Clover buys a cheap pair of plastic sandals from a 24-hour store that doesn’t notice she’s barefoot, and picks up a disposable camera as an afterthought. She doesn’t have much cash to begin with, but the camera seems important, can't be ignored.

Prince and his friends are asleep, and it’s easy to push the nonsensical dreams he has into the back of her mind, leaving more important things at the forefront. She's noticed a pattern; the shittier her situation, the more freely Prince lives. He is her stress relief, a chance to live another life, one drastically different from her own.

How many people have that, she wonders?

Clover exits the store and slips the sandals onto her sore feet, and it begins to rain, drops falling lightly from the dark sky. It’ll pick up soon, she can feel it. Going back to her mother’s house is out of the question, and she’s struck suddenly by the idea that she has nowhere else to go.

Perhaps it’s this thought that drives her to the doorstep of Lisette’s house, although Clover is dazed, light-headed, and doesn’t know why she’s really here.

She wishes desperately to be near her friends.

It’s well past midnight, and for a long while she hesitates on the porch.

Everyone knows where Lisette lives; it’s the largest house in the city, just up the street from their high school. When Lisette ran for student body president, her campaign posters featured her standing in a tailored business suit on the lawn on her home, arms crossed, smile defiant.

Clover had voted for someone else.

It’s easy to recognize the house even from down the street, but she wonders if this isn’t a horrible, awful, terrible idea.

What would Prince do, free from the judgment of others?

He would ring the doorbell.

Clover does, too.

A full twenty seconds pass in agonizing regret before the door creaks open, and a handsome young man with golden hair stares blankly at her.

“It’s very late,” he says, voice surprisingly alto. “Can I help you with something?”

This is the worst idea she’s ever had. “Hi,” she begins lamely. “Um, I’m Clover Lee. I know Lisette. Can you... can you ask her to come down?”

The young man’s face brightens. “Oh, you’re Lissie’s friend? Come in, I’ll go grab her!”

Clover wants to laugh at the nickname ‘Lissie’, but it’s also rather cute. “Thank you,” she says, and steps inside. Immediately she’s hit with the nigh uncontrollable urge to take her sandals off; the floors are beautifully manicured wood, polished to perfection, and her shoes cost ninety-nine cents and are covered in mud.

The man vanishes into a hallway around a corner, and as she waits Clover begins to think it would be best if she runs while she still has the chance. If Lisette was genuinely interested in hanging out with her, she very well may change her mind when she sees Clover on her doorstep hours past midnight. She doesn’t want to ruin this, and takes a step back.

She breathes in, out, in, out - she’ll run on three.

One…

Two…

“Clover?”

Shit.

Lisette is wrapped in something silky and floral, a pair of fluffy blue slippers on her feet, the same shade as her eyes, her sunshine hair wrapped up in curing pins. Clover gapes. “Um,” she chokes out, “hey.”

Lisette steps closer, taking in her rain-soaked shirt, eying her cheap sandals. “Jesus, are you okay? It’s raining pretty hard out there.” The young man from earlier leans against a wall not far away, silently watching.

“Yeah, I’m... I’m okay,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, I - I don’t know why I came here. I’ll go, you can forget I was here-”

Lisette catches her hand as she turns, and her skin is warm. “Wait, it’s okay!” Her grip is gentle, but there’s a firmness behind it. “I said we were going to hang out tomorrow. It’s tomorrow.” She pauses, mulling over words. “Do you want some coffee?”

She holds her breath, waits for Lisette to change her mind, kick her out, but she doesn’t. A warmth spreads in Clover's chest, and to remain casual, she shrugs. But her heart is beating a mile a minute. “Sure.”