Ashley's pov
I left Luhle's house looking like an entirely different person. The mirror in her hallway had barely recognized me, and neither had I. The girl who had walked in wearing an oversized hoodie and untamed curls was gone. In her place stood someone sharper, bolder—someone who could pass for a rebellious teenage boy who didn't care what the world thought.
I wore a worn black leather jacket that hugged my frame just right, dark jeans that looked rugged enough to belong to someone who broke rules for fun, and a pair of sunglasses that made me feel untouchable. My big afro was slicked back into neat straight-backs, the kind that made my face look harder, more angular.
I wasn't exactly an expert on makeup, so I had no clue what sort of sorcery Luhle had done to me. She'd brushed, shaded, and smudged my face with quiet precision, and by the time she was done, I looked—well—dangerous, like Ash.
By the time my parents got home that evening, I had already changed into casual clothes—but I left the hair, the slight eyeliner shadow, the whole "Ash" look intact. At dinner, the atmosphere was tense from the start. The clinking of utensils against plates was louder than usual, like the silence between us needed filling.
I could feel their eyes on me, sneaky and uncomfortable glances that they thought I wouldn't notice.
"Trying a new style?" my dad finally asked, his tone caught somewhere between confusion and disapproval.
"Yes," I said quickly, my voice coming out too soft, too me. Ugh. I needed to fix the way I spoke—Ash wouldn't sound this timid. I might have looked like a guy, but I still sounded like a girl playing dress-up.
"That's… strange, but okay," my mom said slowly, her fork pausing midair. Then, as expected, she added, "Is it that Luhle girl who pushed you into changing your style?you know, that Luhle friend of yours is—"
And there it was—the beginning of another lecture.
I sighed. "No, Mom. I want to be this way from now on. Luhle didn't do anything, so please stop blaming her for everything." My tone wasn't harsh—just tired. Exhausted, even.
My dad, ever the peacekeeper, jumped in. "Your mother isn't blaming Luhle, Ashley. She's simply inquiring."
Of course she was. I stared at my plate, murmuring under my breath, "She can inquire somewhere else." Thankfully, they didn't catch it.
Dad cleared his throat, eager to move on. "Tomorrow we have a new Mathematics teacher we want you to meet."
I looked up and tried to smile, but it felt like it cracked halfway to my eyes.
Math. Science. Biology. Those were my worlds—my comfort zones. If I wasn't curled up reading or sketching, I was solving equations or watching documentaries. Learning was my freedom, my escape.
I'd been homeschooled my whole life. Every tutor who had come and gone said the same thing—that I was bright, that I deserved to study among other kids my age, that I was ready for more. But, of course, my parents disagreed. They always did.
So when Dad mentioned the new teacher, a small spark of excitement flickered inside me—but it was immediately crushed by the reality that I wouldn't be here to meet them. Tomorrow, I was leaving. And nothing was going to change my mind. If my brother didn't want the opportunity, then I'd take it. Ash would.
Mom's voice cut through my thoughts. "What's wrong? You don't look excited."
I forced another smile, pushing my fork around my food. "No… no, I am excited. Very excited. I can't wait." My smile was there, but it didn't touch my eyes.
The tension was broken by the sudden trill of my dad's phone. He frowned, stood up, and walked into the hallway to answer it.
A few seconds later, his voice exploded from the other room. "What do you mean you don't know what happened?!"
Mom froze mid-bite, eyes snapping toward him. I could hear the muffled conversation, the rising anger, the disbelief in Dad's tone. I didn't need to hear the rest to guess what it was about.
Ash.
He'd probably gotten himself into trouble again—arrested, maybe. It wasn't new. My brother had a talent for chaos.
Mom sighed and looked at Dad, their eyes locking in that wordless, weary exchange parents have when they already know what the other is thinking.
"Go to your room, Ashley," Mom said quietly but firmly.
I pushed my chair back and stood, glancing at them one last time. Dad was still shouting into the phone. Mom's face was tight and tired
I turned away, walking up the stairs to my room. My footsteps were soft but steady, echoing with assurance I'd never felt before.
Tomorrow, freedom would come. And I would receive it with open arms.