"What about this?" Daisy titled her head at me, as she held up yet another one of her picks for my new wardrobe she was insisting we buy.

I pursed my lips as I observed it; a long, pink sundress with lace and frills. While it was certainly a beautiful article of clothing, it didn't belong on my body.

I held my hand out to it anyway, like I was entertaining it, for her sake.

Have you ever heard of someone that refers to themselves as an empath? You know, those people that claim to be able to feel other peoples moods, feel other peoples feelings as their own?

Yeah, those people are full of shit.

Because even though I could tell Daisy was in an excited mood, that she was practically in heaven as she tried to find clothes for me, yet simultaneously nervous about how I regarded her choices— it wasn't because I was an empath.

No, it was because I was more than skilled in the art of deciphering even the smallest moves of her body. Her facial expressions as she looked at a piece of clothing, and then back to me. The way she held her breath until I told her what I thought. The way she was rushing as she moved around each store, furiously flicking through the hangers on the wall.

And I was able to pick up on these cues, because when I was living with a mother who's behaviour was wildly erratic and almost impossible to predict— her subtle body language was the only clues I had. Her slight behaviours that would tell me if we would get ice cream that day, or instead I'd be scrubbing the floor with a bristle brush for eight hours without breaks, because there were spots on the floor that no one but her could see.

Empaths aren't empaths, they're just traumatized.

My fingers skimmed along the soft fabric, and I titled my head as I stared at the dress. "Hmm."

"It's so pretty Dahlia! You should try it on!" Daisy let out, clearly encouraged by my acting.

I let another second pass as I pretended to consider it. My hand moved to the price tag that was attached by a piece of string. I had to stop my eyes from bulging as I read the price tag. $350.

"I think it would look better on you," I sighed out, shaking my head at the absurd price for a delicate piece of fabric.

Last week, three hundred and fifty dollars would be my budget to feed me for the next two months. And here Daisy was, not even blinking at paying it for a single dress.

"What?" Daisy groaned. "No. I mean, it would look good on me, but no! It would look so beautiful on you. We practically have the same body, if that's what you're worried about. We're probably the exact same size. I mean," she took a second to pause, and run her eyes down my body. "Your boobs are definitely bigger, but if anything, it means the dress would look even better!"

I began to walk away, slightly shaking my head as I return to the rack of nearly lined clothes beside us. My body was certainly something I wasn't worried about.

"I have clothes," I said, hoping my voice was as even as I willed it to be. "This isn't necessary. I don't want your parents buying me new clothes. I have..."

"Clothes?" Daisy finished my words, returning to my side and sliding the dress back to where it belonged, accepting defeat.

"Yeah," I hummed, pretending to be busy looking for another item. In truth, I could barely see the clothing in front of me. I was too busy trying to process my feelings.

It's not that I felt particularly bad about spending Daisy's parent's money. I mean, clearly they had enough of it.

More so, it was the fact that each and every thing they did for me put me further into their debt. Free rent, free food, free clothes...

But, if I learnt one thing in all of my years alone— there is a price to pay for everything. And for a debt this large, surely the bill would be the same size.

Lucinda's words earlier had really left a mark on me. But now, as the hours crept by, my paranoia was staring to erase it.

Would it be like the times my own mother had promised to take me to Disney Land, but when she spent all of her money on drugs, it turned out, she didn't really mean that promise.

It had been a nice thought to her, at the time, but when push came to shove, I wasn't really that important to her.

So, why wouldn't Lucinda be the same?

"You have like three outfits," Daisy pulled me back to our conversation.

"I..." I started, preparing to defend myself. I had more then three outfits. Maybe five.

"What's the real problem?" She dropped her voice low, maybe so that the curious sale associates couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," I said bluntly, shaking my head.

"Nothing?" She raised her perfect eyebrow at me. "You're a teenage girl. Teenage girl plus black American Express card would typically equal happiness."

I chewed my lip, she certainly had a point there. "Just... isn't there like a Target or something around here? Why are these clothes so expensive?"

I peaked a glance at her, watching as the inevitable confusion I knew was coming crossed her face. She looked like my words were a complex math problem, instead of a simple question.

"Why does it matter?" She asked, and like I had been for the last five hours since I met my sister, I wondered if the contrast between our two lives was as heavy to her as it was to me.

"I don't know," I tried to sidestep her question, but her eyes narrowed as I spoke, and I knew I wouldn't get past it that easily.

"What if your parents change their minds and want me to pay them back?" I asked her, looking away from her as I said the words, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Why would they do that?" Daisy asked, the confusion leaking into her voice.

"Who knows," I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find plenty of ways to be a disappointment to them."

"Hmm," she let out with a small breath. "And you think that if you disappoint my parents, they'll take everything back? If that were the case, everything I own would have been repossessed a couple of times now."

That made me turn my head back to her. Daisy certainly didn't seem the type to bring disappointment to her parents.

"You should have seen how mad they were the time I skipped class and had too much wine on the beach with Tiff," she laughed out, like it was a fond memory for her.

I observed my sister as she spoke; partially surprised at her not-so-goody-two-shoes behaviour, and partially noting that she didn't seem traumatized by her parents disappointment.

"I promise you, Dahlia," she continued, looking me in my eyes. "Unless you rob a bank, or intentionally set the house on fire, you don't have anything to worry about."

I pushed my lips into a flat line as I mulled her words over in my mind, tracing her face for a hint of a lie. "You sure?"

"Positive." Daisy smiled at me, "so, can we shop now?"

I let out a small laugh, and Daisy looked surprised at the sound. Then I realized, it was the first laugh she had heard from me.

"Okay," I finally agreed, and she let out a squeal, grabbing my arms with her hands and pulling me into a quick hug. "It's just..."

She pulled a way, looking at me in a faux look of suspicion.

"We have... um," I looked her up and down, and then looked at my own outfit, in hopes she would make the connection on her own. "We have different styles."

"Okay, okay," she let go of me, holding her hands out in front of her. "I get it, I'll keep that in mind. Only neutrals for Dahlia," she joked, and I laughed along with her.

Three hours later, my arms hurt.

Not only my arms, but my legs, my feet, hell even my abs were slightly aching, and I wasn't sure why that was even possible.

It turned out, shopping with Daisy was more of a marathon than a sprint. Just when I thought the mission was completed, she would drag me to another store. Just when I thought my new wardrobe was complete, she had another scenario in which I might need clothes for.

A pool party. A beach party. A slumber party. Camping. School. Movie theatre. Dates. The gym. Coffee. Binge watching Netflix.

At one point she had even held up a tennis skirt, and said what if you decide to take up tennis?

Until finally, I declared my exhaustion and she begrudgingly relented. Now, I had more clothes than I ever imagined I would own. And while they didn't look like the clothes that Daisy wore, they certainly wouldn't stand out in this new posh town.

"So," Daisy said, from the drivers seat of her baby blue convertible bug. She told me that she never drove with the top down, though, because the wind would cause her hair to get stuck in her lipgloss.

"Did you actually like the pool house?" She continued, shifting her gaze to me between looks at the road, like she was trying to determine if my next words would be a lie. "You can tell me if you don't. I won't tell my Mom."

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, not understanding how someone could not like the apartment. "I love it."

"Really?" She asked, clearly having trouble believing me.

"Why wouldn't I?" I questioned her.

"I mean," she started, "it's just a little boring."

"No," I shook my head. "It's perfect."

Boring certainly wouldn't be the word I would use. While it certainly had a certain atheistic, to me it was more like clean. Much different from what I was used to. Everything was clean, and new and I couldn't tell Daisy just how much that meant to me.

"Was it a guest room or something?" I asked her, genuinely curious why they had this beautiful room as a "pool house."

"I think that's what my parents intended for it to be, when they had it built," Daisy told me as she flicked her blinker on, barely looking in her mirror as she changed lanes. "But, no one ever uses it. My parents... well, they don't have a lot of family so we don't have many visitors."

"Oh," I nodded, feeling my mouth frown.

"Mostly, my friends end up there sometimes," she continued, "when they're way to drunk and don't want to go home and face the wrath of their parents."

"You guys drink a lot?" I asked her, mentally noting that she spoke a lot about parties, and alcohol.

"Yeah," she nodded, unabashed at my question. "When it's not tourist season, this place gets pretty boring. The school I go to isn't that big, and there isn't much to do," she explained, and I couldn't really relate.

My last school was intercity, and public, which meant there were thousands of kids stuffed into the hallways like sardines.

"So, uh," Daisy said awkwardly, as she pulled her car into her beautifully paved driveway. "You tired? From all the travelling?"

I glanced over her face, noting the way she bit down on her lip when she spoke. She wasn't just asking because she was just curious.

"I mean," I said slowly, trying to feel out more of the situation. My answer would entirely depend on what she was planning next. "Maybe?"

"Well," she let out a nervous laugh. "My friends are kinda on their way..."

"Then yes," I said immediately. "I'm tired."

"Dahlia!" Daisy let out in a laugh, gently swatting my arm. "My friends are great, I promise. They're all so excited to meet you. It's been a while since we've had a newcomer."

I let out a sigh as I stared at her, trying to decide my next words.

"Please?" She pushed her hands together, pleading with me as she laughed. "Please, please, please, please..."

"Fine," I laughed, pushing her hands so they fell apart. "Fine, if you'll shut up!"

"Yay!" She squealed, as she opened her door and climbed out of her car, leaving the keys in the ignition. I flicked my eyes down to them. It was just another sign of my arrival in a different planet.

Because where I'm from, if you left your keys in your car, you wouldn't have a car for much longer.

Daisy helped me with my shopping bags, as we entered the house together. When we got to foyer, she pushed the bags into my hands.

"I have to change. Go put on some new clothes! And I'll meet you out back by the pool, okay?" She said excitedly, turning to prance up the stairs.

But then she turned back, "Dahlia," she sighed my name. "I'm just... I'm so genuinely happy that you're here."

"Me too," I smiled back at her, because mostly, it was the truth.

Once Daisy had disappeared, I hauled my bags through the house, the backyard and into the pool house. I started to move a bit frantically, remembering that Daisy had said her friends were already on their way.

I tore through the bags containing my new clothes, taking a deep breath as I searched for an outfit in particular. It was one that Daisy had put together, once she had rightly deciphered what kind of clothes I would actually wear.

It was a plain black dress, made of tight cotton that hugged my curves. I pushed it over my body, shaking my hair with my hands once it was over me. I paired it with the black sandals she had picked out, and the gold earrings she had insisted I get.

I looked into the mirror when I was finished, slightly stunned by the girl who looked back at me. She looked like me, of course, but... different. Elevated.

I have always been pretty. After all, I shared Daisy's genes. She was gorgeous, in my eyes. But, my beauty had always been overshadowed.

Mostly, by trauma. But I could barely see that trauma right now.

I picked through the makeup, the dozens of bottles that Daisy had picked out from an expensive counter. I pushed some mascara into my eyelashes, some blush into cheeks, and some gloss onto my lips.

I stared at myself for just a single second longer, when I was done. Surprisingly, I was beginning to feel some nerves at the thought of meeting Daisy's friends. Would they like me? Would they be nice? Would I like them? Would they know I'm an imposter, and that I didn't belong in their world?

I shook my head, taking a breath through my nose. I turned from the mirror, forcing myself to walk out the door. I was talking to myself in my head. They'll like you, Dahlia. And even if they don't, who cares? You've never needed friends before.

The backyard was slightly dark, but the space was illuminated by hundreds of tiny lights that seemed to come from everywhere, and no where, all the same time.

I was the first one here, and that realization was enough to calm my nerves.

Well, at least it was — until I saw him.

I felt my eyes grow wide as I noticed him. He was just standing there, looking into the pool in the same way I had when I first arrived at the house. He was tall, with brown hair that moved in short waves around his face. He was taller than a teenage boy needed to be, and his face was handsomer than it needed to be.

I stood paralyzed, wondering what I should do before he seemed to hear me. He turned to me, and if I thought he was good looking before, I had no idea what I was missing.

But then, he spoke, and instantly, I wanted to punch him.

"Well," he smirked as he let the words out, his eyes running up and down my body twice. "You certainly don't look like the homeless girl Daisy's family had to rescue."