“Is that what you’re choosing to wear?” she asks, directing the question at her daughter.

Zoe stiffens, looking down at the white dress she’s selected for tonight. It makes her look like she belongs on a runway instead of at a high school birthday party, but apparently her mother thinks otherwise. “What’s wrong with it?”

“If you want to wear a dress from last season that looks three sizes too small, by all means, go right ahead. But I’m sure you could find something more flattering,” she comments offhandedly. Zoe purses her lips, features darkening, and I feel uncomfortable, like I shouldn’t be present for this conversation. “The choice is yours, darling.”

The words make me shift in my seat, and I wonder if Mrs. Harris has even noticed I’m in the room or if I’ve suddenly become invisible. Zoe looks as though she’s struggling to maintain her composure.

“I think she looks amazing,” I blurt, immediately regretting the words once her mother’s cutting stare lands on me for the first time.

“Ah yes,” she says politely, gesturing at my outfit. “As we all know, Sofia Castillo’s daughter is the pinnacle of fashion in Pender Falls. Allie’s opinion is the only one that matters.”

Her lips curl upward as if she’s laughing at some private joke, and my skin prickles. It’s the first time I can recall ever seeing the woman, but she certainly doesn’t seem interested in treating me with the same delicacy as the other adults I know.

Mrs. Harris turns back to her daughter, dismissing my presence. “Graduation isn’t that far away,” she remarks, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have a lot of eyes on you right now, and I don’t want you to lose focus by throwing useless, juvenile parties like this. It’s a waste of potential.”

“I won’t, Mom,” Zoe replies woodenly.

The older woman accepts her answer, breezing to the door just as quickly as she bulldozed into the room, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Zoe stalks into the en suite the moment her mother is gone. I watch as she washes her hands, scrubbing at her skin furiously even though her hands weren’t all that dirty to begin with. She mumbles some words under her breath, but it’s hard to hear over the rushing of the water from the tap.

After finishing up, she dries her hands, then takes some time to assess her reflection once more, making sure everything is where it should be. She turns to me as though nothing happened. “Let’s go.”