Letting go of those designs had felt like a small step on my way to finding the artist inside me again, as if I’d climbed a hill and reached the top. It wasn’t quite the mountain, but I knew if I kept putting one step in front of the other, eventually I’d get to the summit.

And then I thought of Declan. Again. What if he was everything I’d been unconsciously searching for these past two years? What if he was the one I was meant to love—right in my hands—and I was letting him slip away? Emotion swelled in my chest. Telling him to leave me alone had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done, and I hadn’t been able to sleep or think about anything but him for the past two days. His face. His eyes. His cocky grin. God, his kindness.

Before I knew it, we’d stepped inside the shop and were met by a sales lady.

“Can I help you, dears?” the older lady asked.

“I’d like to look at the dress in the window,” I said.

She showed us how to get up to the display through some rickety steps to the left of the window. “Go on up there and have a look, everyone does. It’s a small space, but you can move around. Just be careful.”

We nodded and went that way.

“Best we can estimate, the dress was manufactured here in the US. It’s a hundred percent silk with a lace overlay,” she called out from behind us as we stepped into the brightness of the window.

We checked the price tag. One fifty. Pricey.

I fingered the soft lace at the sleeve.

Why did I even want it? Where would I wear it?

“Try it on,” Shelley said in a hushed voice, which was odd, yet it was as if we both sensed the precipice I was standing on.

Without thinking too hard, I found myself whisked into the dressing room by the saleslady while Shelley followed to help me into the dress.

The material slid over my neck and arms, and when I turned to look in the mirror, the girl I saw there wasn’t the same one from Monday, the one who’d told the most beautiful guy he was only a one-night stand. This girl—she was almost radiant. Happy.

“What do you think?” I asked, and I heard the uncertainty in my voice.

Shelley’s face lit up in a big grin. “You’re gorgeous in it, of course, but you’d need to give it to me so I can do my thing. Maybe chop off the length—but keep the lace—and bring in the waist so it isn’t as loose.” She sighed heavily.

“What?”

“Pink always was your color …” I figured she was remembering the day we went shopping for our prom dresses and no matter what store I went in, I always gravitated toward the pink ones.

“Buy it, Elizabeth. And then fucking wear it—heck, even if it’s just to class. Prove to yourself that Colby doesn’t matter anymore, that he may have taken something precious from you, but he didn’t ruin you forever.” A mist covered her eyes.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Oh, Shelley. I adore you. Thank you for being my friend through all of this.”

She shook her head and wiped at her eyes, a rueful grin on her face. “God, I’m so stupid. Sorry. It’s just—seeing you walk into that interview today with your head held high and now you’re trying on this dress? I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to see this moment.”

Emotion welled, and I hugged her hard.

I realized it was time to stop being a coward.

KNOWING AND DOING are not the same thing. I spent lonely nights in my bed, wishing I’d have a nightmare so Declan would come wake me up. Hold me. I was pathetic, and if I was a drinking girl, I would have used alcohol to make it better.

Declan was doing exactly what I’d asked him to do: leaving me alone.

The night after I’d bought the dress, I invited Blake over, mostly because I was jittery about Colby. We went out to the balcony to sit for a while, and Declan had been out on his, his elbows propped up on the railing, his bare chest glistening in the moonlight. I’d said hi. He’d nodded his response and stalked back inside. Later, after Blake had left, I’d heard a girl’s voice coming from his side of the wall, and when I’d gone out to take the trash to the dumpster, I saw Lorna from Lit class leaving his place. She’d flounced past me on the stairs with a knowing smirk on her lipstick-smeared face. Sharp pain knifed into me at the thought of him kissing her the way he’d kissed me.

Had he already moved on to the next girl? Was that how little I meant to him?

You did this, I reminded myself.

By Friday, I walked into Lit class determined to confront him and make him talk to me. He was already sitting next to Lorna, both their heads bent in a low conversation. Today , I told myself, talk to him. Tell him how you feel. And, God, I wanted to tell him—but my insecurities and fear needed him to show me he still wanted me first.