𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

I talk about the past
like I talk about you,
I leave out every little thing
that I don't like remembering
-Suki Waterhouse

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

October 2014,

I had gotten into a fight with my friend, Gabby.

She wanted to resume our horror movie marathon at her house, but I had plans with Chase from third period. "Aren't you tired of that, yet?" she asked. "I miss the way you used to be."

"What does that mean?"

"When you cared about more than just boys and booze."

I told her I wished she wasn't so lame. We went our separate ways after that.

Chase from third period turned out to be an asshole.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

I am unpacking my bag from staying over at Dalton's, organizing my belongings into a line on my desk, when Frankie comes bursting into the room.

"I'm in love!" she exclaims, arms stretched out at her sides. She walks on air, batting her lashes until she collapses onto her mattress. "We're fit to be wed by summer. I'm thinking a June wedding, if we can wait that long."

"What are you on about?" I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the desk. Frankie props onto her elbows and flashes a devious smile.

"Okay, so, his name is Andres. He's an exchange student from Barcelona. Six two, bronzed God, star soccer player, and he's got the hunkiest Spanish accent. He's perfect, like actually perfect." She rolls onto her back.

"He sounds...perfect." And at least he isn't Tenny. I walk to our closet, hanging Frankie's shirt onto a hanger. "So, when do I get to meet him?"

"Oh, next weekend! I'm bringing him to your party and I—"

"What party?"

"Shit." Frankie's eyes turn to saucers. "I wasn't supposed to mention that."

"No parties, Frankie, you know that," I whine. I throw the rest of her clothes to a pile on the floor and stomp back to my desk chair. Maybe if I was honest with them, my friends would have stopped badgering me about stupid parties, a long time ago. But that would require talking about things that I'd rather avoid, so I just chomp onto my cheek and pout.

"But it's your twenty-first birthday, Vio! You can't not celebrate." She perches on the edge of her mattress and whines. "You don't want to be a fuddy-dud your whole life."

"Can't we just stay here and order take-out or something?"

"No, we can't," she says. "Dalton's already planned the whole thing and it's stupid fucking gross and adorable, and if you don't act surprised I'll actually kill you."

I stare at the chipped wood beneath my feet. "I don't know..."

"Come on, please?" she begs. "If for no other reason than to meet my future husband?" Frankie flashes a big smile that makes me shake my head.

"Dalton really planned the whole thing?"

"Uh-huh...he's actually so obsessed with you."

I smile, and Frankie goes back to yapping about her bronzed Spanish husband.