We don’t talk much me and her, anymore. Ever since the incident. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven, so I didn’t forgive her. We go off in our own ways, the girl that was once my best friend. I try to avoid her while walking by, but its not like we hate eachother. But we don’t like eachother either. She is simply a stranger, a stranger that used to be my friend.
I have new friends now, and so does she. Sometimes I miss her, but I mostly don’t. She couldn’t be trusted. But she was fun. Everyone had friends like that at least once. They talk behind your back. They don’t invite you to things. And when your just about ready to give up, you have a fantastic day with them. One utterly spectacular day.
These days of hatred and utterly spectular days had been going on for a while when the incident happened. My friends had split into two groups. I was stuck in between, feeling left out of both. I was invited and uninvited to things on both sides. It was horrible. I hated those days. I hated the way the word hate looked in my mind as I thought it, hate. The letters looking sharp and muddy together. Dirty, old, bus seat mud.
The incident happened in early June, while things were just wrapping up. We were excited to be 8th graders the next year, the ones that owned the school. But the incident changed that. We just stopped talking. Stop trying to be friends. So off they went, the mean girls. I was on the other side that consisted of the nice ones. The secretive ones, but they were nice.
Two weeks after the incident, when things were getting better, one of the nice, secretive ones tried to commit suicide. Now she has been in and out of the hospital for the past two years, and she doesn’t go to our school. I haven’t seen much of her.
And whats left it us is okay. We have fun, they are my friends and I love them. But something feels missing, she feels missing. Even though I don’t like her, and she is mean, and I can never, ever trust her again. I miss her. We don’t talk much me and her, anymore.
We don’t talk much.