Neither, this can’t be real.

When it comes right down to it you just can't buy anything. There is no way that crazy old woman was telling the truth, and what if she was, these clothes were meant to be a costume, not something you would wear everyday. Carefully, you put everything back and make your way to the door, ignoring the call of, “Can I help you?” Coming from the teller as you go.
Walking through the mall you soon put it all out of your mind, “Crazy old lady.” You say to yourself as you get across the mall. “Magic isn’t real. Crazy.” While you still kinda want to go to the concert, this whole thing still freaks you out a little. Rounding a corner you are again startled as you see the old woman standing a few feet in front of you, she isn't moving, she is just standing there staring at you. Taking a step back you let out a little gasp, but don't say anything. Till the impossible happens, a couple of girls walking along toward you, walk right through the old woman as if she wasn't there. “So this is real?” You ask her.

The two girls hear you and one asks, “What?”

The old lady just nods. “Buy something and see.” Her voice echoes in your head. As it does, it conjures images of all sorts of girls getting dressed and posing, as if to show you options. “This is crazy.” You say quietly and walk away from the two staring girls. They were cute. I liked her leggings. You shake dirty thoughts away. No they were teenagers. Eh, they weren’t in school, still, probably 18 or 19, or just skipped school. Your mind flips about sort of, it is hard to focus, other thoughts keep creeping in.

A pair of cute beige slip on running shoes with pink soles catch your attention. “Oh my god I’ve been looking for those.” You say with delight and head in. The woman in the store helps you find just the right size, size 7, and talks you into adding a three pack of neon no show socks. As you exit the store you feel odd, why did she say you were a size 7? The shoes are tiny. You turn to head for your car. A pair of small black leggings and a couple of small sports bras later and you shake your head. “Ugh, what is going on?” You blink a few times. The perfect little blue bikini and some nice biker shorts demand to be purchased. You grab a size small and head up to the front counter. A swipe of your Visa card and the teller has you sign the receipt.

Zoe Raine. You stare at the signature. It came so easily. The teller asks, “Is everything okay?”

You look up at her. She is maybe 5’7” or so, but she is taller than you. You look down. A black crop top, leggings, and the shoes you bought adorn a rail thin, sort of athletic, body. Your body. But when? How? What is going on? This can’t be real, right? “I just remembered I forgot to do. I’m fine. Thanks I’ve gotta get out of here.”

She hands you the receipt. “Have a nice day.” You rush out of the store. Look left, right, but, it isn’t your mall. You have no idea where you are.