"You probably will." I snap my head towards him, Marcus shrugs. "You're human. Humans fuck things up. The question is whether you'll recover from it."
"Inspiring. Thanks."
"You want inspiring? Fine. Isla is giving you a chance most people don't get. A chance to undo years of damage with someone who matters. Don't waste it being perfect. Waste it being real."
He leaves me with that advice, and I spend the rest of the night trying to figure out what being real looks like.
Wednesday afternoon, I pick up Isla at two. We're going shopping first, she insisted on a thrift store, I compromised on a department store that's having a sale and then to dinner at seven.
She's waiting outside her dorm in jeans and that same blue sweater I'm starting to recognize as her favorite. Hair down. Minimal makeup. Beautiful without trying.
"Ready to be subjected to my fashion choices?" she asks when she slides into the car.
"Can't wait."
The drive to the mall takes twenty minutes. We spend it talking about her Victorian Lit paper and my Economics midterm and carefully avoiding the topic of us.
At the mall, I follow her lead. She heads straight for the sale racks, rifling through dresses with practiced efficiency.
"What are you looking for?" I ask.
"Something that doesn't scream 'I'm poor but trying.' Something that looks like it could belong in a fancy restaurant without making me feel like a fraud."
"You're not a fraud."
"I'm a scholarship student at a school where most people's pocket change is more than my monthly budget. I'm absolutely a fraud."
Why do I hate it when she talks like this? She needs to stay feeling proud and let me buy things for her.
"No. You're someone who earned her place. There's a difference."
She pulls out a dark green dress. Considers it. Puts it back.
"Easy for you to say. You've never had to prove you belong."
"I've spent my entire life proving I belong. Just in different ways." I lean against the rack. "Every expectation, every Legacy Council meeting, every time my father checks in to make sure I'm upholding the family name, that's proving I belong. It's just a different kind of fraud."
She looks at me then, really looks at me. "We're both performing, just for different audiences."
"Exactly."
She pulls out another dress, deep red, simple but elegant. Holds it up.
"This one?"
"Try it on."
She disappears into the dressing room. I wait outside, suddenly nervous for reasons I can't explain. This is justshopping. Just a dress. But it feels bigger than that. Like this is a test I didn't know I was taking.
When she emerges, my breath catches.
The red dress fits her perfectly. Not too tight, not too loose. Elegant without being over the top. She looks stunning and uncomfortable in equal measure.
"Too much?" she asks.
"Perfect. You look perfect."
"It's on sale for eighty dollars. That's reasonable, right?"
