We sat close on the lunch table bench and passed the pencil between us, writing quickly into a notebook, filling two columns with our invented words and their translations.
All tagged friendship
We sat close on the lunch table bench and passed the pencil between us, writing quickly into a notebook, filling two columns with our invented words and their translations.
“I didn’t know you hated me,” she texted. “Me neither,” I texted back. “What’s up?”
I thought being bullied by girls I used to consider friends was bad.
A burnt orange glow reflected on our cheeks, the fire warming air more accustomed to the winter chill.
My friend Gina force-feeds me crackers while I’m in hysterics, riding the climax of a bad mushroom trip.
“Sheila,” she said, looking worried. “Are you feeling ok?”
When I told her my secret, she promised not to tell anyone, so the surprise was fierce when we were all in the car a few days later and, out of the blue, she announced it.