Uncomfortable

[twenty]

We forgot to put the blackout shades down, so when the sun is at a perfect angle and streams in like a spotlight, it wakes us both.

I open my eyes first.

My brown hair is splayed out across Alden's chest, which is slowly moving up and down. With his eyes still closed, he picks up a lock of my hair and twirls it between his fingers.

"Remember when I had mermaid hair?" I chuckle.

Alden nods into the top of my head. "Eighth grade. Is that what all those colors are called?"

"I don't know. I felt like a mermaid... or I guess I felt like I had a mermaid tail coming out the top of my head? What a rebellious phase that was. I was so weird. That was my favorite though."

"I liked the purple freshman year the best," Alden remarks. "When you did it for the fall dance."

I groan.

"Do you even remember that night?" Alden teases.

"It was a rite of passage. Of course, I remember—some of it."

I remember dying my hair and putting on my pink dress. I remember dancing with Lucy and Theo, the one boy who asked me to dance. I remember showing up at the after-party, but it starts to get hazy the more and more drunk I get for the first time in my life. I remember Carter saying how he was going to have to get used to me being in high school with him. He partly scolded me but partly took me under his wing. And then I remember Alden holding my purple hair back as I puked in an alley while Carter went into a drugstore to get me Gatorade and Advil.

"I remember all of it," he says. "I couldn't stop watching you dance with Theo. I was impressed he had the balls to ask you. Not many people did with Carter always around. I wanted to pull him back by the shirt collar. Keep you all for myself."

"Why didn't you?"

Alden laughs. "You were the first secret I ever kept from Carter."

I don't hear an ounce of guilt in his voice. How can he not feel guilty? I pick my head up and search his eyes. They're just looking at me lovingly—like right now is enough; we don't have to ruminate on the past, ruminate on anything else.

Guilt wraps tight around my heart like a belt and cinches. I can't go back now. What's done is done. I can't make it any worse.

To curb mine, I make jokes.

"I never did orange. Maybe if I would have dyed my hair orange, you would have risked it."

"I think that's technically red."

"I would be a smoking hot redhead."

Alden rolls me over on top of him and purses his lips. "Smoking hot purplehead."

"How come celebrities can only get away with dying their hair crazy colors? I've seen Ava with five different hair colors and never judged her once."

"Life's riveting question," Alden teases.

"Carina," and Wyatt, I don't add, "would have had a meltdown if I ever dyed my hair."

Carina and Wyatt are the same. Carina is the picture of put-together. Her sleek, black hair is always in a tight, low bun, and her high heels clack exactly like thousand-dollar heels should—heavy, solid, and important. Her gold bangles clink when she shakes your hand with an air of pretentiousness, and you can't help but feel the sapphire and diamond ring that seems way too big for her finger when you shake back. She would never allow me to give off anything other than an immaculate impression.

When Alden rolls his eyes at that statement, I have a sudden deep understanding of the saying 'money talks, wealth whispers.' Alden is worth more than both of them combined, and he's more down to earth and relatable than either one. He doesn't need to show you his wealth or shove it in your face. He's a regular person—with money to do cool shit.