The room is hazy and I can hear muffled voices surrounding me. Slowly, my sight sharpens and I can see my mom and father, their high volume voices become transparent phrases of hatred. Actually, phrases of me. I'm in a wide room sitting behind a high podium, facing my parents. Bewildered, I look up to my right and see an old man with grey flurries of hair; he's wearing a black gown, gavel in hand. A wave of deja vu hits me; I know this scene. This is my custody battle. A man in a suit walks up to me, a strange look of concern, yet determination, etched in his face.

"Scarlett, I'm going to ask you a simple yes or no question, and I need you to answer with complete honesty. Do you want to live with your mother full time?"

My father's voice pipes in, "A girl her age can't answer that all by herself!"

"Silence, Mr. White," the judge says.

I stare blankly at the man in the suit, then down at my pink stretch pants. Oh yeah, I had forgotten how awful my fashion choices were when I was 12.

"I don't know," I reply softly.

The man in the suit sighs and turns fluidly. He speaks again.

"Regardless of Scarlett's uncertainty, I'm sure the overwhelming evidence of Mr. White's negligence towards Ms. Johnson and her daughter over the years, within and now outside of marriage, will be enough to convince you of the need for immediate full custody to Ms. Johnson," he speaks to the judge, "As you can see, there have been numerous reports of Mr. White's carelessness towards Scarlett while she has been in his responsibility: near drowning, four cases of 'forgetting' Scarlett at various establishments in which he took many hours to finally come back to get her, multiple dinner-less nights while Mr. White had left Scarlett to fend for herself, etc. We even have proof that he is not here today for loving and fatherly purposes, if you would kindly play the tape I have given you, sir."

The judge picks up the black tape and presses play. I can hear my dad talking with some other man. Then, the mystery guy asks the question that will harden my heart in an icy glaze towards my father for the remainder of my life.

"So, why exactly are you trying so hard to keep partial custody of your daughter if you have no desire to take care of her?"

"Is that even a question? Do you know the money I pocket from the state for having her? I don't want to lose that!"

The line becomes silent, and so does the room. I look over to my dad trying earnestly to find some sort of explanation, like it was all set up or he was just kidding. But all I see is him leaning over, head in hand, in defeat. His deflated look cuts deeply into me, as tears start to well up in my eyes.

"Say it's not true!" I almost scream.

He doesn't speak.

I turn my attention to the man in the suit, "To answer your question, yes. I want my mom to have full custody. I do not want to see this man ever again."

Suddenly, a blinding light pierces the mirage and I feel myself begin to drift off. I'm observing the memory from above now while I float away into the emptiness.

My eyes shoot open; I lay drenched in my own sweat, sprawled across the air mattress. Bright sunlight shines through the clear plastic above me, burning my eyes. Rachel is sound asleep besides me. I push myself up, resting my head in my hands. I didn't know memories could appear as dreams; or, should I say, nightmares.

I grab my toothbrush and shower supplies and exit the tent. The aroma of morning dew fills my nose, and the chirping melody of the early birds encompasses me. I walk across the center field to get to the bathrooms; the short grass tickles my toes along the way. Upon entering, I do my daily morning routine--brush teeth, take shower, apply lotion--and I leave twenty minutes later feeling refreshed. I use the quiet peace around me to suppress my unwanted dream. I have a big day today, and I don't need any emotional baggage getting in the way. I smile slightly, going over all my evil plots in my head. I will fight fire with fire; the only problem is I don't have much experience with being deliberately seductive and rude.

When I arrive at the tent, Rachel is already up and ready.

"Oh hey! I was wondering where you went. I took a shower last night, but I regret it now. I woke up sweaty and sticky and I feel quite disgusted with myself," she says.

I laugh, "I did too, but now I'm the one who's fresh. You should swim after breakfast to wash away the night."

"Yeah, I may do that," she ponders.

I get ready, putting on a simple grey v-neck and jean shorts. Letting my hair air-dry--it'll only be straight anyways--I apply a little foundation and eyeliner. Slipping on my flip flops on the way, we both leave the tent. The sun is risen and warm now, and there's a small huddle of students under the gazebo. We join them, the smell of bacon wafting towards me. I eat slowly, savoring each bite, and talk to a couple of girls next to me.

Around nine, an exhausted looking Damon and Eric arrive. Damon rakes his hand through his disheveled hair, and then rubs his eyes, yawning all the while. I sit, chin in my hands, and admire his adorableness. He places his hands into the pockets of his black, rolled-up jeans and raises his head. We make eye contact, and even through all his morning disorients he's able to display his signature smirk perfectly.

This is going to be hard.