If wishes were horses...

I threw my bag over my shoulder, taking one last lingering look at the mirror.

There I was—dressed in the classic school uniform: a crisp black blazer over a white shirt, the black and white striped tie hanging perfectly in place, the mid-thigh pleated skirt sitting snug on my hips. My knee-high socks stretched neatly up my legs, and on my feet were my trusted sneakers—scuffed, comfortable, and so very me. My hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, not too tight but neat enough to keep the stray strands from tickling my face.

Apart from the slight swell of the under-eye bags, a souvenir from yet another restless night, I looked sensibly okay and presentable. I tilted my head to one side, squinting at my reflection—yeah, passable. Not perfect, not a hot mess either. Somewhere in between.