “The shelter girl.”

I kept walking.

Didn’t slow down. Didn’t make eye contact.

That didn’t stop them.

“How was work?” one girl asked, tilting her head. “Did you shovel enough today to earn dinner?”

“Careful,” Blaire added, stepping into my path just enough to make me notice. “She might track something in. Second-hand clothes don’t always survive heavy labor.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

I clenched my jaw and moved around her.

“Is it true you’re from a trailer park?” another girl asked casually, like she was asking about the weather.

My shoulders tightened.

Blaire followed a step behind me, heels clicking slowly. “Honestly, Emery, it’s kind of admirable,” she said. “Starting from nothing and all that. Very inspirational.”

Her smile said the exact opposite.

“And those clothes?” she continued, eyes dragging down my hoodie and oversized pants. “Vintage thrift? Or just… charity donations?”

I said nothing.

Didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. Ironically, my clothes were actually Nico’s clothes and the most expensive outfit I ever worn. Definitely not thrift shop.

I pushed through the dorm doors and didn’t breathe again until they shut behind me.

By the time I reached our room, my hands were shaking.

I slammed the door harder than I meant to.

Callie looked up from her bed immediately. “Whoa. Okay. That sounded personal. What happened?”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and started pacing before I even realized I was doing it.

“Your cousin is a menace,” I said, words tumbling out too fast. “Blaire is a nightmare, the shelter smells like betrayal, and I slipped in actual dog crap today.”

Callie sat up straighter. “You slipped?”

“Yes,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Like full cartoon-level disaster. And he laughed. Like really laughed. Not the polite rich-guy laugh. The actual one.”

Her eyes widened. “He laughed laughed?”

“Yes. And then he threw clothes at me like I was a stray he picked up off the street.” I left out the naked part. I was not going to admit that any time soon.

She blinked. “Wait. He gave you clothes?”

“That is not the takeaway here.”

“It kind of is,” she said carefully.

I waved her off and kept talking, the words pouring out now that they’d started.

“And then I come back here, and Blaire decides to remind me that I’m a charity case from a trailer park who apparently doesn’t know what designer labels are. Like I needed the reminder.”

Callie’s expression softened. “She said that?”

“Not in those exact words,” I said. “But she didn’t have to.”

I stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples.

“It’s just… exhausting,” I muttered. “It’s the same crap I deal with at home.”

Callie didn’t interrupt. She just listened.

“My stepdad thinks I’m… nothing,” I said quietly. “Like I’m just in the way. Like I owe him something for existing. That disgusting piece of….”

The words edged toward something heavier.

Something I wasn’t ready to say out loud.

I swallowed hard and pulled back before I crossed that line.

Callie’s voice softened. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to.”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah. I know.”

Silence settled between us for a moment.

Then Callie clapped her hands suddenly, breaking the heaviness.

“Okay. New plan,” she announced, standing up.

I narrowed my eyes. “That tone never leads to anything good.”

“You,” she said, pointing at me, “are coming to Sunday dinner.”

I stared at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” she said, already digging through her closet. “You need a distraction, and my family is the biggest hot mess express you will ever witness. It’s basically free entertainment.”

“I don’t think throwing me into a room full of rich people counts as therapy,” I said.

“Oh please,” she laughed. “Half of them argue over silverware placement. You’ll be fine.”

She held up a simple dress. Soft fabric. Not flashy. Comfortable.

I hesitated.

“Just dinner,” she said gently. “If you hate it, we leave early. I promise.”

I sighed. “Fine. But if anyone calls me charity case again, I’m hiding under the table.”

“Deal.”

She grinned and started brushing my hair back from my face.

Then her voice shifted, casual but curious. “So… Nico.”

I groaned. “Please don’t.”

“He never brings people clothes,” she said slowly. “Like… ever. He barely shares snacks with me. And he definitely doesn’t stick

around to watch someone work.”

“He was supervising,” I said flatly.

“Mm-hmm.”

“He laughed at me.”

“He laughs at everyone.”

“He told me it was my fault,” I added.

Callie tilted her head. “Did he actually say that?”

I hesitated.

“…No,” I admitted. “But he implied it. With his face.”

She smiled slightly. “Your cousin has a very expressive face.”

“I think he hates me,” I said.

Callie studied me for a moment, like she was piecing something together.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll go with that for now.”

She picked up a brush and gently worked through my hair.

“But I don’t think he’s as simple as you think,” she added quietly.

I rolled my eyes.

“Trust me,” I said. “Rich. Rude. End of story.”

Callie hummed like she didn’t fully agree.

And for some reason, that bothered me more than Blaire’s comments ever could.

Callie just shook her head, stood back and studied me like a project she had fully committed to finishing.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “We’re doing this my way.”

“That sentence makes me nervous, Cal.”

She grinned. “Trust the process, Em.”

She pulled me toward the desk chair and spun it around so I faced the mirror.

The girl staring back at me looked… tired. Hair messy, hoodie still hanging loose around my shoulders, face flushed from everything I’d just unloaded.

Callie reached for a small makeup bag. Not the massive influencer-level one I’d expected. Just a simple pouch.

“We’re keeping this light,” she said. “You’re not becoming someone else. We’re just… polishing.”

“I don’t really wear makeup,” I admitted.

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why we’re starting small.”

She brushed my hair gently behind my ears, fingers careful and slow like she didn’t want to startle me.

“Step one,” she said, tapping a tiny tube against my hand. “Lip gloss.”

I laughed quietly. “Your cure for everything.”

“It works,” she said seriously. “Bad day? Lip gloss. Good day? Lip gloss. Emotional crisis? Extra lip gloss.”

She swiped some across her own lips first, then held it up to me.

I hesitated for a second before applying it.

It felt… familiar now. Less strange than the first time.

“There,” she said. “See? Immediate improvement in life outlook.”

I snorted. “That might be placebo.”

“Placebo is still results.”

She added a little tinted moisturizer, blending it lightly with her fingers instead of brushes. No heavy layers. Just enough to smooth things out. A soft sweep of mascara. A little blush that made me look less like I lived exclusively on caffeine and stress.

I watched every move carefully.

Not because I wanted to become someone else.

But because maybe one day I’d want to do this for myself.

“You’re studying,” she said, catching my expression in the mirror.

“Maybe,” I admitted.

She smiled. “Good. Beauty is a skill. And you already have the important part.”

“What’s that?”

“A face,” she deadpanned.

I laughed despite myself.

She grabbed a soft sweater and a simple dress from the closet and helped me change, talking the whole time like she was narrating a makeover show.

“Okay, so tonight is peak Vega chaos,” she said, brushing lint off my sleeve. “You’ll meet my parents first. They’re the easy ones.

They’re going to love you, by the way.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because they love anyone who’s real,” she said simply. “And you’re very real, Em.”

That word hit deeper than I expected.

She stepped back to look at me again.

“Then there’s Nico’s parents,” she continued. “They’re… intense.”

“That sounds promising.”

“They’re not mean,” she added quickly. “Just protective. Nico is their… project. Their pride. Their stress source. Their everything.”

I shifted awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ve made a great impression so far.”

Callie laughed softly. “Honestly? That might work in your favor. They’re used to people fawning over him.” She sat on the bed and started listing names on her fingers.

“There’ll be his older siblings too. Loud. Opinionated. Slightly terrifying. But not bad people. They just… come across strong.”

“Strong is a polite word.”

“It’s a family trait,” she said. “We argue, we make bets, we forgive each other over dessert. It’s chaotic but safe.”

She paused, studying me carefully.

“They might seem rude at first,” she added gently. “But they’re not your typical mean rich people. They don’t look down on hard work. They just… forget sometimes that not everyone grew up the way they did.”

I nodded slowly, trying to let that sink in.

She grabbed the lip gloss again and handed it to me. “Final touch.”

I rolled my eyes but applied it anyway.

“See?” she said proudly. “Everything is already better.”

“Debatable,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my mouth.

Callie looped her arm through mine as we headed toward the door.

“Ready, Em?”

“As I’ll ever be, Cal.”

She squeezed my arm gently.

And for the first time since arriving at Rosenberg Academy, the idea of meeting a room full of strangers didn’t feel like stepping into a battlefield.

It felt like stepping into something… new