daffolia17

ᴵ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵈʸⁱⁿᵍ '

Ashley

I met this girl once; she had long black hair that shone extra in the sun and deep brown eyes. The perfect girl, you could says just standing next to her made you feel inadequate, like nothing you could do would match up. She had perfect grades, was extroverted, outgoing (something I could only hope to be), with an infectious smile. It sounds cliché, I'm aware, but it's true. Like if there was ever a god, they took hours crafting her by hand, every detail made to be perfect. I didn't know her well, even though we were friends with the same people. I doubt she ever truly came to trust me the way I trusted her; we would talk occasionally about some pop artist I feigned knowledge of to impress her, or how she hated geometry and wished she could just skip math forever. The way she spoke sounded interesting, even if the story was boring. She could be talking about finding a dragon, and it would sound just as captivating as telling a story about her math homework. Maybe it was something in her tone of voice, how she always sounded happy, or how she spoke like people were obliged to care. I think I loved her.

I remember once we were sitting on the floor of her basement, we had just finished playing Just Dance, in which I had miraculously beaten her. "Whoa, Sophie, for such an unathletic person, you're actually really good at this," she had said before laughing and asking to play another round. It was the first time we had hung out alone, and I couldn't stop staring at her. Even if every dance she did were stiff and a bit clunky, and she would speak of our other friends more poorly than deserved, I was just happy to be around her.

We hung out once more outside of the confines of school. It was a bright day, and her dad had bought us both ice cream from the bougie place next to the Target. He wouldn't let me pay him back when I tried; he told me that any friend of hers he would happily pay for. The cashier complimented my band shirt, but she grabbed my free hand and dragged me out of the ice cream shop before I could respond. We ran onto the sidewalk, free, careless, happy in a way. I let her pull me into the various shops, explaining her opinions on each piece of clothing. (She hated the green skirts but loved the look of pink sweaters), We went back to her house after that, listening to Taylor Swift and making friendship bracelets for each other, carefully placing them on our wrists like a promise. That was the beginning of the end.