Her bleach blonde hair bounced upon her shoulders. She sat down on the chair next to me.

“Hi.” I smiled at the girl.

“Hi.” She was quiet.

“I’m Holly!”

“I’m Grace.” She adjusted her glasses.

“Do you wanna be best friends?”

“Okay.”

It’s funny how easy it is to make friends at such a young age, when your social skills are as good as a mute foreign man living in New York City.


We had the perfect friendship. Everybody thought we were sisters, so we’d play the role. She’d call my mom, her mom, I’d call her mom, my mom. We’d persuade people to move to the back of the lunch line so her and I could stand together. We had different teachers in second grade, so communication between us wasn’t as strong.

“Let’s go to Grace’s house!” I skipped into the kitchen, where my mom is cutting up watermelon. She agreed to it, once she finished making her fruit salad.

We turned onto her road. I wiggled around in my seat anxiously. My mom pulled up to the house. It looked empty. I looked up to the second floor and saw a lone box sitting in front of the window.

“Sweetie, I think Grace moved away...”

“What? But... but she didn’t even say goodbye.”

Grace moved around a lot. At least once a year. She moved away for third and fifth grade. Then again in sixth and seventh, but she came back for eighth grade. She switched school districts three times. The older I got, the more used to it I was, but it was still hard for me to cope with the fact that I didn’t have my best friend with me.



For the first eight years of our friendship, we’d fight over stupid things. She didn’t get the stuffed animal she wanted when we played vet. I was the teacher when I wanted to be the student during pretend school. Unfortunately, middle school happened and we both craved drama. It was a real inconvenience. I just wanted her to sleepover, but she had other plans, so I’d yell at her. I told her I was too sick to come over and she’d ignore me for a couple days. But the real issues started to happen in eighth grade when reality kicked in.

“Grace, it’s my life, so I will do whatever I want to do.”

“Well, whatever, you still did it! Why, Holly? Was it for attention? Don’t be such a drama queen.” She’d scoff.

“Me? What about you! You make a huge deal over everything! I end up apologizing for everything, even if it isn’t my fault to save our friendship! If anyone here is the drama queen, it’s you.”

Told you it was a real inconvenience. I just wanted my best friend, but she stopped talking to me. She’d give me short answers, she’d cancel her plans with me. One day, she just stopped talking to me. She didn’t acknowledge my presence. I was dead to her. My enemy took the roll of her best friend. This resulted in countless breakdowns and endless tears. I didn’t think I could get through anything without my best friend. I refused to admit that I needed her because she made it clear that she didn’t need me.


Oops, guess my judgment was wrong.


Eighth grade dance. I was dancing with my newfound friends. The thought of being a high school, the thought of a new beginning. It was exciting. I was happy.

“Hey, Holly...” I looked up. The girl I once called my best friend had finally built up the courage to approach me.

“Um, hi.”

“How are you?” She smiled at me.

“I’m just dandy, how are you?” I faked a smile.

“I’m good.” She laughed.


I didn’t want her to talk to me. I didn’t want to forgive her. I didn’t want her to apologize. I didn’t want to get sucked back in. I had just gotten over her. I had just been able to tuck her away into the corner of my mind, along with the other things I forgot about. I dreaded the idea of being her friend again. There was too much baggage that I just wasn’t ready to deal with.


Whoops, guess I decided to deal with all that baggage; but I’m relieved that I did. Here I am, one year later, writing a paper about the person I call my best friend. The person I managed to grow even closer to. The person that I can tell anything to. The person that keeps me anchored. The person that I never want to say goodbye to.

“So, what are ya’ gonna write your paper about?” She wraps her arm lazily around my neck.

“I’m gonna write about you. Well, us.” She laughs at the cheesy idea of it.

“Aw, gonna write about all the good times we’ve shared together?” She drags out the “r”. Oh, boy. Here comes the sarcasm. “I love you, man!”


Adolescent friendships are hard to keep because we’re all a little naive and selfish. But thankfully, Grace and I were both mature enough to be able to forgive and forget.