By the time we got to Thrift-Tea, I was mostly done being mad at my parents. Mostly. Okay, yes, I popped off a little this morning, but they were acting like I told them I booked a one-way ticket to Sixam. I’m days away from my birthday, I already graduated, and in my head that equals basically grown. Apparently, in their heads, it equals “still our baby FOREVER.” If they’re gonna keep me on a short leash like I’m still twelve with a bedtime and rage-bait me, I might as well be back in school.
I needed to get out of that house before I lost my mind, and retail therapy with my besties was the cure. The smell of overpriced matcha and vintage cotton hit us as soon as we stepped inside. A chalkboard by the door read: OPEN MIC POETRY NIGHT – 7 PM. ALL AGES. ALL VIBES.
Breanna gasped like she’d just seen a celebrity. “Oh, we’re STAYING for this.”
Jacqueline clasped her hands dramatically. “Oooh, messy people on the mic is my weakness!”
Savannah grinned. “Well, happy birthday to ME!”
I rolled my eyes. “We came to shop. Please remember the assignment.”
But even I felt the buzz in the room. The barista dimmed the lights as if they were about to summon the ghost of every sad indie playlist on Simify. Someone onstage tested the mic with a single cough that echoed like the beginning of a breakup album. It was a whole vibe. Still, I had a mission: see if I had that Pope-family fashion gene or if it skipped me for a cousin no one knew about. I browsed the racks. The selection was mid—as usual—but real fashionistas make magic from scraps. I grabbed a sheer hoodie and a bubblegum-pink skirt—absolutely not my usual vibe, but maybe it was time for growth. I tied them together with some tights and platform Mary Janes, snapped a selfie, and uploaded it to Trendi. Boom. Growth.
When I turned around, Jacqui froze—mouth gaped and everything—like she’d seen her ex or something. “Oh no, no, no—why are they HERE?”
That’s when I spotted them: her parents. Very cute. Very married. Very much brimming with “we embarrass our children for fun” energy. Mr. Allen hopped onstage and immediately proved me right. His poem? Spicy. Very clearly about Mrs. Allen. Jacqui was ready to evaporate. No wonder Josh always seemed so calm—his parents are the human equivalent of a fire drill at lunchtime.
When he finally sat down, the mic stayed empty for a moment. Jacqui not-so-quietly scolded them both, and her dad just laughed, saying, “One day you’ll be up here dropping verses about your man, too.” Tell me why that sounded exactly like something my dad would say. That gave me an idea. A terrible, glorious, unhinged idea. Before I could think too hard, I stood up and walked to the stage. Bre and Savannah froze mid-sip. Jacqui was still fussing at her parents.
I took the mic. “Shoutout to the couple before me. They ATE. Goals.”
A few people cheered. Breanna and Savannah gasped like I’d just announced my engagement or something, rushing to the front to hype me up.
“So, uhh, I’m not a poet. And I’m not married. But there’s this boy.”
Two girls in the back went “ooooh,” which helped my confidence.
“When he smiles, my brain goes on airplane mode. Like, no thoughts, no notifications, just vibes.”
Bre and Savannah silently screamed behind their hands.
“He talks quiet, moves slower than the algorithm, but still somehow keeps my whole world buffering.”
I got a few laughs and some snaps.
“He likes nature—you know, trees, stars … places where your phone barely works. And I kinda love that, because when I’m with him? I don’t even need to post about it. I just feel it.”
A few “awwws” rippled through the room.
“So yeah. No punchline. Just me, the girl who came for boba and somehow ended up with a muse. And if you’re wondering—yes, he’s real. No, he doesn’t know I’m here. Thanks. Uhh … that’s it.”
I hopped offstage to Bre and Savannah shaking me like I’d just won a Starlight Accolade. Jacqui was still fussing, and her dad was still laughing. They missed the whole thing. Probably for the best. One day, I’ll meet them properly. And on that day, they’ll learn exactly how much I like their son.
