Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, carved with angel-soft beauty, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection. But Renna knows perfection is nothing but a golden prison, coated in pretty lies that k...
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I was going to throw up.
I just knew it. The feeling had been bubbling in my chest the moment I opened my eyes this morning-actually, scratch that, I barely even slept.
All night, my brain had been an overactive mess of imagined scenarios: what if I tripped and fell the second I entered the lecture hall? What if everyone there already had their cliques and I was just... floating around like some sad little lost balloon? What if they all found out I didn't even want to be in this course?
My phone buzzed. Again. Another cousin, another "Good luck, darling! Proud of you!" message. I didn't even bother opening it. I had already done the whole Lancaster Grand Tour on FaceTime this morning.
Uncle Nicholas and Aunt Leah. Then Uncle Archibald, who decided to lecture me before I'd even had my morning tea. Even Aunt Eugenia, who was on some silent retreat in the Lake District, managed to send a three-minute voice note about how proud she was that I chose science over sonnets.
I hadn't.
It was almost criminal how late it had gotten. I could hear the minute hand on my pastel wall clock ticking with this deep, echoing sense of doom.
First day of university. First impressions. First everything. First formal step into the actual world and I'm going to be late. And I'm not even a late person! I was literally born punctual.
My brown pinafore dress was perfectly ironed, the cream blouse underneath buttoned all the way to the top. My hair was in soft waves, with a little brown velvet bow pinned to one side - thank you, Mama.
"Renna, baby, are you still not ready?" her voice rang out, bright and theatrical from downstairs.
"I am ready!" I called back, yanking my sock over my ankle like the world was ending.
By the time I hurried down, Mama was standing by the dining table in her off-shoulder blouse and jeans, applying cherry lip gloss like she was about to walk into a 90s rom-com.
"You look like a storybook librarian who reads too much," she said, grinning at me as I tried not to drop dead from anxiety.
"And you look like someone who's definitely not a mama," I muttered, grabbing the milk shake she was handing over.
"You should've seen me when I was your age," she winked. "First day of uni, I wore a leather mini skirt, mesh top, six-inch boots. My professor thought I was in the wrong building."
