Suggested By: Jasmine Li

    “What are you buying me this time?” I ask Sophie. 

    I follow her around the mall wearing the outfit she chose for me that day. Her little gold purse full of money swings to her side and she says nothing as we walk into Hollister. 

    The last few weeks have been very different. For the first time in my life, I have a best friend. For the first time in my life, I’m going to the mall without my mom. She says she’s proud of me for making new friends, but I see the look on her face whenever Sophie comes home. I see the look on her face when I’m wearing something that I didn’t pick out. 

    Every day, Sophie picks my clothes. She made me throw out all my flowered dresses and patterned shirts. The jeans with patches that I sewed are still hidden under my bed. I’ve kept some of my favorite from her sight, in case I have a day to myself. But Sophie makes me wear things that everyone else wears. 

    Now she’s holding out a cerulean loose shirt that looks huge on me. She picks out a smaller one and a miniskirt that I would never wear on my own. 

    She makes me wear it anyway. 

    I think she’s making me wear clothes like these because she likes me. I think it’s sweet of her to think of me. I miss wearing my rose-colored shirt and handmade shorts but I’ll do what she wants. I’ve never had a best friend before. 

    Later, Sophie cakes powder and other products on my face that I barely recognize. She does this sometimes. 

    “You’re pretty without makeup,” she coos, “but everyone wears it. You’ll look better this way.” 

    I shrug and let her do what she wants. I think she likes playing with these things. It makes her happy. 

    Before this, I loved flowers. No, I still love flowers. Nature is my favorite thing. I like trees and beaches. I like bees and butterflies. I can’t even kill spiders. Whenever someone screams because of a spider, I’m the one who puts it outside. People think I’m weird for doing that. They give me strange looks when I pass the hall. 

    I wonder whether it’s because I always wear bright shirts and flowers in my hair or because of my love for spiders and bugs. 

    But now that I wear things that Sophie tells me to wear, like those weird tank tops and uncomfortable short shorts, no one looks at me weird. No one looks at me at all, unless they like my outfit. 

    That never happened before. 

    I let my best friend dress me up like this every day. It doesn’t seem right. But I want to be nice to her. No one is ever nice to me. 

    But there came a day when she left me. 

    She didn’t come to my house that Wednesday morning. When I texted her, she left me on “Delivered”. I learned that from her. I learned everything from her. 

    I put on a shirt that she bought me, one that I didn’t mind. I pulled out the box under my bread with the flower-patterned skirt I sewed and then picked a fake white daisy to put in my hair. I smile at my reflection. I haven’t worn a flower in my hair for a while. 

    “Is Sophie not here?” I hear a hint of hopefulness in my mom’s voice. She smiles when she sees the flower in my hair and she adjusts it. 

    “I don’t think so. Maybe she’s already at school.” 

    I walk to school, a little skip to my step. People are looking at me again. It’s the bright yellow shirt paired with the skirt that has white flowers on it. It’s the daisy in my hair. It’s my bright appearance. 

    When I see Sophie in homeroom, she screeches, “What are you wearing?” 

    I blink. She never says that to me anymore. 

    “You weren’t here, so I picked out my outfit,” I explain. 

    She glares at my black rhinestone sandals. “I was trying to help you.” 

    “Help me what?” 

    “Fit in.” 

    I look around, bewildered. Everyone is watching us. “Fit in? I thought I already did.” 

    “I am trying to fix you,” she seethes. “You’re not like anyone else. I need to fix you, Fern.” 

    “I don’t need to be fixed,” I say firmly. “I fit in.” 

    She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. 

    I sit in my garden during sunset, looking at the flowers. I remember when I first questioned why she bought all this stuff for me. She said it would be good for me. 

    “Will I fit in if I follow you?” I asked her. She nodded. 

    I want to fit in. But I want to be me. Will she let me? 

    I pull out the journal that has meanings of flowers scrawled throughout it. I decipher my mom’s handwriting and I pick out yellow roses and magnolias for forgiveness and perseverance. 

    I love flowers because they have meaning. We’re all flowers, and we’re all different, right? Can’t Sophie see that? 

    She doesn’t come the next morning, either. I stick the handmade bouquet in my backpack and set off, hoping to find her before school starts. 

    I spot her with a huge group of girls, who are wearing things I would never wear. When they see me, they nudge Sophie. 

    “What is it, Fern?” she sighed, crossing her arms. 

    I shamelessly pull out the flowers from my backpack. “Can I try harder? I’m sorry.” 

    She stares at me, and I continue, “I want to fit in. But I don’t want to be fixed.” 

    Sophie looks at me up and down. There’s a daffodil in my hair, and her eyes lay on it. “You want to fit in? Fix yourself to be like us. You can’t fit in if you’re yourself.” She walks away, throwing her dyed hair over her shoulder. 

    “That’s… not what I meant.”