“Mariah? Is that you?"
There is no way I heard that right. She couldn’t have been talking to me. That couldn't have been meant for me.
"Mariah?"
Sadly, there is no mistaking it this time. Seriously? Not again. The number of times this has happened is way too high. I paste an insincere smile on my face and turn towards the voice. No. No, I am not Mariah. But then again, I might as well be.

I'd like to think it'd be obvious to anyone that I am not my little sister. A three year age difference should have graced me with some distinguishing feature. But apparently not. Even after hearing these mistakes time and time again, I'm still not used to them. I want to be Laurel all the time. And right now, that is not the case.

All of us three sisters look alike. Especially Mariah and me. Sometimes, when we’re out together, people ask us if we’re twins. Is it not obvious how much older I am? I can understand where the confusion starts for people who don’t know us well. We have the same hair color, face shape, and voice. We're even the same height, but she's getting taller everyday.

Every inch that begins to separate us makes me believe that one day we'll be easier to distinguish. I'll no longer be Mariah half the time. I can go back to just being me. Then I’ll have my identity back. Then people will remember who I am. Then I’ll just be Laurel again.