Unwritten scars

Chapter 2: Goody, a Friend Indeed

Move-in day was loud. Like, really loud.

There were parents everywhere, people dragging suitcases down the hallway, someone struggling with a mini fridge, and one girl three doors down who had music playing so loudly I could feel the bass through the wall.

I already wanted to go home.

And it wasn't even just the noise around me. My head was doing its own thing too.

Don't get too comfortable. Keep to yourself. You're here to start over, not make friends.

That was the plan, anyway.

It lasted four days.

My roommates weren't bad. They were actually pretty nice. The problem was that they already knew each other from high school, so they had all these inside jokes and stories I obviously wasn't part of.

Sometimes they'd talk over me without realizing it.

I didn't really blame them.

Honestly, being ignored wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me. At least nobody was asking questions.

Still, the room started getting to me. There was always somebody there. Somebody talking. Somebody laughing. Somebody asking if they could borrow something.

So I started spending more time outside.

I'd go to the library even when I didn't have anything to read. Sometimes I'd sit around the quad. Other times I'd get something from the campus café and sit on the same bench outside.

Nobody seemed to care about that bench.

Which was perfect.

Until Goody showed up.

I had my earphones in and a textbook open on my lap. I wasn't really reading it, but at least it looked like I was doing something.

Then someone dropped into the seat beside me.

"Okay, that seat is mine now too. Don't fight me on it."

I looked up.

A girl I'd never seen before was staring at me as if we'd already met.

"Excuse me?"

She pointed at the bench.

"This. I'm claiming it. It has good energy."

I just stared at her.

She stared back for a second, then shrugged.

"Anyway, I'm Goody."

And that was apparently the beginning of our friendship.

She started talking. A lot.

She told me she'd gotten lost twice trying to find the chemistry building. Apparently her roommate snored like a chainsaw. Then she started complaining about the iced coffee from the café.

"It's spiritually incorrect," she said, looking genuinely offended.

I almost laughed.

Almost.

Mostly, I just listened. I'm not great at talking to people I don't know, and Goody didn't seem to care. She could carry a conversation all by herself.

After a while, she looked at me.

"You're quiet."

"Yeah."

She nodded like that explained everything.

"Good. I talk enough for two people anyway."

Then she smiled.

"I'm Goody, by the way."

"Miley."

"Miley." She repeated it once, like she was deciding if she liked the name. "Okay. Nice. You're my new bench friend."

I frowned.

"Bench friend?"

"Yep."

"You can't just decide that."

"Already did."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't.

After that, she just kept showing up.

I would get to the bench, and she'd eventually appear, usually with food or some new story about something that had annoyed her that day.

I mostly listened. She didn't seem to mind.

Somehow, without either of us actually talking about it, we became friends.

Goody is basically the opposite of me in almost every way I can think of. Where I go quiet in a room full of people, she finds the loudest corner and makes it louder. Where I spend ten minutes deciding whether saying "hey" will make me look awkward, she can walk up to a total stranger and start talking like they've been friends for years.

But she notices things.

I didn't expect that from someone so loud. She noticed that I got quiet whenever there were too many people around. She noticed I didn't like people touching my things without asking. And she noticed — without ever asking directly — that I never talked about my family.

One afternoon outside the café, halfway through a container of fries, she went quiet for a second. Just a second. Long enough that I actually looked over.

"You okay?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

She blinked, like she hadn't expected me to be the one asking. "Yeah. Just — long day." A small shrug, and then the usual Goody was back, reaching for another fry like nothing happened. "Anyway. You know you can tell me things, right?"

"Like what?"

"Anything." She tapped the side of her head. "Whatever is going on in there."

"Nothing's going on."

She gave me a look.

"Okay."

I waited for her to ask again.

She didn't.

"Whenever you're ready," she said, reaching for another fry. "I'm not going anywhere."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I took another fry.

She let it go.

That's what I liked about her.

She could be annoying about basically everything. Food. Plans. Professors. The fact that I took too long to decide what to order.

But when it came to the things I actually didn't want to talk about, she knew when to stop.

I don't remember exactly when she became my friend. There wasn't some big moment where we suddenly decided we were friends.

She just kept showing up.

And eventually, I started expecting her to.

I still don't tell her much. I'm not suddenly a completely open person just because someone is nice to me.

But for the first time in a long time, I don't mind someone trying.