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The scorching sun glared violently through the pink curtains that hung over my window. I squint my eyes as I hear the faint then blaring sound of some god-awful punk rock music echoing throughout the room. I groan and slap at my radio to shut the sound off. Curling up in my twin size bed, wearing my favorite blue stripped pajama pants and big slouchy tee, I contemplate why I'm awake at 6am in the morning.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepy head," a high pitched voice says from behind me as my bed shakes fiercely.

I know who it is without even having to turn around. Alice Cullen. Only she would set someone’s alarm at this ungodly hour, affectively scaring the crap out of them. For being only 4 feet 10 inches and weighing probably less than 100 pounds, she really knew how make people love her and hate her at the same time.

I groaned, remembering why she’s here in the first place. I had called Alice up late last night, upset and freaking out because I realized I only have one day to get my act together. I want to change, and I knew she was the person to ask for help. We had to figure out how I was going to reverse the label that I was so graciously given in freshmen year; "The Good Girl".

I used to think that was a good thing but not anymore. And it was only a good thing because I’ve been content to just please others for the past few years. My mom has always said how proud she is of me, and the teachers give me respect because I always do what I am told. Apparently, my classmates didn't feel the same way.

The girls, Jessica Stanley, Victoria Pierce, and their leader Tanya Solomon (aka The Bitch Squad), would always find a way to make my life hell. For one thing, they didn't like the way I dressed. They proved that by taking my clothes after PE class multiple times and shoving them into the bathroom toilets. Then they would then pee on them. This would lead to me running across campus to the office in nothing but a towel, crying the entire way while making sure my ass wasn’t exposed. After that incident, I always took an extra pair of clothes… just in case. But they would always find another way to torture me.

The guys weren't any better. They never noticed me, and when they did, it was just to yell “virgin” at me. Everyone in the halls would laugh in agreement, urging them on.

According to them, I have the "I’m a virgin. Don't bother with me. I have no experience. What's a penis?" disease. They taped a note with those same words to my locker once, and on my back… and on my desk.

Just for the record, I am not a virgin. I had sex once just for the hell of it during sophomore year. It wasn't at all exciting, so I’ve had no desire to do it again.

"Alice! Why don't you love me anymore? I thought you were my best friend," I whine as I duck my head back under my flower printed comforter, only to have it ripped away a second later by the evil, little elf of a girl.

"I do love you," Alice says. As she sits down next to me, I see a bright yellow mug in her hand. "That’s why I’m here," she says, giggling. "Plus, we need an early start if you want my help." She starts to hand me the mug, and I can now smell delicious, steaming coffee inside. This must be her peace offering. I accept, easily won over, and reach out to grab my solace from her.

"Don't worry," she says before I have a chance to take it. “I put your favorite creamer in it. I didn't forget this time," she smiles at me.

I laughed, recalling the time she forgot the cream and I accidentally spit the coffee all over her brand new navy blue, cashmere sweater. She was furious with me for about a week, no matter how many times I tried to apologize.

"Thanks, Ali. I forgive you for torturing me," I sit up against my headboard and take my first sip of sheer bliss; my day immediately seems better.

"Wait," I say abruptly. I set the mug on my cream colored nightstand next to my favorite book, Anna Karenina, and grab my glasses. "How did you get in my house?"

"Oh, well, with the emergency key you gave me."

"Ali, you do know that key is for emergencies, right? Which this is not."

"This is an emergency," she says, smiling, "You said you needed my help, and usually when people say that, there is an emergency involved. I mean, no offense Bella, but have you seen you hair? It's the biggest cry of help I have ever seen." She carefully grabs a strand of my hair with a disgusted look on her face.

She’s right. This was an emergency, a metaphorical 911 call. And she’s also right about my hair color. It’s a disaster, I admit. I thought my life would "change" automatically if I went and dyed my hair blonde. I figured that when I went back to school, the boys would see a goddess with long, luscious, golden locks rather than just a normal girl with regular, chestnut brown hair. Let’s just say it didn't work out quite like I had hoped. I went down to the small salon here in Forks called, Beauty First, and was assigned to an older, heavy set lady with bright blue hair. I should've just walked out right then, but I was desperate. She totally butchered my hair, making it look like a bunch of crazed cats with rabies had pissed all over my head. I was furious as I had used two whole paychecks from working double shifts at my mom's locally owned coffee shop, Renee's Place.

"I know, Alice. I wasn't thinking. This is horrible. My life is ruined," I say, defeated, as I clasped my hand over my face.

"No, it's not. Here." She hands me a piece of folded notebook paper that was slightly wrinkled. "I know I was in a hurry. It's a list of everything we need to get done today so that when we go back to school tomorrow, you’ll be a changed person; a new Bella Swan."

I take the paper and start to unfold it when there’s a sudden knock at my door.

"Bella, honey? Are you awake, dear?" I hear my mom, Renee, say through the closed door.

I carefully fold the paper back up and slide it under my butt, not wanting my mom to know what I what’s going on yet. She would probably ask questions, which I wasn't exactly ready to give the answers to.

"Come in," I call to her.

"Hey sweetie, why are you up so early?"

As she finishes her question, she notices Ali sitting on the edge of my bed with a huge smile plastered across her face.

"Oh, Alice Cullen. Come here to torture Bella again?"

"Always."

"Good. Bella needs some excitement," my mom says as she smiles "Bella, I'm not going to be home until late tonight or early tomorrow morning. We have a big problem with one of the coffee machines and Phil is taking me to dinner after that. I will probably just sleep over there. So you are going to have to get everything ready for school by yourself, and I might not see you until after you‘re home."

Phil always seemed to get in the way of me and my mom. He’s her new boyfriend, a mechanic and a little creepy. He’s losing his hair and is really thin and tall but not in the typical attractive way. When I look at him, I’m reminded of one of those guys from America's Most Wanted. I don’t care for him all that much. Nor do I care for the way he seems to watch me. He never says much… just stares at me. They have only been going out for about 6 months. I hope it ends soon.

"Actually," Alice chimes in, "I was wondering if Bella could maybe stay the night at my house. That way we could get ready together."

This is why I love Alice. She always knows how to be there for me. Even though I don't like admitting it to myself, I never fully got over my father’s death. I think that’s why I despise Phil so much, along with his relationship with my mom. Alice is also aware that I hate being home alone. I tend to think of my father when I’m alone. I see him everywhere, since we still have some of his things and pictures in random places around the house.

"Okay yeah, that would be perfect. Thank you, Alice. Is it going to be okay with your father though?" my mom asks, already knowing the answer.

"Of course it's okay. He loves Bella," Alice replies.

"Alright then, I'll let you get back to your torturing. Bye, girls." She starts walking toward the door. "Oh and Alice," she says, turning back around. "Tell your dad ‘thank you’, and your brother ‘hello’ for me." With that, she walks out of my room, shutting the door behind her.

"Thanks, Ali," I tell her.

"Don't mention it." She shrugs as she grabs the coffee mug from my nightstand and takes a sip. She slides next to me on the bed and rests her head on my shoulder.

I slide the paper out from underneath me and look down at it, holding it loosely in my hands.

"Just open it, Bella," Alice says as she puts the coffee mug back down. "It's not going to kill you. I take that back; it might."

"Ha, ha, very funny," I tease back.

I finally get the courage to open my death sentence.

And… Holy Shit!

This list went on for miles. This was going to be the death of me. She has everything written in elaborate details, and it’s all absolutely nuts.

"Holy shit, Alice. I didn't think I needed all of this stuff."

"Yes, you do. Trust me," she says as she starts to hop off the bed, trying to take me with her, but I suddenly catch a glimpse of something on the list. My eyes widen.

"No! No, no, no," I exclaim as I jump off of the bed. "I'm not walking into Belle Fleur Lingerie to model bras for you again!" I snap, trying to be as serious as possible. It’s useless, and Alice starts giggling at me right away. She was most likely remembering her last attempt at making me model, when she took me to Seattle last month to go shopping for different bras and panties.

I stared through those double doors of Belle Fleur Lingerie, dreading what was awaiting me on the other side. Ali made me try on everything, no matter how lacy or racy. And she made me come out of the damn changing room every time so I could “show” her. But when I opened that changing room door for the third time, there, on the big red couch next to Alice, sat none other than Mike Newton. He was in all my classes sophomore year… and he just happened to be the guy I lost my virginity to. He just stared at me with his pimpled out face and his smirk that was covered with braces. I was mortified. I didn't even say a word. I just went back into the changing room and stayed there for an hour until he finally left. I never really found out what he was doing there in the first place. It was just creepy. He probably wanted to attempt another go with me. Disgusting.

"Okay, fine. No bras and panties, but you have to admit you need to spice up your bra drawer. The underwear you have are all white. How much more boring can you get, Bella?" she asks as she starts to sabotage my bra drawer.

"What? White goes with everything," I respond in defense as I spring to shut the drawer before she could throw every bra I own out.

"No, it doesn't, Bell," she whines, looking at me with a sad, puppy dog face. "Promise me I can at least buy you one bra from Victoria's Secret. Please, Bella? Please, please, please," she begs and proceeds to run to my bed, jumping on it like a freaking five year old. She always knows how to annoy the hell out of me until I give in. But I have to admit, she’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for. How can I say no? She’s here, wasting a good Sunday just to help me out on my little mission. She could be out doing other things. So, I have to at least let her have some fun.

"Okay, fine. Geez, Ali. Now can you please stop jumping? You're going to break my bed, fat ass."

"Hey! I’m not even fat, you bitch!"

"I was just kidding." I laugh and I join in on the jumping, only to be interrupted by Renee yelling at us to stop. We both land loudly on our butts and attempt to stifle our laughter.

"Well, since that's settled and we have come to an agreement, let’s get going." She leaps off my bed and runs to my closet to find me something to wear.

"Oh, no you don't, Ali," I yell as I race over to my closet in time to stand in front of it. "I get to pick out my own outfit for today."

"Fine," she whines as she stands back and waits for me to change.

I grab my tan skort and my grey shrug, which I wear over my white camisole. I top it off with my black Mary Jane flats. Obviously, I look plain compared to Ali, who’s wearing a beautiful light purple ruffled top, light wash jeans, and black pumps.

Of course, Ali makes some sarcastic, witty comment about my clothing style, but I just laugh, barely noticing, and slowly make my way to the bathroom to finish my routine.

I stop once I see my reflection. I stand unmoving, staring silently into the mirror. I’m suddenly weighing the pros and cons of what I was about to do, how my life is about to change. I stand stoic, absorbing everything I have gone through in my life; all the torture of being kicked down and thrown around like a rag doll. I am ready to say my goodbyes to that part of me. I’m ready to put the past behind me.

I stare at the plain, odd girl in the mirror and whisper, "Goodbye, good girl."