52 | 𝑁𝑒𝑤 𝑌𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝐶𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑅𝑎𝑡

"And the quote means that no matter how much we look to change ourselves, the result will hurt us more when we don't get the recognition we deserve," I explained, glancing down to my flashcards.

Kayla added, "I think we've all experienced something similar where we try to be good enough for someone." She spoke with an edge, gritting her teeth and glaring at me from the corner of her eyes.

I ignored her and persistently said, "but sometimes, you will be good enough," I uplifted, shooting her a look.

She grimaced and explained, "the person will lose perception of who they are. They won't see the difference between what they want and what the person they are trying to impress will want."

I scoffed with a laugh. "It's a fifty-fity shot. You might like exactly what they like, but good change is for the better--"

"This isn't about good change--" Kayla snapped with a disproving smile. I almost forgot we were standing in front of a class who seemed rather interested in our topic at hand.

They were leaning to the edge of their seats as Mrs. Allen sighed, scoping out the faces, then mumbling, "just move on to the next quote," with a careless throw of her hand.

"Perfect," Kayla exaggerated. "By Marcus Aurelius, he says, 'Adapt yourself to the life you have been given; and truly love the people with whom destiny has surrounded you'"

"Exactly," I sharply muttered, giving her a pointed look. I didn't know what her problem was all of a sudden, I think it was because as we were driving home after dancing in the parking lot, I briefly mentioned that I hated the purple dress, but this was no warrant for her attitude. "He's saying to be appreciative--"

"No," Kayla muttered, staring at her flashcard. She met my eyes with something softer. "We've talked about this. He's saying to appreciate the people who came into your life with no force."

"Well, how are you supposed to know the difference between free will and fate?" I questioned. "My free will can be my destiny."

"I don't think so," Kayla muttered. "There's a difference between what's meant to be and there is no such thing as fate."

"No," I argued, my hand slapping down, pinching the flashcards between my fingers tight. "Marcus is saying that there are fateful people, people who are meant to be in your life. And those people can be the people you drag into your life."

Mrs. Allen popped her head out behind her desk. "Uhh--should I intervene?"

I continued, "I truly do love the people I surround myself with--"

"And what about the people you forcefully push away, but who always come back. I'm not shining the spotlight on some, but me?" She gestured to herself. "I came back after you pushed me away, maybe sometimes, free will interferes with destiny. Maybe Marcus is onto something---"

Mrs. Allen muttered, "you're supposed to talk about him using his last name--whatever," she brushed off.

I shook my head rigidly. "He's saying to adapt to the circumstances," I grumbled before groaning and intercepting myself. "Fine, then what is it that you're saying? What is Marcus saying?" I threw up my flashcards, two of them flying out of my hand.

Kayla pursed her lips. "I'm just saying, if there is such a thing as destiny, it doesn't allow free will to get in the way."

Mrs. Allen looked up weakly. "Was that the end of it? You reached your time."

"Yep," I murmured, hearing the resounding claps from the classroom. My eyes shifted to Victor who was quietly clapping, his eyes trained on the desk, refusing to look at me. I'd nearly forgotten our argument, but it came back to me. He wanted me there to help find his brother, but I turned him down, because I knew that if I wanted Sullivan, I had to get rid of distractions.

♡♡♡

I spoke too soon. He was pressing open-mouthed kisses up to my neck. His weight pressed down on my feverish skin, his fingertips running up the length of my arms adventurously. His tongue continued to encircle a soft spot on my chest, sucking tenderly, receiving a prolonged whimper of approval. My back arched up to him, my voice begging for him.

I felt lightweight and in the cup of his hands. I was preparing to melt as his hand slowly ran over my center, then again with the pad of his thumb. He had me at the tip of his finger alone and that idea was going to be the death of me. His darkening eyes, hungry mouth, and explorative hands were a weapon that I had to surrender to.

"You like this, Princess?"

"Don't call me that--" I whimpered out, my breath hitching as he raised his head, kissing the side of my mouth.

"Why not?" He cocked his head and when my eyes fluttered open, I swallowed all the self-hate and leapt out of his grip. "Oh, come on," he urged. "You love when I call you that, don't you?"

And that moment dissipated to a shadow when I shot up from my bed in the comfort of my bedroom, with no Victor in front of me.

Fuck these types of dreams when for a sliver of time I think they're real.

I was heaving strong breaths, caging in my chest hoarsely. My body was clad in a thin coat of sweat and my brunette hair became knotted.

I shuddered, walking over to the corkboard after slipping my legs out from under the purple comforter. I gazed to the blue trash can, then my purple prom dress strung up. I sighed heavily, but it came back to me like a whirlwind.

I wore a loose-fitted silk ivory tank for bed and orange and black plaid pajama pants with my school logo on my hip. I quickly dashed down the stairs, my mom was making breakfast, but I stopped and looked at the clock. It was far too early.

"What are you doing up?" I asked, approaching the kitchen. She jumped in her spot, nearly throwing the pan to the ground. She pivoted, looking at my disheveled appearance, opening her mouth then slapping it close. "Don't ask. I had a nightmare," I replied.

"Okay," she murmured. "I'm making pancakes."

"At five-fifty in the morning?" I raised a brow. "Mom, you only cook on rampages like this when you're in your head. I know you." Nonetheless, I walked over and made myself a cup of coffee. The smell of sizzling pancake batter and sugary syrup filled my nose and I welcomed it.

"No, I do not," she snapped with laughter. "It just so happens that I woke up to a jolt and got the urge to make sweet, buttery, carbs." She laughed softly as I heard a distant sound of machinery.

My chuckles ceased and I froze stiffiley. "Is that the garbage man?" I eagerly questioned and she nodded, but before she could say anything, I booked it out of my house wearing fuzzy socks and my thin tank top. The middle-aged man dangled off the side of the green truck, but hopped off just as I was shouting. "Yo! Stop! Stop!"

He glanced at me, but grabbed at the garbage and popped open the lid, raising it up over his head, but just as a few crumpets of tissues fell out and into the opening of the truck, my hands latched to the cold bin and started pulling it out of his hands forcefully.

"What's wrong with you, Woman? I have a job to do!"

"Me too!" I yanked it out of his hands, sending a cloud of garbage above my head. The air was cold and brisk, somewhat foggy with a faint picture of orange sunlight behind houses. The commotion made another garbage man stop what he was doing as I rifled hurriedly through the bin.

"Azariah Kellman!" my mom shouted from the porch. "I am so sorry! Get out of the trash, Young Lady!" she snapped, but I was head deep, rummaging and rummaging as the garbage man waited beside me.

"Do you want to keep the trash?"

"No, just give me a second!" I snapped, falling into the bin head first, tears in my eyes and the poignant smell watering my nose. My legs were kicked out as I used a handstand Kayla taught me to keep myself upright. My legs were swinging and it got awfully dark, but suddenly my arms gave out and the trash bin and I collided onto the lawn.

I crawled out of the cave, digging out two pieces of paper that fit in my fist. I was out of breath, but then nodded to the man with crossed arms. "Thank you, you can have it now." I gestured to it, but he scowled down at me, dragging the bin up and emptying it as my mother ran out in her robe and slippers.

"Are you crazy? What the hell, Azariah?" she deadpanned. "It's prom morning? You're gonna smell like trash!"

"I feel like trash--"

"No shit! You're covered in--" She gagged and lifted my hair to reveal leftover food coating me, snot tissues, as well as expired cheese in my hair and definitely down my shirt. That would explain the dead animal smell that dwelled in my nostrils.

"Mom, believe me, I had a reason."

"Oh, really? What's that?" She crossed her arms, popping out a knee as the sun seemed to unveil itself even more happily to the public as I lifted two pieces of paper. A newspaper column and the polaroid picture.

"A reason." I stood up and started back into the house with my mom's rants about disease as I situated the items on my desk and hurried to the bathroom. I turned the dial and the stream of water splashed against the fiberglass.

"Girl! This is exhilarating!" Keiona pressed. It wasn't crazy to think that Rowan didn't ask her to prom, because he definitely did, and I couldn't be happier. The FaceTime call was all the girls. A little glitchy, but suddenly, Olivia asked, "Riyah, wanna explain why you look like a New York City rat?"

"Worse," Kayla exaggerated. "You look like you went trash digging. Did you try and find your explanation for going with Sullivan in there?" she implored, making everyone laugh and congratulate her for such a wonderful comment.

"Please," I sarcastically continued, "you couldn't be more right." A series of 'oohs' transpired through the phone as I brought my hand to the waterfall and felt the temperature, shooting my hand away and putting it on hotter. "I realized my dad came by and took out my trash, but I had just gotten angry and said my whole speel about hating Victor and I threw out a polaroid picture we took--"

"Girl, you got it bad. Even Rowan couldn't get me to go into the trash if my life depended on it," Keiona remarked with a few chortles. "So, how do you like the dress?"

Everyone knew that I got a purple one, the color I hated.

"Oh... lovely." I felt the water again, as it started to actually feel like something I could wash away the expired smell in.

They all booed me, Penelope raising her voice to say, "I have a pretty dress that I'm sure would fit you. It's green, your favorite color?" She sounded as if she was trying to convince a child.

"No, I stuck to my word. Sullivan will find me attractive in that, I know it," I swore with an optimistic smile that received a groan from all of them. "Vicky said clothes are everything."

"Doubt that was the only thing he said," Olivia muttered into the phone. She was at the salon, some hair stylist curling her hair behind her before Olivia popped out an earbud and asked. "I'm trying to convince one of my friends to dump a guy who is a literal baby and to date someone who she loves, but doesn't know it--"

"I don't love him," I snapped, but the hair stylist and Olivia were laughing.

The stylist, announced in his best sophisticated voice possible, "dump the child, go to prom with who you want. It's a one time thing with the longest memories. I remember my prom. I went with a douche who puked on me. Don't make my mistakes," he expressed.

Everybody started chanting me, saying how I was making mistakes, but I ignored them. I knew I wasn't. "I might've had a slight... make-out dream with Victor---"

The phone was clogged with their excitement as the hair stylist briefly asked which guy that was, but by Olivia's quick excitement, he declared, "oh, just go to prom with him!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh my God--you guys are killing me! Are we seriously unable to make conversation about anything else but my love life?" I beckoned my head to the square with Kayla's face. "What about you? You're going with Gonzalo."

"Yeah," she breathed out, "and apparently he can tango."

"Honestly," interrupted Keiona. "Why do I see that becoming a thing?" After she said it, we all pictured Kayla tangoing and died of laughter, Kayla profusely resisted the image, but it was meek compared to our laughter.

"Look," I intercepted. "I have to get this trash out of my hair if I want to smell somewhat good," I teased, making them chuckle and sing their chorus of goodbyes. I shared their exchange, giving a wave and exiting the call.

However, just as their goodbyes were getting cut off, I heard Olivia joke, "so, Riyah's love life?" Making them laugh even harder before they were silenced by the touch of a button. I wish I could do that to my thoughts, because they were just so angrily, running reckless in my head and I couldn't as easily make it stop.

I situated my phone by the sink and stripped, stepping into the shower and allowing the water to pelt down my shoulders. Cheese slipped out of my hair like slime. The smell reeked terribly, but I plugged my nose and grabbed a helpful serving of shampoo. I scrubbed my scalp, the suds bubbled and foamed in my hands as I rubbed my eyes to get rid of the water, but started to scrunch my face when my eyes began to sting. I blindly popped my hand out of the shower and grabbed a towel, wiping my eyes free from the soap.

When I was done, I made sure to shave and wash with some nice flower smelling soap, squealing the shower off and stepping out. I dried off with the towel, blow-drying my hair before changing into my clothes. At least clothes that I'd wear while doing my makeup. Keiona, Kayla, Olivia, and Penelope all invited me to get ready together, but I didn't know if I could bring myself to. I needed some alone time, therefore, I blasted One Direction in my bedroom, applying some makeup. Victor mentioned once that most likely Sullivan was the type of guy to want a more natural look, so I did that.

I stared at the mirror, seeing my reflection with flawless skin, big brown eyes, and my hair wrapped in a messy bun to dry even more. My eyes were nice, but slowly I got carried away. I grabbed the brush and began drawing the browns darker until there was a sharp cat wing and smoky eye. I smiled, applying a soft pink lip and standing. I was wearing gray sweatpants and Victor's sweatshirt... bad idea, but it was the first one he gave me, and I couldn't deny the fact that I missed him. I wasn't going to lie to myself like that.

♡♡♡

"You look nice," my mom assured with a smile. "When is he picking you up?" Her eyes were hopeful, and I think a part of me knew that she never forgot about our conversation at the cafe. My fork picked at the pancakes sheepishly, some loose tufts of caramel locks fell from my messy bun and down my make-up beat face.

What could I say? Carbs were my weakness.

"Thanks," I uttered, popping the bite sized piece into my mouth, trying not to smudge my lipstick, but a bit of syrup dribbled down my chin. "And--" I peeked towards the clock and said, "In an hour."

"So... seven thirty?" She pursed her lips, curving her body over the counter with a wine glass in her hand. "I can't believe it's prom, it came fast."

I mumbled mid chocolate milk sip, "you could say that again." I was chuckling, dabbing the corner of my napkin on my makeup, knowing that I'd have to retouch. "Everything fell apart."

"What are you talking about?" She gave me a pointed glare, but I shrugged it off my body without much thought.

"I should probably get changed soon," I expressed, situating the fork against the edge of the ceramic plate, but it slid into the pool of syrupy-goodness when I turned away. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too..." I could feel her scrutinizing gaze, but I kept walking until she called, "whatever happened to our duster?"

I froze rigidly. "I must've misplaced it," I lied, quickly darting up to my bedroom to change, chuckling quietly to myself, wanting to forget the imagery.

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