Filter Free

My **iphone** lay facedown on my duvet like a guilty secret. One notification. Just one.

'You coming tonight?'

Marcus's text glowed on the screen, making my stomach do that weird fluttery thing. The party of the year. My chance to finally be seen, to graduate from background character to supporting player in my own life.

I'd spent three hours getting ready. Straightening my curly hair until it hung limp and wrong. Applying foundation that was two shades too light because I was too scared to ask the Sephora lady for help. Popping a **vitamin** D supplement because I read somewhere it helped with stress, which was hilarious considering how stressed I was about being stressed.

'Yeah! See you soon :)' I typed back, adding the perfect casual emoji. Then deleted it. Then retyped it. Then deleted again.

Fourteen drafts deep into overthinking, my door burst open.

'Mittens got out again!' Maya yelled, and before I could protest, the demon himself sprinted into my room — a orange blur of chaos and cat hair.

He launched himself directly onto my freshly made bed, doing that butt-wiggle thing cats do before they destroy everything. I lunged for him, but it was too late. Mittens shook his entire body like a wet dog, and suddenly my black party dress was covered in enough orange fur to knit a second cat.

'NO! Mittens, oh my GOD —'

He knocked over my open makeup bag. Expensive foundation exploded across my carpet. My phone slid off the bed and landed directly in the spreading puddle.

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Hair frizzy from humidity. Dress covered in cat. Makeup ruined. Phone sitting in foundation, Marcus's unanswered message still glowing through the mess.

I started laughing. Like, actually couldn't stop laughing. The kind that makes your stomach hurt and tears stream down your face.

Because suddenly it was so obvious. All those filters I used. The perfect captions. The careful curation. I'd been trying to edit my real life the same way, smoothing out all the messy parts until nothing authentic remained.

My phone buzzed from inside the foundation puddle. Marcus again.

'Everything ok?'

I wiped foundation from the screen with my thumb, leaving a smear. Then I typed back, no drafts, no overthinking:

'Cat destroyed my outfit but I'm still coming. See you in 15.'

I grabbed my favorite oversized hoodie — the one covered in paint stains from art class — and put my hair back in its natural curls. Mittens purred from his position on my ruined dress like he'd planned everything.

Maybe Marcus would think I was weird. Maybe he wouldn't. But I was done editing myself to fit someone else's feed.