Eight

The mall was buzzing with energy, filled with chatter and the upbeat tunes floating through the air. Millie was strutting ahead, confidently clicking her heels on the shiny floor as I lagged behind, silently regretting agreeing to come out with her today.

"First stop—Wardrobe Revival!" she declared, her eyes sparkling as she pulled me toward a boutique that looked way too pricey for my taste.

"Do I even get a say in this?" I asked, half-joking and half-exasperated.

"Not today, grandpa," she shot back with a playful grin. "You’ve dressed yourself for years and look where that’s gotten you."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny she had a point. The last time I chose my own outfit, I ended up with the embarrassing label of ’grandpa chic’ throughout sophomore year. I liked my modest brown pants and sweaters, but some folks treated that as if I was feeding them blood in the water. So, I figured it’d be safer to blend in than to stand out.

Millie, on the other hand, had always been a master at standing out. She zipped through the racks, pulling out dresses and tops with precise moves, her confidence almost infectious. "You need color, Atlas," she insisted, holding up a lilac blouse against me. "You’ve been dressing like a background character for way too long; it’s time to step into the spotlight! Be the main character!"

I let out a snort. "Background characters have their perks. Less drama, you know?"

"Please," she countered, tossing her hair. "Drama finds you whether you invite it or not. Just think about what happened before summer break. You might as well look good when it does show up."

I winced, the memory hitting close to home.

Laughing despite my reluctance, I let her pile clothes into my arms—jeans that where eye-catching yet comfortable , light colored shirts, and even got a fresh cut that removed the bangs covering my eyes and gasped at myself in the mirror as if it were a stranger at the reflection. Millie had an uncanny talent for fashion.

As she circled me like a stylist on a mission, making little adjustments here and there, I felt a familiar pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was envy or perhaps admiration—how she moved through life so unapologetically herself. I had come to terms with who I was, but sometimes I wished I could be anyone else.

I managed a smile at her reflection. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"Impossible, fabulous, they’re basically the same thing," she replied, winking at me.

Stepping into the changing room, I looked in the mirror, putting on arm less milk coloured sweater Millie reluctantly let me pick out over a blue long sleeved, button up shirt, but when I emerged, Millie’s delighted gasp told me it was futile to resist.

"Oh my God, Atlas! You look hot!" she exclaimed, circling me like a giddy stylist. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a model!"

A rather short model, I mused.

I offered a faint smile in the mirror. "You really think it’s not too much? Rowan would probably have a heart attack if he saw me in this."

Millie’s expression instantly changed, her eyebrows arching. "Rowan? What does he have to do with your wardrobe?"

I hesitated, fiddling with the skirt as if it could distract me from the sudden heaviness in my chest. "N-nothing really. It’s just... he doesn’t want anyone at school to know we’re related. I’d rather not attract attention."

There was a moment of silence—just the soft music from the speakers and the rustle of hangers from another shopper. Then Millie crossed her arms, pressing her lips together. "He what?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, though it still stung a bit. "He really doesn’t want anything to do with me."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head. "That boy walks around like he owns the place and now he’s acting too good to acknowledge his stepbrother? Typical Rowan. He’s always had that superiority complex."

I chuckled lightly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. "It’s fine, really. I don’t want to be associated with him either. The less attention I get, the better. If people find out, it’ll just stir up more rumors, and I’ve had enough of those already."

Millie sighed, giving me a sympathetic look that said she understood words wouldn’t fix everything. "Still, it’s messed up. You didn’t choose this family merger."

"Trust me," I said, turning back to the mirror, my reflection feeling strange in the new outfit. "Neither of us did."

For a brief moment, I caught my own gaze in the glass—hesitant and uncertain, maybe a little worn out. The outfit didn’t feel like me, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe I could try being someone different for a bit, someone not weighed down by my own insecurities.

Millie broke the silence with a gentle tap on my shoulder. "You know," she said with a soft smile, "if he doesn’t want people to know, that’s his issue. You deserve to exist without his approval, babe."

I smiled back, this time a bit more sincerely. "I’ll try to keep that in mind."

By the time we paid for our haul and stumbled out of the last store, our arms were loaded with six shopping bags each, proof that Millie’s idea of a "quick shopping trip" was totally different from mine. The sun was high and warm, glinting off the parked cars outside. After some whining about our sore feet, we eventually decided we’d earned a treat.

We found a quaint ice cream stand by the fountain, the kind with oversized cones and soft pop music playing from a tiny speaker. I sank into a bench while Millie ordered for both of us, insisting she knew exactly what I’d want. When she returned, she handed me a double scoop of cookies and cream, beaming like she’d just won a prize.

"Don’t even pretend you weren’t going to pick this flavor," she said. "You’re such a creature of habit, Atlas."

"Guilty," I admitted, taking a small bite. "But at least I’m predictably good."

We sat in comfortable silence, watching kids chase pigeons near the fountain. I turned to her and asked, "So... how have you and Tori been? I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier."

Mentioning her girlfriend made Millie light up. "Oh my gosh, amazing! Tori’s been helping her cousin with their band this summer...you know, so I spent half my break listening to loud rehearsals. But she’s just... ugh, the sweetest. She makes me playlists, sends me goofy lesbian memes every morning, and she even carved my initials into her guitar pick!"

Aww, I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. "You’re so whipped."

Millie placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. "Excuse me, it’s called being romantically fulfilled."

"Right, sure," I said, rolling my eyes fondly. "Funny how that’s coming from the girl who once swore she’d never date anyone with piercings, tattoos, or a resting death glare."

She groaned. "Don’t remind me."

I smirked, licking a drip of melting ice cream from my cone. "You used to hide behind me whenever Tori came over to talk to you. And now look at you, bragging about her like she’s your celebrity crush."

Millie shot me a mock glare but couldn’t maintain it for long. "Okay, okay, maybe I was a little scared of her at first. But come on, she had that whole mysterious ’I could kill you or kiss you’ vibe going on. How was I supposed to deal?"

"You didn’t," I laughed. "You practically short-circuited every time she looked your way."

"Love makes people act weird," she said dramatically, tossing her hair. "And besides, look who’s talking. You’re one sarcastic glare away from starring in your own ’friends to lovers’ drama."

I nearly choked on my ice cream. "Excuse me?"

Millie smirked knowingly, wagging her spoon at me. "Don’t ’excuse me’ me, mister. You’ve been in love with Frank for years now. What are you going to do about it this year, Atlas?"

"Please," I scoffed, leaning back against the bench. "I’m doing nothing."

She laughed so hard she almost dropped her cone, and I couldn’t help but join in. In that moment, the air felt lighter, the weight of earlier worries fading away in the warmth of the afternoon. For the first time in days, I felt almost normal.

Just as I thought the day couldn’t get any better, fate had other plans.

I was halfway through my ice cream when a familiar voice—high, sweet, and way too rehearsed—cut through the air. My stomach dropped before I even turned my head. Ainsley. Of course. Because, naturally, the universe hated me.

She strutted into view with her usual crew: Kris, her ever-loyal follower who laughed at everything she said like it was the funniest joke ever, along with two guys from the basketball team whose names I could never remember. They moved through the mall like they owned it—loud, confident, and way too polished.

Ainsley looked every bit the queen bee she thought she was, decked out in a tight white crop top, designer jeans, and sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. Her straight red hair shone under the sunlight, and her icy blue eyes landed right on me. Honestly, if looks could kill, I’d have been toast.

I froze and muttered under my breath, "Please don’t notice us. Please don’t—"

"Atlas? Oh my God, is that you?”