Rachel flips through the page of one of her hardcover thriller novels, highlighting a quote from the author. To some, it may be questionable as to why she did such a thing. It could be argued that annotations and highlights should be used only for scholarly reasons. Though, that wasn't necessarily the case in Rachel's world.

She highlighted and wrote into her books because it helped her connect the story to herself. Any word emphasized under the yellow neon glow would hold a special resonance to her. A history of sentences that she would carry on with her through the day or night.

Rachel was a deep-reader, someone who always archived plots and quotations into her mind. Between the way she took books off the shelves— reaching past the spine and tipping it toward her so the spine wouldn't start to ruin; to the fact that she always slept with her current read under her pillow, it would be ridiculous if it wasn't clear that Rachel was invested in books more than anything else.

The girl would shoot through damn near fifteen books in one month.

She was able to hear her father's voice upstairs. He was talking to his car insurance company, seeing the deadlines and parameters for updating coverage at the new address. After a few minutes, Mr. Roth makes his way downstairs to whip up a small lunch.

"Oh, hey there, Sweetheart," he greets, smiling at his daughter. "I feel like I haven't seen you in a week."

Mr. Roth makes a satisfied noise as he stretches, then searches through the cabinets and fridge.

Rachel replies, keeping her eyes stuck to the pages of The Butterfly House.

"It's because you haven't."

"I wonder why that is?"

"Work, exploring the town."

Mr. Roth preps a cold cut sandwich.

Something that Rachel remembers would have made Garfield jump out of his skin.

"I know, Princess, but you seem a lot more distant than just that. Is there anything you need to get off your chest? I may be a score or so ahead of you, but I can give some words of wisdom."

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

Mr. Roth recited mentally. "Young adults,"

He knew his daughter was nothing more than a crippling introvert. Rachel often recharged on her own, analyzed on her own. She was very much a one person army. Nonetheless, Tony knew his kid, and he knew the sheer difference between introversion and misery.

The man informs his daughter about how much he likes his new job, and how he wishes he got it sooner. He says his hours are flexible, and though he has to work on holidays, he does get a nice-sized bonus check.

"Look, the Super even gave me a nice mirror we could use, I don't know if you noticed. They're all a bunch of rich people, the people in the building. They've got a whole bunch of furniture that's been sitting around and still looks brand new. Your mother loves the mirror." He proudly shows off the mirror with a fancy cut on the inside border of the reflective surface.

"I saw it, where are we going to put it?" Rachel asks.

"I'm not too sure yet, it depends on what the Boss Lady says. You know she likes her arrangements in utmost order and fashion."

"Tell me about it, we spent about a half hour debating at Home Goods about what type of tablecloths to use for the dining table. I like plain patterns, she likes the fancy looking ones. It's been quite a move-in." Rachel exhales deeply.

"That's okay. You and Arella have different preferences, that's all. Speaking of your mother, where did she turn to?"

"She's at L'Occitane looking for new creams and perfumes, that's what I last heard of her."

With his sandwich and a cup of apple juice, Tony sits on the end of the couch Rachel is sitting on. "Scented oils and lotions are your kinda thing, ain't it, kiddo?"

"Yes. I've bought more than enough of that stuff for the next year, it'll be a while until I need to restock. Besides, I didn't really like the idea of going across town and having to fly back to make it in time for my shift."

"Oh, that's right. You have work today," He moves a paper plate in Rachel's direction. A grilled mayo, cheese, and turkey sandwich. "Here you go, Rachey Rose. Kettle's warming on the stove."

"Thank you, Dad." Rachel can't help the tender smile that curves onto her face. She eats with one hand, and reads her book with the other.

"Nothing to it. Ah, I don't know if I told you, but," Tony chews into the light meal. "Your friend next door is supposed to come over in a couple of days."

Rachel's ears perk up, her eyebrows knit in thought.

"... Garfield?"

"Yes, and his family. Arella and I thought it would be nice to have them over. They've been so kind and welcoming, so we might as well."

"It's nice to finally do these kinds of things, we never really got to experience…"

A subtle pink bakes into Rachel's cheeks.

Her thoughts trail off and compete with the flurry of butterflies rising in her abdomen.

"Experience what?"

Rachel clicks back into reality with a soft blink.

"Um… you know, nice neighbors. We either had rude neighbors, or people that we never talked to, it was so weird."

Tony chuckles lightly, raising his cup a little before he drinks as if to emphasize his point.

"No kidding, it already set the spread to despise that place even more, I promise you. People were constantly bitchin'. I almost don't know how to react to nice people in our residential area."

Rachel nods in agreement. "Sure thing, I mean, we've even got people from across the street sending us well wishes."

"Right, right."

Rachel stands up with a sigh, having finished her sandwich. She made a quick cup of tea, brought it to go.

"I'd love to keep talking with you, but I've gotta get going."

Rachel grabs her bag and book, ready to make her way out the door. Honestly, she could have stayed with her father a little longer, but she wasn't in the mood to talk. Not to mention the uncomfortable tension because she didn't want to converse.

No matter what mood she was in, she always made sure to kiss her father on the cheek before she left the house (and her mother as well, if her mother was present).

"Alright, Lil' Ray. I'll see you later. Call me before your shift starts." Tony smiles and waves warmly.

Rachel replied with the sweetest tone she could manage. "Will do. Later, Dad."

The door closes with Rachel on the other side.

She walks a few steps down the neat, smoothly paved avenues. The air was crisp and the energy was fresh without fail. If the people didn't bring the warmth, the sweet pastries from the bakeries did. If the smell of books from Book Culture wasn't available to calm Rachel, the smell of rain on asphalt was.

Momentarily, Rachel gets a notification from a program that connected her bank account to her phone.

Three hundred dollars in her checking account, completely wiped out.