Image of Grace Biddle

Grace Biddle

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I throw my backpack onto the front rug and rip off my coat. Jane yells, “Hello!” to me, but I don’t reply. I sulk up to my room and close the door. My favorite “self-pity album”, American Pie by Don Mclean, begins to play. My chestnut hair falls all around my pillowcase as I lay down in bed.

I didn’t know how much she meant to me until she was gone. I stare at all the pictures and items I have around my room. I hold my breath. An Ocean City Maryland t-shirt she had given me over the summer. A Snoop Dogg candle from the local goodwill. The polaroid pictures we took every time she came to my house. Her face growing more mature in each picture. I push the breathe out and let myself cry.

The room’s blurry through the tears. I hate her. For no good reason. She hadn't done anything to me. I must have done something to her. I don’t know anything I could’ve done in particular. I mean I am a sarcastic, rude, somewhat condescending person. But so is she. That’s why we were such good friends.

I run the morning through my head again. I saw her in the hall. I ran behind her and jumped high into the air with a boost from her shoulders. She laughed and turned around with a smile. But when she saw it was me, all happiness disappeared from her expression. An ice-cold expression crossed her face as she adjusted her backpack. Then she laughed. Thinking of it now makes my stomach curdle. A cynical chuckle of superiority.

I guess in some ways I had seen it coming. I wipe away the tears as I fall from my bed to the floor. I stare up at the ceiling. The stars I had put up when I was little stare back at me. She had dropped little hints throughout the summer. I wasn’t as cool as her, and I didn’t dress as well. She had been embarrassed by me whenever we saw a friend from school. I should’ve been prepared. High school was going to be different.

I grab a pillow off of my bed and hold it close. All the memories of my childhood rush through my head. Riding bikes until my calves were raw. Sneaking into my neighbor's yard to steal his delicious tomatoes. Finally getting invited to Clare’s end of the year pool party and taking hours to pick out the perfect swimsuit. All memories I shared with her.

We had so meticulously prepared for high school. Movies prepared us for the drama, driving, and hot boys of the high school world. But now I don’t have her. Who is going to my “bestie”?

I let go of my pillow and get off the floor. I look at myself in the mirror and see a familiar image. I have more freckles than usual and my hair is a dark blonde. My tan skin from summer soon to be replaced with the paleness of winter. The gray sadness that comes with going to school.
I think about what a loser I am. I have plenty of other friends and I let this one kid hurt me so badly. Who cares about her?! Who needs her?! I never did anything to her! I was nothing but nice to her, and what does she do to me? She treats me like dirt. I think about blackmailing her, or telling people things about her that she told me never to tell anyone.

But she’s my best friend. She knows everything about me, and I know that she will never tell anybody any of my secrets. I sit down at my desk. I breathe in and out slowly. I’m about to cry again but I stop myself. I can’t think about this anymore.

I look at my thermometer and see that it’s warm enough to go outside without a coat. I put on my rain boots and a sweatshirt. The gray clouds have gone away and been replaced with sun. It peeks through my window and shines onto my rug.

As I walk out of my room I look over at a picture hanging on my memory board. I walk over to it and hold it in my hands. I smile and think about what a great memory it is. And that that is all it is; a memory. I throw the picture in the trash can. An old picture of me and my best friend from eighth grade.


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