Is this some kind of sick joke?

She’s the epitome of beautiful. Even more beautiful than the photos on her Instagram. In fact, beautiful doesn’t even cut it. She’s tall—at least five foot ten – plus however many inches the stiletto heels she’s wearing are. She’s thin, with an enviable amount of cleavage on display. Her skin is luminous, soft and flawless; it’s as if she’s actually glowing from the inside. Long blonde hair that shimmers like glitter and she’s dressed in a slinky red dress that hugs her strategically placed curves. I can’t help but stare at her while realizing every one of my fears have been confirmed; Anna isn’t just everything I’m not, she’s everything a girl like me could never be.

Immediately I feel as if I pale in comparison to a girl like Anna Hutchins, and I really want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Being in the same room as someone so sickeningly perfect, so naturally charming, is definitely not good for my already dwindling self-confidence.

“Anna,” Nash begins, looking down at me with an endearing smile I suddenly want to slap right off his face for reasons unbeknownst to me. “This is Murph.”

“Oh my goodness.” Anna beams, covering her smiling mouth with each of her perfectly manicured hands. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the infamous Murph.”

I stiffen a little. Infamous? What does that even mean? What am I, some kind of funny story he likes to tell all his new rich college friends about? I eye Nash dubiously but he just grins down at me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “All I do is talk about you, and Harley of course, and everything we did growing up together,” he explains, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I’m so happy to meet you.” Anna smiles, apparently over her sudden shock of coming face-to-face with my apparent infamy. Ducking down to my level—which is humiliating in itself—she wraps her arms around me in an embrace I can’t say I’m all too comfortable with. I hesitate a moment before reluctantly lifting a hand and patting her back a few times, feeling as awkward as possible. I’m not usually one to hug a stranger and, let’s face it, she’s a stranger; I don’t care how tightly she has my best friend wrapped around her dainty little finger.

“Harley!” Nash yells from beside us, and that’s my cue to pull away from the slightly overbearing Anna, straightening my dress as I glance at Nash who is, once again, holding his hand in the air.

“Hey, man!” he calls out.

I turn to see Harley approaching and, for a moment, I find myself actually stunned. What the hell? He looks good tonight. Surprisingly so. I’ve never seen him so dressed up. Wearing a pair of neatly pressed khakis and a white button-down, which helps to accentuate his athletic build and tan skin. Even his chestnut hair is perfectly styled away from his face, instead of in its usual disarray.