Haley reacted to uncertainty the sa way she reacted to most emotional problems:
avoidance,
shopping,
and pretending confidence counted as a life plan.
By Friday afternoon she'd dragged Gael into a crowded outdoor fashion market in downtown Los Angeles after announcing:
"I need inspiration before adulthood kills ."
Which apparently ant:
vintage jackets,
designer knockoffs,
and iced coffee expensive enough to qualify as fraud.
"You're spiraling financially," Gael inford her while following through another clothing stall.
"I'm spiraling artistically."
"That sounds more expensive."
Haley ignored him and held up two different tops against herself.
"Thoughts?"
"One of those costs more than Luke's future."
"That doesn't answer the question."
This version of Haley felt important.
Outside the family house.
Outside relationship scenes.
Social,
expressive,
alive.
People gravitated toward her naturally here:
vendors rembered her,
girls complinted her outfits,
random conversations ford around her effortlessly.
This was her world in a way academic pressure never would be.
At one point they stopped near a small independent designer booth filled with custom streetwear pieces.
Haley imdiately lit up.
"Oh my God."
The designer—a woman in her mid-twenties with dyed silver hair—smiled.
"You have a really good eye."
Haley brightened instantly at the complint.
"You think so?"
"Definitely. Most people just follow trends." She gestured toward the rack Haley had picked from. "You actually know how to style shape and texture."
Interesting shift.
Because suddenly Haley stopped acting playful.
She beca focused.
Asking questions.
Talking fabrics.
Discussing branding aesthetics and online visibility with genuine enthusiasm.
And for the first ti in a while, Gael watched her forget to perform confidence.
Because this confidence was real.
A little later, after they left the booth carrying far more bags than necessary, Haley stayed quieter than usual while walking beside him through the market crowd.
"You were right earlier this week," she admitted eventually.
"Sa as ever."
"I'm serious."
Haley adjusted her sunglasses slightly before continuing.
"I think I've been freaking out because everybody else seems to have a direction already."
"A direction isn't the sa thing as certainty," Gael said.
"Easy for you to say. You're twenty and own houses."
"That is a statistical outlier."
"Annoying."
Fair.
They slowed near a food truck while music drifted through the crowded street around them.
Then Haley looked toward the shopping bags in her hands.
"I actually liked talking to that designer."
"She noticed."
Haley smiled slightly.
"She asked if I ever thought about fashion branding."
Interesting.
Because underneath all the impulsiveness and social chaos, Haley genuinely understood presentation:
style,
marketing,
aesthetic instinct,
social trends.
She just never treated those skills seriously because they didn't look like Alex-style intelligence.
Gael noticed the shift in her expression.
"You're thinking."
"That accusation keeps happening lately."
"You're doing it more lately."
Haley leaned lightly against his shoulder while people moved around them.
Then:
"What if I'm not actually lazy?"
Not joking.
Almost vulnerable.
Gael looked down at her.
"You're not lazy."
"You hesitated."
"I was deciding how honest to be."
Haley groaned dramatically.
"Oh my God."
"You're undisciplined sotis," he corrected calmly. "That's different."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That was rude."
"That was accurate."
Still—
she smiled afterward.
Because unlike most people, he didn't talk to her like she was stupid.
And maybe that mattered more to Haley than she realized yet.
Then her phone buzzed.
Alex:
Mom says bring actual food ho instead of "decorative beverages."
Haley burst out laughing imdiately.
"There she is."
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