At Night’s End

There was this girl who always chewed bubblegum in class. Her name? Sarah Lovett. Liked by all, she was allowed to blow her bonny little bubbles with the suave of a newborn baby elephant. Don't ask me why I'm bitter. My jealousy couldn't be more obvious. Worst yet, I'm her best friend. Enough about me. Sarah joined our high school last year. She was pretty, that was for sure. Had all these adorable clothes sedentary in what I imagine to be a huge walk-in closet. Every girl complimented on what she owned on a daily basis. To which she would always vocal fry her "thanks" accompanied by an enticing half smirk. Every guy and girl wanted to f**k her just because of that damned signature "thanks". I didn't hate her for this absurd amount of s*x appeal she naturally carried herself in. The fact was I loved her. I was in love with her. Bipolar mania was no factor in our decision to make out last summer and never talk about it again. I was the lesbian and she was the drunken straight best friend that night at Cory Mason's house party. We got five hundred thousand views on our makeout-sesh-in-the-hot-tub video on t****k and that was all she cared about. She best be glad I am a patient and understanding person. She knew I'd tell her if I ever developed feelings. But she should have known I could not contain my intense feelings since the moment I saw her. — Her prowess was awe-striking. She sashayed through the room as though she owned the place. Every click of her heel smacking the floor causing others to turn their heads. She received of envy. Looks of admiration. The gazes that remained on the faces of every student as she approached our table and said a prelusive "Hi." She was five foot ten. Towering over us, she smiled sweetly through her full baby pink lips. Miranda Saint, my best friend, twirled her ironed-in dyed blonde curls with the tip of her index finger as she looked at Sarah up and down. Her eyes widened at the band on her ring finger and her mouth shot open to invade the lass who waited for an adequate response. "You're married?" Miranda inquired, pointing at the band. "Engaged, silly." The girl responded. "I'm Sarah." I didn't expect Miranda to accept her hand and shake it as politely as I'd ever seen her interact with a stranger. Fine, Sarah's demeanour demanded respect just like all of our's did. But did she know how much above us in the food chain she truly was? Her perfect hair. Her– "What's your name?" My eyes shot from the ring to meet her kind acknowledging gaze. "Courtney." I answered. Miranda giggled at the lack of substance I had in my exchange. In comparison to Sarah, she was worldlier. I was inferior. If you know anything about women my age, they are as insecure as movies suggest. Later that day, the three of us went out for coffee. Even the female barista couldn't take her eyes off of her. I knew from her kindness that she wasn't just an i***t getting married early on. I began to wonder if her family was royalty or something. Rich. Famous. Owners of many estates. Sarah. What a generic name for someone with so much essence to them. We decided that night was the perfect night to throw her a welcoming party. Also known as one of Miranda's gestures to acquainting her new best friend to everyone. It was a Friday after all and her affinity to the teen was insatiable. They laughed together like close friends of twenty years. Who cared that it was completely plastic and superficial? Surely, Sarah knew. And I knew that because she gravitated towards me for that entire night, choosing my company over Miranda Saint's. I didn't know I was crushing on her at that point. We conversed for hours, stopping here and there to giggle at flirty comments the drunken guys made. Her blue eyes would always twinkle during these lame interactions. I think she did it on purpose, as though a hidden talent being out to use well. Just to draw them into her untouchable swagger. My gosh, I'd never met someone so profoundly confident. Confidence in its pure form, I mean. Not the toxic kind called narcissism and egomania, which I believed all of us suffered from to an extent. She drove me home in her red Toyota that night. Neither of us wanted to sleep over there considering it wasn't deliberately our scene. I remember what she told me. "You know, Courtney? I never feel like I'm in the right place. Going the right pace in life. I had to quit modelling over anorexia." She explained. "And there I thought I had my career at a young age. It tore me apart. I look for healing in knowing people like you." I didn't know what to say. There was more to her than a supposed eating disorder she had that made her quit a job every girl wanted at some point of their life. I gave her a response that was not very intelligent. She laughed at my timid nature towards big conversations. Sarah knew our social charade and etiquette involved avoiding those. She was unconventional yet so cool. Months went by. I noticed myself envying her more than enjoying her around. I became possessive of my time with her at school and after school hours. I don't know if this was my jealousy towards her or my need to have her to myself. She was freaking engaged and I had fallen in love with her. My peace now depended on my dreams of being with her.