The garage was quiet, except for the low hum of a busted stereo in the corner and the faint beat of a Kanye song that only Travis seemed to enjoy. It wasn’t much of a hideout—more like a holding cell for his mom’s unused SUV, its luxury interior gathering dust beneath a neon pink car cover. Everything in here felt out of place: a spare tire propped against an antique dresser, a half-broken treadmill, and a looming workbench cluttered with smudged tools. The three of us were squeezed into a corner, using an overturned milk crate as a table while the late afternoon sun cast weak light through the dusty windows.
I tilted my head, watching faint streaks of sunlight struggle to seep through the grimy garage door. It was the kind of suburban opulence I generally considered myself allergic to, but this place was an exception. My gaze shifted to Skyler, who sat on a large storage trunk, her long, tanned legs crossed casually as she adjusted her faded denim shirt. Her signature black boots—chunky heels, too many zippers—seemed like they belonged in a catalog, yet here she was, effortlessly stylish despite the tossed-together outfit. Her sun-bleached blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders, framing her sharp features.
Beside her, Travis slouched against the workbench, his dark hair flopping into his eyes as he took another drag from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He had a lean build, a few tattoos he was probably too young to legally have, and an endless collection of thrift store jackets that he claimed each had a story. Today’s choice was a patchwork of band logos I didn’t recognize. Somehow, I doubted he did either.
I tried not to look too out of place, perched on the edge of an old wooden crate with a cigarette clutched in one hand. I took a slow drag, pretending to care about Travis’s latest spiel on “creative genius,” but my mind kept wandering. “Please, greatness takes persistence,” his voice cut through my thoughts.
“Greatness is also highly flammable,” Skyler drawled, raising an eyebrow at Travis, who was struggling to flick a lighter open with his teeth without singeing his eyebrows. “What even is this garbage we’re listening to?” she sighed, turning up the volume on the speaker as if inspecting it more closely. “So many other artists to choose from, and yet…”
Travis looked offended. “I can’t believe you guys are coming after Kanye like this—he’s like our generation’s Mozart, dude. Just on another level.”
Skyler scoffed, giving him a look that spoke volumes. “I don’t think Mozart would’ve had a Twitter meltdown over leather pants, Trav,” she retorted, tapping ash from her cigarette. Her chipped red nails stood out against the pale smoke curling upward. “Yeah, sure,” she added, dragging out each word. “Visionary of self-destructive monologues and overpriced shoes.”
I let out a soft chuckle, only half-listening. The opening chords of some song I couldn’t place looped in my head, distracting me just enough to forget to pay attention. That, and the mental ping of an assignment due at midnight gnawed at me. But it felt pointless to bring it up here. The last time I’d mentioned homework, they practically staged an intervention, horrified that I was “still doing that academic nonsense.”
“So, we’re all going to that party, right?” Skyler interjected, pulling me back into the conversation.
“Not really my scene, Sky. Besides, we all know what my dad will do if I get home late.” I hesitated, a small smile forming as I saw Travis shake his head in mock terror, probably remembering his past encounters with my father. His threats, delivered in his thick Hindi accent, might’ve been almost comical if we weren’t all painfully aware he meant every word.
“Come on, Zara, think about how much it’s gonna kill Sam when you outshine her,” Skyler said, her tone dripping with persuasion. Damn it. She always knew exactly what to say. Travis smirked, his eyes dancing as he saw my brows furrow in contemplation.
“Ha, she’s thinking about it,” he said, and they high-fived each other in triumph.
“Think about the stunt she pulled when she found out Luke was into you instead of her,” they continued, voices urging me on. “This would actually end up being her thirteenth reason,” Skyler snickered.
“She’s been a nightmare lately. I mean, she hasn’t exactly been hiding her hatred,” I admitted. I hesitated, thinking about my dad and the inevitable fight that would follow. But then Skyler’s voice cut in again, low and persuasive.
“One night,” she murmured, her words almost coaxing.
Maybe she was right. It’s not like one night would ruin everything (famous last words, I know). I sighed. “Fine. But if Travis starts dancing, I’m out.”
Skyler clapped her hands in triumph, and Travis muttered something about his “signature moves” while I rolled my eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
As I walked home later, the crisp night air felt almost electric, like maybe the world didn’t suck all that much. I could already picture my dad waiting by the door, his frown deepening as I stepped inside. But I pushed the thought aside. Tonight, for once, I was going to do what I wanted.
Inside my room, I flopped onto the bed as soft music played in the background. I kicked off my shoes and headed to the closet, pulling out a dress—the dress. Emerald green, a bit daring. I held it up, smirking at my reflection. “Tomorrow’s definitely going to be exhausting,” I muttered, tossing the dress onto the bed.
