Prologue
Bella's Point Of View
My eyes traced the grooves of the underside of the mahogany table in Alice's, my best friends, dining room table.
God, how pathetic can I get? I should just face my fears, right?
That's what everyone tries to tell you. I sighed and got up from under the table.
I dragged my feet on the soft, snow white carpet up the stairs to Alice's room.
"Alice?" I called out as I crossed my arms across my chest.
My grey NYU swim team hoodie was three times too big and hung over my light blue jeans or as Alice called "light washed" jeans. What ever.
Alice suddenly appeared with her hands on her small hips in the door way.
"Running away isn't very mature, Bella." I just sighed and sat the in violet salon seat. She rummaged around her bathroom cabinet until she found a pair of silver, gleaming scissors.