The glow from my phone screen read 7:48 p.m...I stood in front of my mirror one last time, tugging my cropped jean jacket into place. The denim was soft with age, broken in exactly how I liked it. Beneath it, my black tank top clung comfortably without screaming look at me. My skinny jeans hugged my legs, ankle-length, clean lines, paired with white sneakers so fresh they almost squeaked against the tile when I shifted my weight.
I hadn’t gone overboard with makeup. Foundation, bronzer, mascara....just enough to look awake and pulled together. The lip gloss caught the light in a way that looked deliberate but not desperate. My hair had eaten most of my patience; curled into loose waves that brushed my shoulders, not pageant curls but the kind that said: I tried, but not for you.
I breath
