I remember when you first found me here, half hidden by the Sycamore tree. We were five. I had just been a flash of color from the corner of your eye that you had come to investigate because at that age, one is naturally curious. That day was the beginning of our friendship.

I remember when we both had our first birthday together, age six; remarkably it was the same day. May seventeenth. I’ve always wondered how likely it is for your best friend to have the same birthday as you. It can’t be very likely at all, I mean, what are the odds?

I remember when we were thirteen, and it was you who got her period first, and over the next two years, it was you who had her body developing the fastest. It was you who started finding your sense of fashion first. It was you the cheerleaders begged to join them. You’re the head cheerleader now.

At sixteen, it was you who got her first boyfriend. Alex. My first boyfriend was his best friend, Matt, and the only reason why he went out with me was because he had a huge crush on you, and since you liked going on double dates he got to be near you all the time. He told me so the first time he got me alone.

It was you who had lost her virginity first. I remember how you climbed into my room, crying to me because it hurt so much, yet your smile of satisfaction couldn’t be completely lost.

Not too long ago, I had my first, before you. My first love. Kyle. Your current boyfriend. I know it’s wrong of me to like him so much, but I can’t help it. The way he just has to walk into a room and it instantly brightens. The way his teeth flash in that adorable crooked smile. The way he defends anyone from bullies, though one might at first think him to be one since he’s such a jock.

I know you don’t feel a lot about him. You told me so. The only reason why you are with him is because everyone expects it. I know this because you told me so, even though you know he is crazy about you, like most other guys at school.

Right now, the sound of your teasing laughter is drifting lazily towards me while I sit under the Sycamore tree, my arms wrapped around my legs in an effort to stop the pain that is tearing my heard to shreds. He’s with you now, about to propose. I know this because he asked me to go with him while he picked out a ring. He wanted to get something you would like, and since I know you best, I was the one he asked.

You’ll accept, because it is your nature to try and make everything perfect. Kyle is the perfect guy and you’ll have the perfect marriage; have a couple of kids, a chocolate lab, a white picket fence around your two story house. The works.

Your wedding dress will be white, you’ll have a beautiful wedding, and when you ask me to be the maid of honor, I’ll say yes, because you are my best friend, and I won’t ruin anything for you. I’ll watch you as you kiss him, announce to the world that you are now Mrs. Kyle Thompson, and wave with fake happiness as you both slip into a black stretch limo that carries a “Just Married” sign, and ride off to the airport, headed for your honeymoon.

I can only hope you’ll be happy enough for the both of us, because I know I won’t be.

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