Port Angeles
"It's not too soon to look at dresses. Prom is like, less than two months away!" Angela has her arm hooked in Bella's and speaks in a voice half-way between encouraging and cajoling.
"You guys already went last year," Bella protests.
"Yeah, but you didn't," Mike rejoins.
It's the end of the day and the group of them are walking across the school parking lot to Tyler's van, and Mike's Corolla that he got handed down from his grandfather who had a stroke last fall. The drizzle is making ponchos and hoods-up on jackets mandatory, but no one bothers with an umbrella. They're all long-acclimated. Even "Arizona."
For Bella, the conversation is a pain-cratered no-man's-land of evasion and concealment in the face of friends who have cared enough to keep trying to reach out to her after all. The new kid. The weirdo The freakishly accident-prone. But here they are. Still. Walking with her. Angela's arm in hers.
"I don't have anyone to go with."
"You don't need a date," Lauren says.
"We did the couples thing last year," Jessica explains. "We're going in a posse this time. It's gonna be fun."
"C'mon, girl!" Tyler.
"It'll be like La Push," Eric says, "Only warmer, with music, and punch!" The group laughs, and someone makes a crack about Elliot and his hip flask.
"Don't listen to them," Angela confides. "He's not really going to spike the punch." Angela looks at Bella's face. As she always does. She doesn't know what Bella is holding back, but she can see that it hurts. Everyone knows that Bella has been depressed. Or PTSD. Or something. With everything that happened to her, and whatever it was between her and Edward Cullen … and then that fire … who wouldn't be? But that's why having a fun night out with friends is important.
"You won't be by yourself. We'll all be together. And there's an after party if you want to come." Seeing Bella's expression, she hastens to add, "It's totally cool if you don't want to. We'll take you home."
Bella ducks her head and scuffs at the ground.
"No one's dissing your truck, Arizona. We're just telling you we got your back."
Jessica pinches Mike's arm. "Don't call her that," she whispers. "She doesn't like it."
"Guys." It's all that Bella can squeeze out past the huge lump in her throat.
"So, is that a yes? We're going to Port Angeles after 5th period tomorrow." Because sixth period is study hall and they all are seniors now, and no one will care if they ditch.
"I don't have any money." That's true. It's completely true. She has spent all of her savings, and all of her allowance, down to the last dime. On … something else.
There is a short silence, then the girls chime in staunchly.
"Don't worry."
"We'll figure it out."
"I'm sure your dad will help you out if you ask. He's a good guy."
There is really nothing left for Bella to say, now, but "yes." She thinks of the blue velvet dress, the house where she put it on, Alice braiding her hair. The underclothes so prettily embroidered, and softer than anything she had ever worn. The deep, deep blue, floor length, with simple satin ribbon under the bodice.
Lying there on the fluffy rug, absorbed in the innocence of Trigonometry, Alice's arm strangely cool against hers through their sleeves. The gentle rain dripping from the eaves, the tock of the deer-scarer, Rosalie with her puzzle, Emmett and Jasper with their chess. And Edward. Coming down quietly from his room. Sitting down to the piano in his Sunday best. And the music. Soft and longing as the night. Dipping and soaring. The dark bird. The unfinished dream.
Somehow, she is able to arrive safely to home. And the cloth that waits in her closet.