"Delia, sweetie, don't stray too far." her mother called, her voice light but firm, through the park.

"I won't, Mama!" Delia shouted back with a grin, her small feet kicking up dust as she bounded through the grassy field. Her round glasses bobbed on her freckled nose, and her brown hair, tangled and wind-tossed, stuck out in every direction. A wide gap where her front tooth used to be made her smile crooked, but no less bright.

She'd already smudged her skirt with dirt and her shoes were scuffed, the lace of one dragging in the mud, but none of it mattered. Right now, her attention was locked on a butterfly fluttering just ahead, its delicate wings painted in colors that made them look like they could have come from one of her crayon drawings. Delia's blue eyes sparkled with the thrill of the chase, completely captivated.

The butterfly landed on a daisy, resting softly against the flower's white petals. For a second, the world seemed to pause, holding its breath alongside her.

She crouched, inching forward on tiptoe, her breath caught in her throat. The little girl's hands hung in the air, poised and ready. She could already feel the soft flutter of wings against her fingers. Just a little closer...

"Delia, it's time to go home." her mother, Ophelia Carter, interjected, her voice gentle but final.

The words startled Delia, breaking her concentration. She watched in dismay as the butterfly darted off into the sky, its bright wings disappearing into the distance. She slumped, spinning around to face her mother, frustration clear in her wide eyes.

"Mama!" she whined, dragging out the word. "I almost had it! I was so close!" She stomped a foot, her arms falling limp at her sides, the picture of a girl whose world had just been snatched away.

Ophelia knelt beside her, brushing a few strands of messy hair out of Delia's face with a soft laugh. "Sweetheart, we have to get home for dinner. Maybe next time, you'll catch one. Daddy's waiting, remember?"

Delia puffed out her cheeks in protest but knew there was no arguing with her mother when her tone turned that gentle. She kicked at the dirt half-heartedly, looking over her shoulder at the flowers one last time. The butterfly was long gone.

"Alright..." she sighed, but only after her mother ruffled her hair and gave her that patient smile, the one that promised there'd always be another day, another chase.

Delia had been chasing butterflies all afternoon, convinced one would make the perfect pet. She'd been imagining a little jar with air holes, a butterfly flitting about inside, though the thought was, of course, as silly as it was sweet. Still, she pursued them with a determined heart, her grubby hands always just shy of capturing one.

Now, as they made their way home, Delia's excitement over the park slowly gave way to the familiar comforts of her house. The moment they stepped inside, a delicious aroma greeted them: warm and savory, the unmistakable scent of meat roasting in the oven. The house was pristine, like something out of a magazine spread. Even the table was neatly set, waiting for the family meal.

From the kitchen, the sound of the oven door creaking open reached their ears. Mrs. Carter smiled, her expression softening as she glanced toward the kitchen. "Looks like Daddy's been busy!" she remarked, more to herself than to Delia. "Take off your shoes, sweetheart, so you don't track any dirt in."

Delia, always eager when it came to dinner, or her father, hurriedly kicked off her dirty shoes and left them by the door without a second thought. Her little legs carried her as fast as they could into the kitchen.

"Daddy! Daddy!!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her father.

Mr. Carter turned from the stove, grinning widely as he wiped his hands on a nearby towel. His dark hair was tousled, and there was flour smudged on his cheek. "My little sun!" he said, beaming as he scooped Delia up in his arms and spun her in a circle, her laugh bubbling up in response.

"How was the park this afternoon?" he asked, holding her close.

"It was great!" Delia's voice was breathless with excitement as she recounted her day. "Leelee helped me try to catch butterflies!"

Mr. Carter chuckled, setting her down gently as he carried the dish to the table. "Leelee, huh? One of your invisible friends?"

Delia nodded, her eyes earnest. Her father gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Well, as long as she's good company." He smiled, his heart warmed by her innocent world.

Mrs. Carter's eyes flickered toward her husband as they all sat down for dinner, her smile faltering for just a second. She didn't say anything, but he caught the quiet worry behind her glance. Delia, however, was too busy eagerly forking the shepherd's pie into her mouth to notice the exchange, her legs swinging beneath the table.

Ophelia leaned forward slightly, trying to sound casual, but there was a softness to her voice. "And what about your visible friends, sweetheart? How are they?"

Delia's fork paused midway to her mouth, her blue eyes blinking up at her mother. For a split second, there was a hesitation, and then she smiled, just as innocent as ever. "They're fine." she said, forcing the words to sound light and easy.

But inside, a knot twisted in her chest. She didn't have the heart to tell her mother the truth: that the playground kids barely noticed her, or that she felt so out of place among them that it hurt. That's why she clung to Leelee, Nellie, and Moony, her imaginary companions who never made her feel awkward or left out. They were kind, and they always had time for her.

She didn't know exactly why it would make her mother sad, but she knew it would. So, she kept quiet.

Ophelia, sensing nothing amiss, gave her a warm smile. "We should invite them over for tea one day!" she suggested, her tone bright with enthusiasm. "Your father has a wonderful cinnamon pie recipe. I bet it would be a big hit with your friends."

Delia nodded, but didn't respond. The idea of having any real friends over for tea felt like a far-off dream, but she didn't want to spoil her mother's good intentions. She poked at her food, her mind drifting to the familiar faces of her imaginary friends. They'd like cinnamon pie too, she thought. If only they could join her for real.

"Don't flatter me too much, sweetheart." Mr. Carter chimed in with a grin, breaking the quiet tension that had settled at the table. He winked at Delia, his eyes twinkling with affection.

She couldn't help but giggle at that. It was the kind of wink that always made her feel like she was in on a secret. The knot in her chest loosened a little, and she smiled back, her spirits lifting just enough to try to finish her dinner.

As her parents' conversation drifted toward talk of work - something about meetings and deadlines - Delia's mind wandered. She stared at the half-eaten pie on her plate, chewing slowly as a plan started to form. She knew her mother would be worried if she found out Delia didn't have any "visible" friends, but why should that matter? They were always around. They didn't just disappear like some of the kids at school did when she asked to play. Plus, her imaginary friends had cool powers, like flying or turning invisible, and they never made fun of her. In Delia's world, they weren't just friends; they were family. As an only child, her house could feel quiet sometimes, especially when her parents were busy. But with her imaginary friends, they played pretend family, and Leelee was like the big sister Delia never had.

The other kids, though, they didn't get it. They looked at her funny. Maybe it was because she doodled things like the Loch Ness Monster with big pink bows in its hair and announced it would make the monster happy. Or maybe it was how she spoke too loudly without meaning to, or the way she'd sit on the ground and let ants crawl across her hands, fascinated by their tiny legs instead of being grossed out. She didn't mind bees either; she liked to catch flowers, even if the bees were still buzzing above them. And then there was the time she tried to introduce Leelee to the others. She had been so excited, thinking they'd all have fun together. She described Leelee's sparkly wings, the way she could shrink to the size of a teacup, and how she loved to giggle about everything. But the kids just stared at Delia, confused and a little wary. Maybe it was because they couldn't see Leelee.

Delia sighed, pushing her plate aside. That was the problem, wasn't it? No one else saw her friends. And because of that, the other kids just saw her as strange.

Maybe, Delia thought, there was hope yet. She didn't need a whole crowd of "visible" friends to present; just one or two. And there were two kids who seemed different, like her. There was the boy with the eyepatch who lived down the street. He was always sitting on the front steps, sipping from a carton of juice like it was his job. He didn't talk much to her, but once, he'd nodded at her in acknowledgment when she'd passed by, and it felt like a hello. Then there was the girl with the black pigtails and the headless doll she always carried. She had waved to Delia once, though it was brief and awkward, but still, it was something.

Delia remembered that day clearly, how the sun was so bright it made her squint, and for the first time in what felt like forever, someone had said hello. Maybe, just maybe, they could be her visible friends just for this day. The thought filled her with a strange nervous excitement, tingling at the edges of her mind.

But there was one problem. How to approach them? What could she offer? She couldn't just walk up and say: "Be my friend", could she? That never seemed to work in the stories. No, she needed something more... like a peace offering. And then it came to her: a dollar. If she showed up with a dollar, maybe they'd want to hang out. She wasn't sure why a dollar felt important, but in her mind, it sounded like the right way to start. Maybe they could all go to the corner store and buy candy, or juice cartons like the boy drank. It seemed like a good plan. Simple, but good.

But where to get that dollar? Delia frowned, her mind racing. She didn't get an allowance, and her piggy bank was empty. She'd used the last of her coins on an ice cream cone the week before. Maybe there was some change in the couch cushions, or she could ask Daddy if there were any chores she could do around the house. She would need to think fast, though; those two kids weren't always easy to find. Her plan was set, but now came the hard part. How to get that dollar!

"Man, I really need a job..." Delia groaned dramatically, flopping back in her chair and raising her hand to her forehead like she'd seen in movies. She had heard her father use "man" when he was really stressed, and it seemed fitting for this moment of deep crisis. This was serious business.

Mr. Carter, caught off guard, let out a wheezing laugh, his shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath. Across the table, Mrs. Carter pressed her lips together, her face scrunching up as she fought to keep from bursting out in laughter herself. A small, quivering smile made its way up her cheeks despite her best efforts.

Delia looked up at them innocently, not understanding what was so funny. This was no time for jokes!

"Why on earth would you say that, sweetie?" Ophelia finally asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"I need money!" Delia replied, her voice full of urgency.

Michael leaned forward, still chuckling. "And what do you need money for?"

Delia's mind scrambled. She couldn't tell them about her plan. That would ruin everything. So she blurted out the first thing that came to her. "Uhh... to buy... stuff." She shifted in her seat, hoping they wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Stuff, huh?" her father teased, grinning from ear to ear. "Very specific, I see."

Delia nodded quickly, her face serious. "Important stuff!" she added, crossing her arms like that would make her sound more convincing.

Ophelia exchanged a knowing glance with her husband, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, sweetheart, I'm sure we can find you some very important chores to do if you're looking to earn some money." she said, her voice warm with affection.

Delia perked up at that, her eyes wide with excitement. Maybe, just maybe, her plan could work after all. She was one step closer to that dollar!

The thing was, Delia wasn't exactly known for her cleaning skills. She always tried her hardest, but somehow, cleaning always turned into a bigger mess than before: spilled water, dust clouds, and things out of place. She never meant for it to happen, but it was just how things went. And by the look on her father's face, he seemed to remember it too.

"Or..." Mr. Carter began, trying to suppress a smile. "How about opening a little lemonade stand out front? It's hot these days, and I bet people would love some cold lemonade. I'll help you make some."

Delia's eyes lit up. "Oh yes!" she nodded eagerly, relieved by the change of plans. A lemonade stand was much safer than tackling chores that usually ended in disaster.

Mrs. Carter chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her husband. "Honey, no offense, you're a great cook... just not when it comes to lemonade." she teased lightly.

"Nonsense!" Michael insisted, puffing his chest out a little. "Delia loves my lemonade. Don't you, pumpkin?"

Delia grinned and nodded with an exaggerated seriousness. "It's the best in the world." she declared, leaning into the joke. And honestly, it wasn't that bad... just a little too sour, but she didn't mind.

She glanced down at her plate and, without hesitation, began shoveling the rest of her dinner into her mouth in large, hurried bites. Her cheeks puffed out, and bits of shepherd's pie smeared around the corners of her lips, but she didn't care, there was no time to waste! She needed to get started on her sign for the lemonade stand, and it had to be perfect.

"Can I leave the table now?" she piped up, her voice muffled by the food she was still chewing. "Pretty please, Mama, I finished all my food!"

Ophelia raised an eyebrow once again, amused by the sight of her daughter's messy face. "As long as you clear your plate and wash that face of yours, young lady."

"I promise! I promise!" Delia said, her words bouncing with excitement.

Ophelia nodded in approval, and before she could say anything else, Delia sprang up from her chair, snatched her plate, and rushed off to the kitchen. Left alone at the table, Ophelia and Michael exchanged a knowing look. Michael shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping. "She's a whirlwind, that one." he said, his voice filled with fondness.

"Like someone I know." Ophelia teased gently, nudging his foot under the table.

"Well, she's got good taste, at least!" Michael shot back with a grin.

Ophelia laughed, rolling her eyes. "We'll see how that goes."

A few days had passed, and now Delia stood proudly behind her lemonade stand, which she had decorated with great care. With her father's help, she had painted bright, wobbly letters that spelled out "LEMONADE" across a wooden sign, and even added a few colorful flowers and stars. Two large pitchers of lemonade sat on the table, the ice clinking softly in the heat, along with a neat stack of cups. Beside them, she'd placed a small bowl of candy, because, well, who could resist a little extra treat? Maybe it would help sweeten the deal, she thought.

Her idea was clear: sell lemonade, get that dollar, and then pay the girl with the headless doll and the boy with the eyepatch. After that, they'd come over for tea, her mother would see she had friends, and everything would be better. No more worried glances at the dinner table. No more questions about "visible" friends. Everything would be just fine.

Delia stood on tiptoes, eagerly scanning the street. Every time someone came walking down her sidewalk, she straightened up and flashed her most hopeful smile, her hands clutching the edge of the table in anticipation. But one by one, they passed by without even glancing her way. Some of them were talking on the phone, others walking briskly like they were in a hurry, and none of them seemed to notice the little stand or the girl behind it.

Her smile faltered just a bit each time, but she kept standing tall, determined. She was sure someone would stop. They just had to.

After a while, Delia spotted a group of her classmates down the street. Her heart leapt in her chest; maybe this was her chance to make things better, to show them she wasn't so strange after all. She waved excitedly, her smile bright as she prayed they'd come over. Sure enough, their curiosity got the better of them, and they sauntered over, five of them in total, huddled together like they always were.

"Delia? What is this?" asked Rebecca, the redhead who was always laughing in class, though her laugh seemed different now. Less friendly.

"I'm selling lemonade!" Delia replied, her voice cheerful and proud. She didn't notice the way their smiles twisted or how the quiet giggles started to ripple through the group.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the others. "Oh, lemonade, huh?" she said, her grin widening. "No help from your little imaginary friends this time?"

The group snickered, but Delia didn't understand why. She frowned, confused. "No... not today." she answered honestly, feeling a strange pit form in her stomach as the laughter grew.

Rebecca's tall brunette friend, Mei, crossed her arms. "Well, I hope it's not ant-flavored, with all the bugs you like to play with."

Delia's cheeks flushed. "N-no! It's just sugar and lemon." she promised, her voice quieter now.

Rebecca leaned forward, her tone playful but sharp. "So, no pink-ribboned monsters or invisible fairies stirring the lemonade, huh? That's a shame!" she added, her smile curling in a way that made Delia feel small.

Delia forced a trembling smile, trying to hold herself together. "No... just regular lemonade."

The group exchanged smug glances, and Delia's heart sank, as if her stand was just some silly joke.

"I can give you a glass." she said, trying her best to sound like the confident businesswomen she'd seen on TV. They were always calm, always in control. She lifted her chin, attempting to imitate their serious tone, but her voice came out softer, more timid. "Just for a taste. It's... it's only one dollar. And you get free candy!" she added desperately.

But before she could even finish her offer, almost the entire group reached into the candy bowl without asking, grabbing handfuls and stuffing them into their mouths. Delia's heart sank, but she didn't say anything: maybe that meant they were interested! Maybe they'd pay once they tasted the lemonade.

Taking their candy-grabbing as a yes, Delia hurried to pour the plastic cups to the brim, her hands a little shaky as she tried to keep her smile steady. She could only hope that the lemonade, slightly too sour but still made with love, would win them over.

With their mouths still full, the children took the lemonade glasses Delia handed them, though none of them seemed particularly excited. They held the cups loosely, glancing at the liquid inside as if it were some odd science experiment. But Delia's heart still raced. Maybe they'd like it. Maybe...

And then it was Mei's turn. She loomed large next to Delia, her shadow seeming to swallow the little stand whole. Delia stood on tiptoe to hand her the drink, hoping to appear less nervous. But Mei barely held the glass properly.

In a split second, it slipped from Mei's hand.

The cup hit the ground with a loud splat, lemonade exploding everywhere. Worse, the splash drenched Rebecca, soaking her from head to toe in sticky, yellow liquid. There was a collective gasp from the group. Rebecca stood frozen for a moment, her face slowly turning a deep, purplish-red.

Delia's heart sank. Her own cheeks flushed bright, panic clawing at her chest. "I-I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to! I didn't..." She darted to the other side of the stand, grabbing fistfuls of paper towels, her hands clumsy as she tried to clean up the mess.

Rebecca stood there, dripping, her eyes narrowing at Delia as if it were all her fault. The lemonade clung to her clothes, her hair, her shoes. Delia kept stammering apologies, her throat tight with guilt. She hadn't done it on purpose. She hadn't meant for any of this to happen. But as she looked up at Rebecca's furious face and the group's muffled laughter, the realization hit her hard. She couldn't make this right.

Before Delia could do anything else, before she could offer another apology or try to fix the situation, Rebecca's hand shot out. She grabbed the glass from one of the other kids and, without hesitation, dumped it over Delia's head.

Delia froze, the cold lemonade soaking her hair, trickling down her face, and dripping onto her shoulders. Her glasses fogged up from the sudden shock. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. She couldn't move, couldn't think. But then, like a signal had been given, the rest of the group followed suit. One by one, they poured their lemonade on her, the liquid running down her clothes, clinging to her skin.

Plastic cups hit her, bouncing off her arms, and as she instinctively raised her arms to shield herself, she felt hands grabbing at her. They pushed her down, pinning her to the grass. She tried to resist, tried to push them off, but she was outnumbered. Then came the worst part. As she struggled, the two pitchers of lemonade were tipped over her head. The sticky liquid cascaded down her in a torrent, soaking her from head to toe, making it hard to breathe.

She gasped, sputtering, her hands feebly trying to shield her face, but it was no use. The sweet lemonade was matting her hair and weighing her down. The laughter and sneers from the group rang in her ears as they left her behind, following a furious and drenched Rebecca without a second glance.

Delia's thoughts turned to her clothes, her favorite clothes that her mother had bought just for her. How was she ever going to explain this when she got home? The lemonade had stained everything, and her mother's worried face flashed in her mind. Delia's heart sank even deeper.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered weakly to the last few kids lingering by the curb. "I just wanted..."

"Just wanted what?" snapped one of the boys, bitter. He stepped closer, glaring down at her. "You have everything, Delia. Your parents have money, you're the only kid, and they give you all the attention. I bet you can do whatever you want, whenever you want."

Delia looked up at him, her chest tightening. She opened her mouth to respond, to explain that it wasn't like that at all, that she wasn't like they thought, but no words came. The group gave her one last cold look before turning away, following the others without waiting for an answer.

Delia lay there on the grass, her entire body drenched, the lemonade stand ruined. She didn't even try to get up right away. She was too stunned, too humiliated. Her heart ached in a way she didn't understand, silent and alone. She didn't reach out to wipe her eyes. Then she knew what she should have said. That she wanted real friends.