Dawn Schafer. Blonde hair falling straight down her back and a tan that fades slightly but is never really gone, not even in winter. Calm. Collected. She always seems comfortable in what she wears, whether it's casual or stylish, and you get the feeling that it's not really the clothes she's comfortable in, but her own skin.

She is an individual and doesn't care what people think of her; she is secure enough in her own beliefs not to let anyone else's bother her.

That's what you thought.

You are not complicated. You, Kristy Thomas, are a bossy loudmouth with what is hopefully a good heart. You love – not necessarily in this order – sports, your family, your friends, kids, and those moments when great ideas hit you. You are not someone of hidden depths, not really. What there is to know of you is visible on the surface.

You thought that was Dawn, too. Nothing to hide, nothing that couldn't be seen in the way she dresses or the way she acts.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Does Mary Anne know that this is all wrong, too? They are stepsisters, after all, and Mary Anne is much better at being perceptive than you are.

"I can't do this, Kristy," she said to you. "It's – what if people find out? I don't want them to know, and to say stuff – they already talk about you that way, you know, I don't want them to think that I'm like that too."

But, you think, wouldn't it be the truth? You know the names people whisper about you, because of the way you dress, because you've never had a serious boyfriend. You have never cared. You didn't think Dawn would, either. You didn't think she'd be so scared.

"I love you," she murmured as you kissed her neck, her shoulders, her fingers. In those moments, she was yours, she was the Dawn you knew.

And then – it felt sudden, but maybe it had been coming for a while and you just didn't notice – she was no longer Dawn.

"I don't want to be like this," she whispered, close to tears, and when you tried to stroke her hair and kiss her, she moved away.

You thought you knew.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.