Illuminate by Aimee Agresti

personality is overrated: note to self.” I shook my head and emptied the last of the duffel, then started in on the second one, stacking everything on the bed surrounding Dante. He just lay there not particularly bothered by the mounding, teetering piles of clothing. I took an armful and kneeled on the floor, sorting them into drawers.
    “Who needs personality when you look like that? ” he said. “Didn’t know they even made them that way in the Midwest. At least there’s some good eye candy for me. And you, depending on how they swing.”
    I had to laugh to myself; this was what I loved about Dante. He had declared himself out freshman year—he liked to joke to me that he knew that if he didn’t like me in that way then clearly there had to be a reason. It was just flattery but I didn’t mind. Of course, being open about his sexuality didn’t do much for his popularity. There weren’t really any other guys so sure of themselves in our school. But it only made us closer—we threw ourselves into our schoolwork and friendship and bonded over our lack of social lives.
    My mind flashed to Lucian. Then I tried to snuff it out. I had no business even thinking of him. He looked high school aged, yet he had this awesome responsibility, this real job. I got the impression he was a sort of wunderkind or something. He had the air of someone who had breezed through school early or else he was doing a gap year before college, like they do in Europe. Or maybe his dad was someone important who’d ushered him into this place. Either way, he was obviously out of the realm of sensible crush objects for me, but I couldn’t help it.
    Dante read my silence. “Uh-huh. I noticed someone got a look from the superhot sort-of boss.”
    He knew me too well. “Please.” I looked him square in the eye, but my blush gave me away. “You’re crazy. And besides, I’m sure I wouldn’t know what to do with him or any of these Outfit characters. As you might have noticed, everyone here is just a little out of my league.”
    “Ugh!” he groaned, stomping a foot on the bed. “Enough with you and your inferiority complex.” He threw a pair of balled-up socks at me, hitting me on the head.
    “Hey!”
    But he kept the hits coming, pelting me like a batting machine. I swatted and yelped, throwing my hands up to block, until finally every pair of socks—and I had a lot of them—lay on the floor around me and the tumult ceased.
    “You deserved that.”
    “Haven, girl, you are no fun. You think everyone’s out of your league. You’re sixteen now. Own it, baby!”
    “Um, sure.” I threw myself on the bed, yawning. It was just after seven in the evening but I was worn-out. I felt more drained than I ever did after a full afternoon on my feet at the hospital.
    “So how are we celebrating anyway?” Dante asked. We both studied the cracked eggshell surface of the ceiling.
    “Oh, I don’t know, we really don’t—”
    “Oh yes we do. We are celebrating your birthday, so get over it.” He sat straight up and snapped his fingers. “I’ve got an idea. We’re going out.”
    “Define ‘out.’”
    He sized me up. “If I were a tomboy turning sixteen with limited sartorial resources, what would I wear?”
    “I guess not this?” I rolled onto my side, propped my head up on my arm, and gestured to the business casual attire I had worn all day.
    “Dear god, no. I’m sure we can find something.” He sprang up, now on a mission, and began rummaging through the dresser I’d just loaded so neatly. He didn’t look thrilled with the selection, but he couldn’t have been surprised. I had never been much of a shopper, which he knew. Shopping for me consisted of following him around and scurrying back and forth to the fitting room when he requested new sizes and colors of whatever he was trying on. He had a gift for that type of thing, a style and signature. I was a little more utilitarian in dress. “Tell me you brought some good jeans