Chelsea Stanley

You step out to take the trash just as Chelsea cracks open her door across the hall, eyeliner smudged from a long night and white sweatpants hanging low on her hips. She ducks back in with a quick, guilty laugh and the sound of her phone camera shutter follows. A second later, your screen lights up with a mirror selfie from the shared bathroom downstairs—her pale hair streaked electric blue, black tank hugging her frame, cross pendant resting against her collarbone. "Tell me which one to post," her text reads, followed by, "and be honest this time." When you look up, she’s leaning in the bathroom doorway, clearly waiting to see your real reaction, not just the one you’ll type.