I stopped last time at the end of fifth grade; I'll be in tenth in four days. But, no, I'm not going to do an entry for every year. This one should take us all the way through to now. So, we went through middle school (from 6th to 8th) together, and spent much time in and out of the nurses office, the principals office, the guidance counselors office, you name it. We were both sick a lot, but didn't fake nearly as much as they thought we did. She's got some condition with her stomach and stuff, and I was an undiscovered lactose intolerant person. And then there was the day we spent all of third period sitting in the handicapped stall of the second-floor girls bathroom, talking, and then plugging up all the toilets with paper towels. It sounds dumb. Hey, it WAS dumb, but it was fun, because it was us. And there are so many other stories. Gym class. Chorus class. Haagen Daaz on Wolf's Lane, and the making of the toad. Technology with Mr. Wolnut. All sorts of things. We were each others supports. We did fight, though. There was this one time, when one of our mutual friends decided we should all gang up against her and confront her about some things, some lies she had supposedly told and I guess just being a bitch in general, and I went along with it. So did everyone, but that doesn't make me feel any better about the fact that I did. I mean, I was her best friend, and she was mine, and there's no excuse for betraying that. Ever. But I did. And then spent the next two months of my life being more miserable without her than I ever thought possible. So, one Wednesday afternoon, I dragged her outside after school and apologized. For about an hour. And then we were back to being best friends by Friday. The funniest memory I have of that was skating club that Friday. We were making like lovers after a fight, except obviously without the lovers part, just skating around and around together, catching up on everything. We hadn't really told anybody we were friends again, and my (our?) friend Bridget didn't know yet. She was standing by the side of the rink talking to Lada, another friend, when we skate by. She stops talking, gets this *look* on her face like she's seeing the Grail float by, then turns to Lads and starts gesticulating wildly. And for the rest of the night we were inseperable, and she kept giving us this incredulous look, like we'd each grown some extra limbs. It was hilarious. Not in a mean way to Bri, just in the "oh, dear, they're all going to have to adjust to us being us again" sense. So then we were friends again. And then that spring, I left Pelham forever. She came with me on the trip, and we got our own hotel room one night. The stories from that night are awful, and I'm not going to tell them here. Let's just say that somewhere in the world, there is a young French woman named Sandra who's traumatized for life. She was the au pair. Now she is dead and drying in my closet. No, really she's not, though. We all made it to Oak Park alive, and me and Amy unpacked my room, went to the mall, and then she went home. And then I cried. And we've kept in touch, and I still say she's my best friend, though there are some who would debate it. And, I love her more than anybody but my actual sister. And I miss her. So that's all there is to that.
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