A week had passed since I blew that ill-fated kiss. Everywhere I turned Nick Hartman seemed to be there watching, waiting, looking for the opportunity to get me alone. Damien never left my side, except to drop me off at home after school. He was very protective of me and it was kind of cute, in an odd sort of way.

     I decided to do away with the faux black hair that was plaguing my head like a disease.  After Damien had dropped me off I asked my dad, Bob, to drive me to the pharmacy. I grabbed a box of hair-color and we headed back home. The later results were not exactly what I had hoped for, but it was better than the ominous black it was before.

     Emma stared at me curiously. When she was done scrutinizing me she said, “Sissy your hair don’t look scary no-more.”

     “Thanks Emma. Now I need some new clothes!”

     “New clothes?” a voice called from the hall. “I just bought you new clothes before school started,” my mom Alice said chagrined.

     “If you’re referring to the black attire shrouding my body, I feel as though I’m cloaked in darkness!”

     “Don’t be so dramatic, Lizzie. After all, they’re your clothes! You picked them out!” She said flinging open my bedroom door. Her eyes locked on mine.

     “Are you sure about that?” I asked.

     She stood there awe-struck gazing at my newly lightened hair.  “You don’t seriously think I designed your wardrobe. Do you?”

    “No. . .of course not. I just don’t recall wearing so much black!”

    “Better get used it. I can’t afford to buy you new clothes.” Unexpectedly, the door bell rang. “By the way the new hair color is definitely an improvement,” she said before leaving my room.

     “Ugh!” I threw myself onto the pile of clothes strewn across my bed.

     “What’s the matter, Lizzie?” Emma asked.

     “I’m tired of black!”

     “Really?” Damien asked, standing in my doorway.  Surprised, I turned to face him. He looked at me shocked “What’s with the hair?” he said wrinkling his nose.

     “I lightened it. Why? Don’t you like it?”

     “Nah, I think it looks great . . .”

      “Well, I don’t feel great . . . I hate all this black! It’s depressing,” I said motioning to the clothes covering my bed.

     “So, get some new threads.”

     “I can’t Damien . . . No money.”

     “Hmm …I know where you can get some clothes cheap!”

     “Where’s that?”

     “Good Will …”

    “You can’t be serious . . . Good Will?”

    “You have no money and all I have is a twenty. Looks like you haven’t got much of a choice.”

    “Why are you here anyway?” I asked.

    “You forgot your science book in my car,” he said handing it to me and I quickly snatched it from his hand. “A simple thank you might be nice.”

     “Thanks,” I said tossing the book onto my bed. “Hey you want to hang out tonight?”

     “Sure . . . you want to go to the point?” he said smiling wickedly.

     I crossed my arms disgusted. “No, I don’t want to go to the point!  I want to go to the game.”

     Damien looked at me puzzled, “The game . . . As in football game?”

    “Yeah. . .”

    “Since when did you become a sports fan?”

    “I don’t know. I just thought it would be fun . . .”

    “Fun? I’d rather have a root canal!”

    “Come on we’ll have a good time . . . you can taunt the other team,” I said trying to entice him.

    “Sorry, but my idea of a good time doesn’t include twenty-two guys and a football.”

    “Please . . .”

     Damien’s eyes met mine and his expression softened. “Alright, I’ll go but only for a while.”

     I slipped onto the seat of the Dodge Challenger and Damien cranked up the music. I studied him as he drove. His fingerless black leather gloves hugged his hands as he gripped the steering wheel. Black polish painted his nails and his hair fell softly over his brow. His high cheekbones defined his face and his green eyes glistened in the moonlight. I became conscious of why I'd been attracted to Damien before the accident. He really was gorgeous but he hid his good-looks under a veil of black liner.

      “Do you enjoy resembling, Nosferatu?” I asked.

      Damien laughed, “You think I look like a vampire?”

     “Yes! I think you like being scary and intimidating.”

     “Ha, ha, ha why, do I intimidate you?” he said with a sinister tone.

     “Maybe  . . .”

     “You never seemed to mind before. In fact, you liked it . . . the darker the better,” he said furrowing his brow.

      “Well, I’ve changed . . .”

     “I see that,” he said glancing at my hair.

     “Not just my hair . . . me!”

     Damien spun his car into the parking lot of Good Will and came to a stop. “Look, I know you’ve changed. I see the little differences in your personality and I’m trying to be supportive. But don’t hate on me for being who I am.”

     “Why are we here?” I said changing the subject.

     “I thought you wanted some clothes.”

     “I do . . . But from here?”

     Damien pulled a crumpled up twenty dollar bill from his pocket. “Twenty dollars goes a long way in there. Why don’t you at least take a look.” I agreed and Damien cut the engine and went inside.

     A young woman greeted us as we entered the store. “Today’s your lucky day,” she said. “We’re having a bag sale. Fill the bag for five dollars.” She handed me a bag and we began browsing.  Several boxes sat perched by the counter and I was immediately drawn to the one with a purple sweater on top. I began shuffling through the box and everything inside seemed perfect for me. I found a treasure trove of shirts in pastel and there were plenty of Jeans and sweaters to match. Best of all everything was my size.

     “How much for the box?” Damien asked.

     “Well, I should probably tell you those just came in today. Belonged to that Marks girl.  The one killed a while back. Her family finally sold their house. Cleaned everything out and moved out of state. Poor family couldn’t bear to stick around. To devastating, know what I mean? It was such a tragedy that poor girl cut down in the prime of her life . . .”

     “I think we’ve heard enough.” Damien said. “Let’s go Lizzie.”

     “But what about the clothes?”  I asked.

     “Didn’t you hear what that lady said? They’re Jackie’s,” he whispered.

      I knew they belonged to Jax but I felt strangely drawn to them and I had to have the clothes. “How much for the box,” I asked

     “Thirty dollars . . .”

     “Make it twenty and you got a deal,” I said with a firm tone.

    “Sold!”

     “What are you doing? You can’t wear Jackie’s clothes . . . it’s bad karma.”

     “The only one who knows they were her clothes is you and me.”

    “This is wrong . . .” Damien said.

    “What’s wrong is that her clothes are just being tossed away to Good Will like she never existed. I think she would be glad someone appreciated her trendy fashion sense.”

      “I think you’d be right if that someone was anyone but you . . . need I remind you’re the reason she’s dead.”

     “Okay, so technically the crash killed her but is that any reason I shouldn’t enjoy her clothes?”

     Damien stared at me appalled. “And to think I’m the one who's scary . . .” handing me the twenty, he said, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”