“No matter what the world pretends—pretty privilege is real. People treat you better when you look a certain way. Fix your skin, your hair, your body? Suddenly doors open. Suddenly people listen.”
I don’t know whether to nod or cry.
“But here’s the other truth,” she adds. “Looking pretty is not the same as being powerful.”
The fire cracks sharply.
“You,” she says, pointing again, “are fit. You’re smart. You’re driven. You’re authentic. Those kids at Royal Oaks? They have to buy their futures. You’re going to earn yours. That’s why they came after you. Because girls like you make girls like them nervous.”
The words sink in deep.
I don't fully believe them.
But, I want to.
A lump rises in my throat.
“But I’m so angry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to do with it. The injustice. The unfairness. It’s not right.”
“No,” Irene says. “It’s not.”
My voice cracks.
“So what do I do?”
She sits back, thoughtful.
“Anything constructive,” she says. “Write. Journal. Scream into a pillow. Tell your story someday. Hell, turn it into a bestseller. But don’t let it rot inside you, Jade. And don’t let it stop you from becoming who you’re meant to be.”
Her voice softens.
“You’re seventeen. Your whole life is ahead of you. None of this bullshit gets to steal that from you.”
I nod, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
Irene suddenly claps her hands once.
“Okay! Enough vulnerability. Time to watch Old Lady Porn.”
I blink. “What?”
She grins. “How Stella Got Her Groove Back.”
Aunt Susan groans. “Not again.”
“It’s a classic,” Irene says defensively.
I look around the room.
“Is… is that a DVD?”
Irene gasps, offended.
“Yes, Jade. I don’t stream the classics.”
Susan mutters, “Because she can’t figure out Netflix.”
“Lies,” Irene says. “Slanderous lies.”
