She's my best friend. The one and only person who truly understands. And today, for the first time, I'm going to talk to her.
Up until this moment there has been no need for us to speak. A friendship like ours goes much deeper than a few laced-together syllables can ever express. It's as though we are connected by an invisible thread, and I feel a tingle at the base of my skull every time I see her, as if her soul is tugging at mine.
And I know she feels it too.
Her name is Angelica—which suits her perfectly because everything about her is angelic. I can still recall the first time I saw her. It was September 18th, 8:27am, six months, four days, and three hours ago. The halls of Arlington High School were thick with students and teachers alike, bodies pressing past one another, never really going anywhere. I pushed my way through the crowd, ducking my head slightly as I bumped a shoulder here and there, the noise weighing down on me as I tried to get to class.
That's when I saw Angelica, leaning against a locker with her thick blonde hair pulled back from her face, the muted light of the hallway making her skin glimmer as though she were some ethereal being.
She glanced up, scanning the faces of those who passed, smiling occasionally or saying hello—then her eyes met mine, and the world slowed until everything around me was nothing more than a blur, and there was only Angelica.
I saw her often after that, usually in the halls and for one blissful hour each day during history class.
Unlike me, Angelica has lots of friends. It's easy for her. She's confident, funny, always making other people laugh. And her smile—God, her smile, so genuine and warm. When she smiles like that, her eyes sparkling and the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her white teeth, it's like sunshine on my skin. Because I know, know, that when she smiles, it's meant just for me.
I have a box hidden away under my bed filled with all things Angelica—the gum she leaves on the underside of her desk for me to find, the strands of her hair that she leaves on her chair, the empty soda bottle she tucked into the trashcan after lunch. And the stories I have written about her. Yes the stories and the poems and the sketches that I know she will love and appreciate because she is my best friend and if she rejects me I will die just die but I know she won't because she feels it too I know it I know it I KNOW IT I KNOW—
She wasn't at school last Thursday, and her absence was like a knife in my heart. The day seemed to go on forever, a stream of agony and monotony that had me near tears by three o'clock.
But Angelica, my kind, thoughtful, perfect Angelica, left me a gift the very next day because she knew, knew how she hurt me. A towel, left under the bleachers for me to find after P.E., damp with her sweat.
I sleep with it under my pillow every night.
When the bell rings for lunch I see my chance to finally, finally, speak to Angelica. She always uses the bathroom before heading to the cafeteria. I follow her in as I often do, and she goes into the last stall.
I lean awkwardly against one of the sinks and wait, listening to the sweet sound of Angelica relieving herself. There is a girl at the mirror near me, smearing on a thick layer of eyeliner. She flashes me a dirty look just as the toilet flushes, and grabs her makeup bag from the sink.
Angelica steps out of the stall, and the girl at the sink smiles at Angelica and says "hey," before turning and disappearing out the door.
Angelica smiles politely at me, that smile--as she turns on the water at the sink and rinses her hands, smacking her glossed lips at her reflection.
This is it!
My heart is pounding and my hands are trembling, but I know I have to be the first to break the silence. Angelica's eyes are pleading, all but begging me to say something.
I reach out one trembling hand and place it lightly on her shoulder, urging her to turn towards me. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and though she looks somewhat confused she turns to face me, her hands dripping water onto the linoleum floor.
"Angelica," I croak, my throat suddenly dry. I swallow hard and try to form words, but all that comes out is a pitiful squeak.
"What's up, Ms. Anderson?" Angelica asks, smiling brightly.
"I just want you to know that you are one of my best students," I whisper. "I'm here for you if you ever need anything. Anything at all. I'm here, Angelica."
"Um…okay…thank you." Angelica shifts anxiously from side to side. "I'll see you fifth period Ms. Anderson."
Angelica moves away from me—no don't go please don't go, I know you feel it too say something say anything you are the only person in the world that can understand please don't reject me everyone else does I need you please stay don't go I know you feel it too I know it I know it I KNOW IT!
She wipes her hands on the front of her jeans and moves towards the door. She doesn't smile that smile just for me—she turns her back on me and goes out the door, into the hall where the bodies are pressing past one another, always pushing, always moving, but never really going anywhere.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, taking in my short oily blonde hair and thick glasses, my sweater hanging off of my bony frame, and I frown. Because I know, know, that I blew it—that I ruined everything because I was nervous and awkward and bland. Not like Angelica.
I look away from my reflection, disgusted with myself.
That's when I see it. A long, silky strand of blonde hair, lovingly draped over the edge of the sink, there just for me.
I take the strand of hair and roll it carefully between my fingers until it forms a tight little ball. I open the locket around my neck and place the little piece of Angelica there, so that she will be close to my heart, always.
Always.
Because she is my best friend the only one who understands and she didn't reject me no she didn't because she feels it too I knew it all along but if she ever rejects me ever I know where she lives I took her file from the office I drive past her house every day and if she ever thinks of leaving me the things I will do because she is my friend MINE and if she rejects me I will just die but not before I go to her house through the back door and up the stairs to her room and I'll watch her as she is sleeping, so soundly sleeping, and then I'll raise the knife high, so high above my head and I'll—
I snap the locket closed with a smile, feeling elated, feeling complete, feeling whole.
And I know, I know, that Angelica feels it too.
