"You're really strange," she mused down the line.

"Yeah, duly noted. Now, listen," Pausing to crank the engine, I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and reversed out of my driveway. "I'm on the way to your house now. Please tell me that your stabilized mood includes a change of heart about the dance?"

"Actually, you'll be surprised to know that it has."

My brows shot up. "For real?"

"Yeah," came her breathy reply. "I'm right here waiting if you still want to go with me."

Jesus…

"There ain't anyone else I wanna go with," I roughly cleared my throat and stepped on the gas. "I'll see you soon."

20 Molly

Rourke Owens was an incurable asshole.

He was also a straight-talking, no-nonsense SOB who had made regrettably valid points in the midst of chewing me out.

I wasn't sure if I was pissed off with Rourke or pumped up.

It had been one hell of a pep talk.

Before the fire, I had never once let Britt or Ash chase me off. I never tolerated their crap when we were kids, so why was I doing it now?

God, I hated when Rourke was right…

Whatever the reasons, I found myself standing the foyer, in a full-length, long-sleeved white dress, with my father staring me like I had lost my ever-loving mind.

"You're going to homecoming," Dad said, repeating the words I'd just spoken.

"Yeah."

"Homecoming dance?"

"Yes, Dad."

"But you don't go to things like that…"

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Are you sure you want to do this –"

"Oh my god, Dad!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he hurried to soothe. "Are you going to the dance alone?"

"No, not alone." I replied, wetting my lips. "I have a date– a Daryl. I have a Daryl date. I mean I'm going with Daryl."

"Daryl King is taking you to the dance?" my father deadpanned.

I shrugged. "That's the plan."

"I see." I knew that tone. It was the one my father used when he was upset. "What about our talk?"

"What about it?"

"Didn't we talk about prevention being better than a cure?"

It's too late for that, Dad, I was infected years ago…

"We're going as friends, Dad," I decided to offer up. "That's all."

There was no relief in his eyes when I said that.

All I could see in his eyes, on his face, was resignation and concern.

"Don't look at me like that," I begged, feeling all jittery and nervous. "I'm stressed enough as it stands." Pulling on the lace sleeves of my dress, I blew out a shaky breath and tried to get a grip. "Can you see them?"

"Them?"

"My burns, Dad," I choked out, twirling around self-consciously. "Are they visible through the lace?"

"Molly-Sue, you look so beautiful –"

"The scars, Dad," I bit out, teeth chattering from anxiety now. "Can you see them?"

"No, baby," Dad replied sadly. "I can't see them."

The doorbell rang and my heart rate skyrocketed.