Thursday - January 11, 2018 - 4:39 p.m.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd stepped foot in a mall. To be honest, I avoided them all costs. As a member of the female species, being surrounded by clothes and shoes when you didn't have a penny to your name wasn't something I'd wish upon my worst enemy. Still, I exerted maximum patience as Olivia and I strolled past the trendy shops and flashy kiosks, their temptation growing stronger with every second.

We stopped briefly at an automated machine where used giftcards could be exchanged for cash. Olivia grossed a whopping Andrew Jackson for fifty-five dollars worth of iTunes credits. I knew that wouldn't make a dent in the two-thousand-dollar dresses we were about to browse, but I supposed it was a start.

The smell of soft pretzels and stir fry teased my nostrils as we passed through the crowded food court. I was surprised to see the mall so packed on a Tuesday at 4 p.m. Olivia stopped in her tracks as we approached a shop whose sign read La Femme in neon pink letters.

"Remember, if you see me lay a finger on my debit card, you have permission to bare-knuckle box me. I'm just here to get the lay of the land."

"I sure hope you're not bluffing," I teased.

Just as we prepared to scope out the terrain, an obnoxiously perky saleslady popped up from behind a rack of strapless evening gowns. Judging solely off of looks, she seemed to be a rather poor representative for a business centered around appearance. Her crimped, eighties hair poured down over her knockoff Raybans, which I wasn't entirely sure why she was wearing indoors. I couldn't tell whether the series of rips along her faded blue jeggings were intentional or simply due to years of excessive stretching. I got the impression that this may have been her top career choice. She stared at us for a moment with a crazed look in her eye, as if she were fresh off a Red Bull binge and hadn't had a customer in years.

"How can I help you gals?" Her shrill voice was two octaves too high for her age.

"We're here to look at prom dresses," Olivia answered. I could tell by her voice that even she was uncomfortable.

"You girlies are in the right place! What can I do you for? Strapless? Sequins? High-slit? You name it, I make it happen!"

We spent the next two hours roaming around the salesfloor as our personal tour guide gave us a lengthy rundown of the selection, rambling a mile a minute about pros and cons of various fabrics, notable designers to keep in mind, the crucialness of proper undergarments. Olivia snapped copious pictures of every mannequin. I couldn't image how there was a megabyte of storage left on her phone.

As we strolled from one display to the next, I tried my best to maintain an expression of genuine interest. In actuality, had no desire to be surrounded by stunning, four-figure dresses for a prom I wasn't even attending.

After making her selections, Olivia bolted at full speed to the dressing rooms and got straight to work.

"Jesus Christ, that woman can talk," I said, laying across the hard white sofa as Olivia tossed another reject over the door.

"You're not trying anything on?" she asked.

"I don't know..." I chose my next words carefully, so as not to reveal the slightest inkling of my true intentions. "It seems a little early, doesn't it?"

"Early?" she asked in a bewildered voice. "It's prom! We're in crunch time, sweetheart! The winter months are a vital prep period. We've waited four long, hard years for this. I'm dangerously close to renting a party bus."

I mustered a tentative smile. I supposed it wouldn't hurt to try something on. It would go right back on the rack afterwards. Yet I knew seeing myself in some lavish gown would only inflame the regret. Even if I were to stick around for prom, it wouldn't have been the same without Brandon linked to my arm. The expectations I'd fostered in my mind for the past four years were just too high to be fulfilled at this point. Not going at all seemed like a better option that subjecting myself to the imminent disappointment.

Despite my own lack of enthusiasm, I refused to put a damper on Olivia's. I waited patiently on the couch as she experimented with what felt like the entire inventory.

"What do you think?" she asked as she emerged from the stall. 

"I really like this one."

And I wasn't just saying that to get her out the door. The sea-blue bodycon hugged her slender figure perfectly. She had one of those body types that could pull off any article of clothing ever conceived. She could make a rain poncho look like an Oscar de la Renta piece.

She swirled around a few more times, giddily admiring herself in the three-way mirror. "I'm not sure if strapless is an option this year," she said, glancing apprehensively at her chest. "I don't think the girls are up for that. I'm not trying to pull a Janet Jackson out on the dance floor."

I indulged in a much-needed laugh. Olivia's crude sense of humor was one of the things I was going to miss most.

"You should really invest in an industrial strength bra. You'd have a million more options."

"Not a bad idea," she said as she sifted through the remaining contenders. A few moments later, she sat down beside me, taking my hands in hers. "Look, I know things didn't work out with Brandon, but please don't let that keep you from having the senior year you always imagined. It's going to be an incredible night—with or without him.

I smiled. "What about Axel? Don't tell me you're standing him up just for me?"

"Oh please," she sneered. "As soon as the obligatory slow dance is out of the way, I'm sure he'll abandon me to go dick around with the other football boneheads. Trust me, I'll be yours a solid ninety percent of the night."

I forced a thankful smile, knowing good and well I'd be a thousand miles away.

After dress fifteen or so, Olivia had narrowed it down to three worthy contenders: a gold-sequin with black leather trim, a poofy marroon for which I didn't care too much, and, my personal favorite, an emerald satin lace up.

"I'll ask her to put these three on hold," she said. "I need a few weeks to sleep on it."

The frighteningly chipper saleslady refused to let us leave without tacking both of our email addresses onto their marketing list. Apparently we would be receiving a five-percent off coupon within the next five to seven business days.

Five percent off of four-grand, I thought. Thanks a fuckin' lot.

Three steps from the exit, I caught a glimpse of a dress in the front corner of the store. I was almost positive I'd seen that very dress before, recently even, but I couldn't pin down where. The piece was four feet of cherry red, pearl-beaded perfection, a shimmering silk band flowing across the chest. The rich fabric glittered under the store lights.

Something inside me faltered as its vague familiarity suddenly dawned on me. It was the same dress Hazel had worn to the Homecoming dance.

Without an explanation, I walked slowly towards it, locked in a hypnotic trance. Olivia followed close behind me. I stood there, recalling how wonderfully it had fit her, how it had accentuated her flawless body better than any mannequin. I remembered getting ready at her house before the dance, watching her as she prepared in the mirror, going on and on about how beautiful she hoped she looked.

You got your wish, I assured her.

A burning tear seeped from my eye without warning, running down my cheek before I could suppress it. I turned my head away, hoping to conceal my this episode. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I knew it was too late.

"She looked amazing in this dress," Olivia said, shedding a few of her own tears. "I really miss her, Cassie. I miss her so much. I don't know what to do sometimes. Every morning, when I wake up, this all feels like some horrible, unfair dream. I always have this urge to call her phone or shoot her a text, just to be sure she's really gone."

I pulled her into my arms as she continued sobbing into my shoulders. After a few minutes, she pulled back, using her sleeve to erase the streaks mascara flooding down her cheeks.

"I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you right now, Cassie. I really don't."

I forced my lips into a reassuring smile.

You're about to find out.

The drive home was filled with a melancholy silence. When we got back to her house, I headed upstairs to her room while she snagged a bottle of her parents' wine from the basement. We locked ourselves in her room the rest of the night, listening to the sappy ballads of Jesse McCartney as we enjoyed a few too many glasses of Riesling. It was as relaxing and magical a night as it could've been without the company of Zara.

On the walk back home, my head throbbed with anxiety as Olivia's words echoed on a loop. I hadn't realized I was such a source of solace for her right now, and this made the prospect of leaving ten times more difficult.

Tonight's specialty was roasted cabbage and oyster casserole that largely resembled a heaping dish of wet dog food. As per usual, my appetite instantly vanished as I sat down at the dining room table.

"We haven't seen much of Brandon lately," my dad said in between his hefty bites. "How's he doing?"

I hadn't mentioned anything to my parents about our breakup, and there was no point in dropping the ball when I'd be gone in two days. I had no energy for an interrogation right now. They'd find out soon enough.

"Fine," I lied, struggling to stomach the cabbage.

"Fine?" my mother asked. One word answers never satisfied her.

"Yes," I repeated curtly.

"Interesting that you say that." She took a slow sip of Sauvignon Blanc. "I ran into his mother at the grocery store this afternoon."

I glanced up from my soup with nervous curiosity. I prayed this conversation wasn't heading in the direction I suspected.

"So?"

"So," she sneered, "I looked pretty foolish when she informed me that Brandon no longer has a girlfriend."

My dad nearly choked on his casserole. "No longer has a...." The initial confusion in his eyes faded as he made the connection. "Sweetie...did something happen with you two?"

I nodded glumly.

"Something sure did happen," my mom continued. "And I would've much preferred to hear it from my own daughter."

I ignored her, fidgeting with my fork and channeling every ounce of energy into containing my annoyance.

"It's none of your business," I said calmly.

"Who my daughter spends her time with is most definitely my business." She pushed her plate aside in aggravation. "Is it really that much of a burden to keep us in the loop from time to time? Why do you always feel the need to bottle everything up? You don't have to be so afraid all the time, sweetheart."

"I'm not afraid of anything," I said, flinging down my fork. "I'm sorry I don't broadcast every minor detail of my life to you."

"In what world is splitting up with your boyfriend of four years a minor detail?" Her voice was growing more irate with every word she spoke. I knew we were only seconds away from our next shouting match.

"Mine," I answered quietly, trying to keep my cool. "Now you know. So, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that withholding stuff like this from your family isn't healthy," she snapped. "We're your parents, Cassie. You have no business keeping things like that from us. Brandon was a huge part of your life, wasn't he? I don't understand why you would keep quiet about something like this. I just don't understand."

"I don't care if you don't understand!" I shot out of my seat, my body shaking with rage. "You don't have to understand it! It's my life, for Christ's sake! Is your own so dull and meaningless that you have to scratch and pry at every little facet of mine? Did you ever think that maybe the reason I'm not itching to confide every last one of my secrets in you is because you constantly use them as leverage against me? The truth is a privilege."

I could feel my neck becoming tense. There was a slight throbbing in my temples as my irritation reached its summit. I had the sudden urge to get as far away as possible from her, before I succumbed to another violent outburst.

"I have homework," I muttered, abandoning my scarcely touched dinner and hustling up the stairs.

"Cassie Marie! You get back here right now!"

"Let her go, Jean," I heard my father's meager voice say before slamming my bedroom door shut.

I plummeted face first onto my bed, still shaking, sobbing uncontrollably. I indulged in a few deep breaths to calm my accelerated pulse.

Was I the one in the wrong? Was all of her anger and indignation justified? Perhaps I truly was the careless bitch of a daughter she made me out to be.

After I'd pulled myself together—as together as possible at the current moment—I scurried over to my closet and began shoving handfuls of clothes into the Minnie Mouse duffel bag I hadn't used since my birthday trip to Epcot ten years ago. They definitely weren't up to NYC fashion standards, but money wasn't on my side at the moment, so they would have to do. I then grabbed my backpack and started filling it with anything I thought would be of use for my journey. I leaned under my bed and pulled out an old Converse shoebox where I'd complied memorabilia over the years. I knew I would have to be conservative with my cargo, but I couldn't leave this place without a few invaluable pieces of nostalgia.

By some cruel twist of fate, the first thing that caught my eye was a faded Polaroid of Hazel and I at our first cheer practice freshman year. I quickly stowed it away into my Michael Kors clutch, which I prayed I wouldn't have to end up pawning on Craigslist just to put food on the table. I grabbed the mason jar from my desk drawer, meticulously counting the withered bills inside. Seventy-four dollars. This wouldn't afford me much wiggle room, and I knew I couldn't waste any time finding a job once we got to NYC.

A high-pitched ding erupted from the corner of the room. I sauntered over to my desk to see who had texted me.

Brandon: 1 New Message.

The muscles in my fingers tensed up I punched in my passcode.

Hey. The past month has really sucked for me. Can we just put all this behind us? I know it's been a rough situation, but I think it's worth working through. I've never had a connection like this before. I'm afraid I might not find someone like you ever again. I forgive you, Cassie. Please call me when you get this. Please.

My face burned with guilt.

He deserved worlds better than me. Yet here he was with open arms, ready to welcome back the girl who'd shoved him onto the backburner the past three months, only to push him into the flames altogether. My heart faltered as I absorbed this strange truth.

As if on cue, Zara's words fluttered into my throbbing head.

Never let the darkness of the past blind you from the brightness of the future.

With a long, confident breath, I picked up the phone and took one last look at Brandon's message, my finger trembling as I hit Block.