Dear Jennie

Between Two Worlds

The following week, I began to notice things I hadn’t before—or maybe I had, but I’d brushed them off.

Jennie was magnetic. She always had been. People gravitated toward her, the way moths do to light. She had this effortless way of making people feel like they mattered, like every word they said was the most interesting thing in the world.

At school, it didn’t take long for people to notice her. By Tuesday, she’d already been invited to sit with another group at lunch, though she turned them down to stick with me and Anne. I appreciated it, but there was a strange, twisting part of me that wondered if it was just a matter of time before she got pulled somewhere else.

Anne, meanwhile, was her usual self. Sarcastic comments, quick comebacks, and a laugh that filled the air like it belonged there. But when the two of them were together… I started to feel like a ghost in my own life.

One afternoon, we were walking home. The sun was sinking, painting everything gold, and Jennie was telling Anne some story about a road trip she took with her cousins. Anne was laughing, hanging onto every word.

I trailed behind, my bag heavy on my shoulder.

“Hey,” Jennie said suddenly, glancing back at me. “You’re awfully quiet again.”

“Just tired,” I muttered.

But the truth was more complicated. I wasn’t tired. I was scared. Scared that Jennie was slipping back into my life only to take it over. Scared that Anne was slipping away.

That night, Anne texted me.

She’s really cool. I get why you two were so close.

I stared at the message for a long time before replying.

Yeah. She is.

A week later, Anne’s brother threw a small get-together. Nothing huge—just a few friends, music, snacks. Jennie and I were both invited, mostly because Anne insisted.

When we got there, Jennie immediately fit in, of course. She was dancing, laughing, telling stories like she’d known everyone forever.

I found myself sitting on the couch, nursing a soda, watching her and Anne move to the music. They looked like they’d been friends for years, like I was the one being introduced into their world, not the other way around.

Then Anne’s brother sat down next to me.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” he said, flashing me that easy grin.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He nudged me with his elbow. “You don’t look fine.”

I sipped my soda. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m your friend too, remember?” He tilted his head. “You’re jealous.”

I choked. “What? No, I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

I wanted to argue, but my throat felt tight. Maybe I was. But not in the way he thought. It wasn’t about Jennie being closer to Anne, not exactly. It was about… losing my place. My balance.

And maybe, if I was being honest, it was also about how I caught myself noticing him more often lately. The way he carried himself, the way he seemed to see through me. But that was a dangerous thought, one I shoved deep down where it couldn’t get me in trouble