I sink against my bedroom door and flip open my cell phone. I read my missed call alerts and my mind travels back to the beginning… the unfortunate beginning of Jenny’s downward spiral.
Jenny and I met when we were nine, the summer she moved into the tiny, white house across the street from mine. When the movers brought a pink princess bed, a collection of stuffed animals and a box of coloring books into the house, I excitedly ran across the street. There was finally another girl my age on the street! I rang the doorbell of the white house and a tired-looking woman came to the door. “Who are you?”
“I live across the street, and your daughter looks the same age as me, and I want to meet her.” I explained.
“Oh, well come in, dear.”
“Okay, hi!” I chirped as she slowly led me upstairs. She seemed frail and had to hug into the banister to keep from falling.
“Jenny, there’s someone here to meet you.” She called to a scratched white door. The door opened and a girl with black, braided hair and brown eyes stood in the doorframe.
“Hi! I live across the street, and I wanted to meet you so I’ll have someone to play with. There are no other girls on the street my age. I hope that’s okay.” I explained.
“Okay! I wasn’t sure if I’d make any friends! Come in.” Jenny let me into her room and I stood in the middle of it. She busied herself with making her small, single bed and placing photographs on a little, scratched dresser. I curiously looked over the pictures.
“What’s your name?” Jenny asked as she took items from a box – faded dresses, a pair of tennis shoes, a paperback novel and a photo album.
“My name is Sophia.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m from Pennsylvania.” Jenny said. “I used to live in a trailer, but my parents finally earned enough money to buy us a real house!”
I was appalled, I’d never met anyone that was that low-class.
“My old school was boring. My grandparents died last summer. It’s been really hard on all of us…”
“I’m sorry…” I responded.
“Eh, no big deal. You didn’t know.” She unearthed an Ann M. Martin paperback from the box.
“I love her. Her writing is cool.” I blurted.
“Me too! Maybe we could trade books sometime!” She exclaimed.
And that’s how it all began. After we became friends, things only went downhill…
Flashback: First day of junior high. Jenny and I were terrified because we didn’t want to be separated. We had lucked out and had been in the same class since third grade.
We nervously walked through the front doors of our new school, and squeezed each others hand for reassurance. We were herded into the gymnasium, where seventh graders had to go.
The spindly principal spoke about the school for a bit from behind a giant podium before pointing to the back wall of the gym. The wall was lined with giant sheets of paper. “Seventh Grade Rooming Assignments” was written across the top of the sheets.
Jenny and I shuffled to the back of the room and scanned the papers. Our hearts sank. I found my name on one list. Jenny found her name on another. We were about to be separated.
We hugged each other tightly as our heavy backpacks dragged us down. We walked out of the gym and went our seperate ways.
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Flashback: Middle of our seventh-grade year. Jenny and I hadn’t spoken in almost two months. She apparently met some popular, blond girls in her class who were above everyone else. She got sucked in and became one of them, but without the blond hair.
She ditched me like an old teddy bear that she’d outgrown.
Jenny spent her seventh, and eight grade year like that. On the first day of grade nine, she spoke to me.
She whispered “hi” and I waved. She pulled me into the empty bathroom and explained everything to me, apologizing a million times.
We slowly reconnected. Even though things only got worse from there...
