There’s a dress in Daisy’s closet. Silver. Low-backed. Tiny spaghetti straps. She’ll wear it to prom on the arm of Harris Zandari, the most gorgeous senior at her school.

How did quiet, barely-there Daisy, land Harris Zandari? She watched him. She watched him so closely, and for so long, that she saw things no one else did. She saw through his charm, his bright, smiling face, to the sad, broken person underneath just waiting for the perfect sad, broken girl to complete him.

Daisy was that girl. Not only because her mother died and everyone still felt sorry for her. But because she made herself perfect for him. She fashioned herself into his broken dream girl, and now, they were going to prom. And Daisy was going to make it a night she would never forget.

No one but Daisy knows this, but there’s another dress in her closet, buried in the back. Tea-length. Little cap sleeves.

Funeral black.