I think I knew at some point - that undistinguishing line between sleep and the moment of waking - it was a dream, but as I sit here now, sunlight upon my bed, I'm confused. Thoughts spin quietly in my mind, the events from last night creeping back to consciousness. I want to cradle my head and sleep again. I need to nourish my hunger, quench the wanting thirst, but I know there's no cure for this.

My cell buzzes, Angela telling me she'll be over in thirty minutes to pick me up. I force my feet to the floor, to walk across the hall to my bathroom and into the shower, scrubbing last night down the drain. I still think of Edward talking to my parents, the greatest and worst secret of my life touching my shoulder in front of my wardens.

I'm going to let my hair air dry. I'm not concerned about the way I look. It's going to rain later. I pull on my shirt and jeans, socks and boots, grab a jacket and my cell then I'm out the door and on the stairs. Dad is at the kitchen sink, his back to me. He's motionless. I know he hears my steps.

"Where are you off to?" He turns. Red half circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept well.

"I told mom I was going to Port Angeles today."

"By yourself?" It's defensive, on the edge of some lecture I've heard about going places alone.

"No. With Angela and Jessica."

"Weren't you with them last weekend?"

"For a little while." I tuck my jacket closer to me as I see Angela's old, white Sunbird stop in front of the house. The small horn blurs into the morning, through the walls to announce her arrival.

"Alright, you got your spray?" His hand-animates the spray. I nod. "Don't be back too late, and send a text when you get there and before you leave."

"I will," I say walking out the door.

"Bella." Dad follows me out the door, traps the warmth inside. He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flipping a few twenties into my hand. "I know your mom gave you a hundred dollar limit, but there's a little extra. You know...just in case."

Dad covers my bases, and under that cop-stache there's a smile. "Thanks." I hug him in the morning chill then trek through the yard to the car. Jessica is in the front seat, drinking a gas station cappuccino of corn syrup and flavor. It smells of air freshener and clean girl products inside, and the heat is on. School books take up some of the backseat, papers intrude my feet space. Angela hasn't always been the cleanest. I feel rude stepping all over her papers, but I'm not given much choice and she doesn't direct me to do otherwise.

"Morning," I say.

They greet me and continue their conversation about Lauren and her 'squad of whores' as Jess likes to call them. They're non-stop the entire way, on and off about various topics from school to True Blood to dresses.

Port Angeles is a little over an hour away. When we arrive at the store, the ladies are just coming back from lunch. Their black suits are either too loose or too tight. I'm not sure I trust the dress advice they seem ready to give away. I look around, my fingertips slipping through the silky materials, in and out, curious what would look good on me. This experience is new. I didn't attend junior prom because I wasn't asked and didn't feel like showing up solo. Even with dad's extra sixty bucks I'm not sure I'll be buying a dress here after looking at the price tag for some. I may be showing up in jeans.

Jess and Angela are already pulling potentials off the walls, stacking them in dressing rooms, waiting to slip into them and prance in front of a wall of mirrors.

"How's it coming along?" The short-hair girl asks. Her eyes are brown and pretty, her olive skin clear.

"Not at all, actually," I say. I don't belong here.

"Do you know your shape?"

"Average?"

"Let me look at you." She grins and pulls my t-shirt tight against my body, steps back and looks hard for curves I know aren't there. "You're almost an hourglass. Size?"

I tell her.

"I know something that would be perfect for you." She steps away and in a few minutes comes back with a thin strap aqua blue.

I don't know about it. It's low-cut. "That's revealing." I pick up the price tag. It's too much. I shake my head, revealing my budget and she says okay, taking it away.

She brings a few twenty dollars more over budget and an ugly lime. I'm ready to give up. I want to text Emmett to tell him I'm not going, but the attendant comes back with a few choices in hand. They're all within budget she says, and they're all my size. I don't hate them and decide to take them into the changing room they've designated for me. The first is black. It doesn't have any straps, leaving me to wonder how it's going to stay up and how I'm going to wear my bra. I take it off quickly and carefully drape it back on the hanger.

The second is pink. It sparkles. I model it on the platform outside, listening to the four girls tell me how it suits my skin color. Jess says it's sexy. I smile. I change.

The third looks strange on the hanger. I step in, pull it up and debate on going out. It doesn't show too much and I like that. The lace neckline cuts across my collarbone in a beautiful divot pattern. It's sleeveless, hugs my hips with it's lace overlay. I want it to be the one. I feel sexy yet subtle. I check the price tag. It's only ninety. I open the door and venture to the platform, checking the low dip in the back, exposing my skin. The attendants tell me I look amazing. Are they telling the truth, or are they trying to sell me a dress?

I call for Jess and Angela and they pop out in colorful gowns with sequins and beads. Mine has no beads. No sparkle or splash of youth. It's too sophisticated.

"Holy shit, Bella," Jess says. "I'm jealous. That dress is amazing."

"Really?" I ask and turn to look at myself again.

She nods.

"Bella, you look beautiful!" Angela says. Her hands are in my hair, tangling and pretend-pinning it to my head with tendrils hanging in my face. "You could do your hair like this, a messy up-do."

"You don't think it looks too old?" I ask. I scrunch my brows.

She shakes her head. "This is beautiful on you."

I smile a little and shrug a little. It's in my price range. Speaking of which. I turn to the attendants. "Are you sure this is the price? It says ninety." I show her the price tag. She assures me it's correct.

My eyes are in the mirror again. Curious second glances and wonderings of an indecisive girl. I try to picture myself there, hanging on Emmett's arm, dancing and sitting with my friends, drinking punch, pretending to be grown-ups. I imagine how he will look at me in this dress.

Then I'm really looking at it. The way it hugs me. The color against my skin. Red on pale. I swallow.

I know this is the one.

Because Edward's favorite color is red.