AMELIA

I opened my wardrobe and stared into the clutter for ten solid minutes. I had absolutely nothing to wear.

An impromptu invite had dropped into my inbox at ten this morning—an exclusive birthday bash at four p.m. where I was slated to co-host. The catch? A strict, non-negotiable gold dress code. I slammed the wardrobe doors shut in frustration and collapsed backward onto my mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I didn't want to disappoint my friend, but I also refused to show up looking like an outsider who missed the memo. I dragged my phone off the nightstand, typing out a draft to say I couldn't make it,...