Gemotions

The invitation sat on the kitchen counter, crisp and elegant. A garden party. Given by the Millers, the couple who lived in the mansion at the end of the street. I felt my lip curl at the sight of it. They were always so *polished*, so *perfect*, so… unreachable.

They’d never acknowledged me beyond a polite nod. I, on the other hand, had watched them, observed their every move, from the new cars to the lavish Christmas decorations. The smugness of it all. I felt a knot in my stomach.

I crumpled the invitation in my hand. I felt a surge of triumph as the paper crackled. They could keep their garden party. I wouldn’t be seen dead in their company. I’d spend the day in my own garden, drinking tea from a chipped mug, and reading a book.