Her fingers sway beneath the turquoise blanket patterned with metallic coins and long forgotten wishes. Feeling the fluid particles swish through her touch and tickle her senses she almost remembers childhood like a fresh breathe of air. But this is not the place to be doing such a thing, and Ellin knows better than to betray what survival commands her to do.

“ … And then I got my bangs cut and it was all complete. I told her, if I don’t get my honey gold highlights then girl, you are not getting a tip. That’s what I told her.” The boy sips his drink after completing his dramatic speech and awaits her approval, as if it’s an indicator that he quoted himself correctly.

“Um, cool?” She meagrely responds. Disinterest resonates throughout her posture but the boy with the dyed hair doesn’t care as much as he should.

He nibbles on the straw with thoughts of deep, spiritual contemplation. “You would totally look hot with honey highlights too babe.”

Her jaw drops open but she mechanically snaps it shut to avoid flies entering. “How about no?” She briskly decides to add a small chuckle to her words to hide the fact that the idea of matching “honey highlights” with her boyfriend is more mortifying than walking around in a racing car helmet all day.

“No baby you’ll look great. Listen, I’ll call up my stylist and get him to have a look at you. I’m sure he can do a great job. And then we’ll look like a real couple.” He’s forcibly eye-smiling now in an attempt to convince her unswayed mind.

“I don’t think I need to dye my hair. I mean, it looks good black,” Ellin trails off.

“Honey, I don’t mean to say this in a bad way but, your roots are kinda gross and you may have a severe case of split ends. But my stylist can handle all of that and you’ll be good as new.” Her boyfriend has then proceeded to slink an arm around her waist and rest his head on her shoulder. She feels the weight of Neptune dragging her down towards places unknown.

And this is when she feels it once again. She hates him. Correction, she hates it. The intense magnetism she experiences as girls with cat-eyes and high heels and boys with sleek gelled do’s gravitate towards her. They smile, laugh and compliment. From I love your nose to your collarbones are perfection. She hates it. She loathes the fact that her milky skin is considered ideal when she can’t even tan properly because she burns with direct contact with sunlight. She dislikes the sentiment that everyone would love her, and still does, because she looks a fraction better than 50% of girls her age. And she absolutely hates the fact that she has stooped below to the shallowest of levels because her age requires her to fit in and her “friends” are only friends for what they see.

She can’t take the weight anymore. Leaning towards the opposite direction she lets her boyfriend’s head drop in mid air. He catches himself halfway and gives her the most puzzled of looks from his thickly applied eyeliner.

“You know what? I really don’t need this,” she begins with intensity. She disentangles herself from his embrace. “And I most certainly don’t need you.” She reaches the height of her anger where she cannot even manage a sardonic farewell. She only allows the clicking of her heels to say everything that must be heard through her boyfriend’s ears.

“But baby, I didn’t do anything wrong!”

She spins on her heel and acknowledges him once again. “I know you didn’t. I did.” Slipping off the torture devices from her feet she exits the café barefoot and freer than she can remember. For all the times that she forced a smile to the people with pearly whites, all the years she ignored the teacher to pass notes in the back row, and for the countless moments where she let herself fall to a lower standard than even the worst of her friends; they were obliterated. She may have been Ellin and she was pretty. But now she’s Minyoung and she feels beautiful.