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.

Dax sat next to me and poked me on the arm. “Hiya, girl. You okay? You look odd—well, you’re always odd—but you look stranger than usual today.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s just I hate seeing Declan with her,” I whispered as I nudged my head to the couple behind me.

He flicked his eyes to the couple and then back to me. “Yeah? If it bothers you, then do something about it. It has to be you now.” His eyes studied mine. “You feel me?”

I nodded and then Dr. Feldman came in the auditorium. I pushed Declan out of my mind and focused on Darcy instead. At least a fictional character couldn’t hurt me.

ON SATURDAY MORNING, I tried to psych myself up to approach Declan, but he wasn’t home. I knew because I constantly watched for his Jeep in the parking lot. By lunchtime I was restless, so I drove by his gym. His car was there, but then I couldn’t bring myself to stop and go in.

While I was driving home, an idea struck.

With determined steps, I went into the extra bedroom. I unpacked my jewelry tools from their boxes and spread them out on the desk, running my fingers across the cold sheet metal.

A shift occurred inside me, small yet significant, something that had been building for the past few weeks. I let go of the constant control I kept over myself, and suddenly my fingers itched. To create.

I looked deep inside myself and asked tough questions.

Where was my power?

Where was my belief in myself?

It was here all along, a small voice said.

Using 18-gauge sheet metal, I measured one of the bigger ring sizes on the metal that I thought would fit him. Without thinking too much about the significance of it, I etched one of the dragonfly designs I’d drawn earlier to what would be the inside of his ring. After that, I used my saw to cut out the band, filed it, and then used my butane torch to make the metal more pliable. I pickled the piece with vinegar and hot water, getting rid of some of the oxidation on the surface. Next, I used my pliers to shape it into a circle and then soldered it with my torch to connect the edges. After pickling it again and filing and sanding down the seam, I slipped it on a metal rod and began the hammering process, the tinkling sound echoing through my apartment. The last step was to toss the ring in my jewelry tumbler and let it roll around, getting polished. I took it out and set the ring down on my nightstand to dry.

I stared at it with deep satisfaction. He’d have a small piece of me even if he didn’t want my heart anymore.

My phone pinged, reminding me that I had dinner plans with Blake and Shelley. Shelley had said a band was playing, so I spent extra time getting ready, putting on my newly altered pink dress and a pair of silver strappy heels. It was a bit overboard for the restaurant, but I didn’t care.

That dress was my armor, proof I was changing a little bit every day.

At the last minute, I ran back to the bedroom and straight to the jewelry box, I found a chain, slipped Declan’s ring on it, and clasped it around my neck.

Perhaps I would never give it to him, but I wanted it against my skin.

When I walked out, I saw his Jeep in the lot. Before I could second-guess myself, I knocked on his door. Emotion was clawing at my chest, and I was teetering on the edge of—what?

What was I going to say?

Was I going to beg him to give me another chance?

Maybe.

But he never answered.

“WHOA, LOVE,” SAID a male voice. “You better slow down there or you’ll fall.” Strong, tattooed arms reached out to steady my momentum as I stumbled walking inside Cadillac’s.

I’d know that husky voice anywhere.

Declan.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him here. It was Saturday night, and if there weren’t any frat parties, this was the place to be. He wore jeans and a nicer shirt than usual, and I found myself remembering how he’d looked in his gi pants with his chest bared and scars showing.