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Changing With You

Caroline Collins

I know the past, I live in the present, but I am unsure of the future.


11-year-old me wrote that in my journal after getting my first B on a test, and I found it  so profound that I cut it out and taped the quote to my wall. Even though I was smart enough to  write such a quote, I was dumb enough to put it right above my mirror. It stares at me as the  person in the mirror ages, turning into someone that little me wouldn’t even recognize.  


I sound so morbid, but I promise, I like my life. I did change a lot from 6th grade to now, but it was only for the better. My teeth got straight, I grew past five feet, and I finally stopped wearing horizontal stripes. I lost friends, gained friends, lost those gained friends, the works. My  parents say it’s terrible to go through so many platonic breakups, but it’s almost like…I’m a  teenage girl?  


No way. 


Anyway, now I’m sitting here, staring in the mirror, tidying up the mascara that strayed onto my eyelid post-application. The rest of my makeup is already on, thank god, as I need to leave in five minutes. My brother’s best friend is having a get-together, and of course, I’m being  forced to show up and smile and be nice, which is so hard.  


It also doesn’t help that my brother’s best friend’s cousin is my ex-best friend.  


She was my first-ever friend and one of the ones I lost in the horrible year that was freshman year. We met in kindergarten when I stole her orange because my mom forgot to pack me one, and she let me. I decided I liked her; she thought she could make me more likable, so we became best friends for ten years. We texted each other on our parents' phones, knotted  together matching bracelets to wear on matching wrists, and shared strawberry milkshakes  after choral concerts. Lizzy and Joy, Joy and Lizzy. Then, in the start of high school, we joined the  weird friend group. They liked her but didn’t like me, so chaos ensued.  


I’d rather not get into it right now.  


It doesn’t matter, as I’ve said, I’ve changed. We were weird, she’s weird, her friends are  weird. I wear mascara now; so I’m not weird. It’s a pretty simple concept.  


“Elizabeth Margaret Manson, we are going to be late!”  


Shit, have I been spacing out for that long? I quickly grab my strawberry perfume and spritz it on my clothes. I throw my head down and back up to give my thin hair some much-needed volume, and I head out, ignoring the nagging guilt that swims at the back of my head. I instead focus on the need of lip-gloss. As I slide into the car, I take out the tube I keep in  myback-right jeans pocket and quickly apply it, pointedly ignoring my mother’s stare.  


“Does it ever cross your mind that the world doesn’t revolve around you?” My mom says, shooting lasers to create a minuscule hole in my brain. I slowly turn to face her, rubbing my  newly glossed lips together to prove my point.  


“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”  


She sighs, “I need to take away that phone; who even are you anymore.” I hate when she  says that. It’s totally cliché, and I thought being fifteen meant you were allowed to change and be a shitty person. That’s what everyone says online anyways.  


A squeaky sound goes off behind me, so I turn. My brother, who is, if I may add, the worst passenger to have in a car, is playing a video game with the music turned all the way up. It takes everything in me not to reach over there and pound him into the ground, so I take a deep breath and keep my seatbelt buckled as I speak to him.  


“Hey, Jonathan?” I use his full name; otherwise, he doesn’t answer me.  


“Ya?” He looks up, his voice nasally from his recent battle with the frightening common cold.  


“Could you please turn the game down? It’s a bit loud.” I put a big, polite smile on my face, but he just smirks in response.  


“I thought Mom said that the world didn’t revolve around you, eh?” He takes another big sniffle while falling to stifle a chuckle. I turn around with a huff because, sadly, he won that  argument. 


 The car ride is quick, and I spend it looking at my old camera roll. I do it a lot, mostly just  to confirm that I did, in fact, change. There are a lot of selfies of Joy and me, but I always skip  past those; I’m never in the reminiscing mood. Besides, I took enough personal selfies with  awful Snapchat filters to satisfy me. Once I get bored, I stare outside, letting my mind wander  with the help of Taylor Swift’s Blank Space. We used to love that song.  


I wish I could stop thinking about her. Our memories, our sweet moments, shape a friendship as strong as we were. I believe any words I thought of rolled off my tongue to her back then; that’s how much I trusted her. Now? I don’t think I’ve taken a good look at her in a couple of months, which I’m okay with, by the way. I don’t need her anyway.  


“We’re here!” My mom exclaims, turning to face my brother. “John, can you get the bacon sliders?”  


“Mom, I’m already carrying so much stuff!” 


I’m pretty sure I hear my mom muttering a curse word to herself, but we both choose to  ignore it. She does look at me, though, and we make an understanding form of eye contact, one  that makes me uncomfortable.  


“I know you don’t want to be here,” Oh really? “But I was talking to Mrs. Planter, and Joy  misses you too. Talk to her.”  


I feel warmer at that sentence, and a small smile creeps up on my face, only to be replaced by a cold look. I don’t miss her, neither does she. I don’t know what my mom is talking about.  


She has her weird friends; I have my cool new ones. We don’t need each other.  


I get out of the car, the chill of the air causing goosebumps to appear on my arms. I  would put my hands on my arms to preserve warmth, but I don’t want to look insecure, so I don’t. Instead, I stand straighter, walking with gumption toward the backyard. Ms. Wreather,  the host, and Joy’s aunt, approaches my family, going in to hug my mom.  


“Oh my gosh, it has been so long! Lizzy, Joy is over there, I know that’s the only reason  why you came, LOL!”  


Multiple things wrong with that statement. One, she said LOL, the abbreviation, out loud, which is a federal offense, and two, Joy and I are not friends. We had our fallout approximately four months, two weeks, and five days ago! Not that I keep count. Like I said, I don’t miss her, I don’t need her.  


I don’t unleash my diatribe on her, though, and I walk over to the bench on which Joy is  sitting. She hasn’t changed. Her shoes still have my signature on them, my blonde hair tie holds up her ponytail, and half of her bracelets are the ones I gave her for past birthdays. There is a new one on her left wrist, a multicolored chevron with several different letter beads, one being a J. It must be a friend group friendship bracelet, which, if I may say, is disgustingly awful. I sit next to her, trying my best to look cool and unbothered by the boredom that racks my mind. She silently does her bracelet that is knotted to her water bottle handle, but suddenly she looks at me, curiosity in her eyes. I attempt to repress a glare, but it comes up and shoots Joy anyway. That doesn’t stop her from opening her mouth.  


“Do you do drugs now?”  


“What?”  She laughs nervously. “The girls had a bet that you turned all delinquent and got into the drug business. I heard a rumor that in the third-floor bathroom, they like, actually sell the real thing.”  


“I wouldn’t know because I don’t do drugs,” I send a judgmental glare her way, similar to  the one she just received.  


“That’s what I said, but they begged me to ask you.” She pauses, seemingly ruminating about something. “Do you remember in fifth grade, when we wrote an ‘adult’ contract, like no doing drugs, drinking alcohol, or lying?”  


“So just rewriting the Bible?” I joke, a small smile creeping up again. Why can’t I stay stoic, I don’t know: “But yeah, I do remember. That was also the year we got that chorus duet with that off-brand Disney song.”  


“Oh my gosh, we were so off-tune.” She giggles, and I laugh too. Her happy mien turns sad after a few seconds. “Chorus isn’t the same now that you quit.” 


I don’t know why she had to turn the conversation to such a somber tone, but I humor her with “I grew out of it, I don-“  


“But you didn’t grow out of it,” Joy interrupts me, catching me by surprise. She’s not rude, but she seems passionate about this subject. “You loved it till the second you quit.”  


“What can I say, I change. Quickly, I guess,” I grow tired of talking to her, so I turn to face the forest, but not before adding one more thing. “Like you would care.”  


I don’t get a chance to see her reaction, but I hear a gasp before she starts talking again.


“Where did you get that idea from? I grew up with you; I will never stop caring about you.” 


Joy is really getting on my nerves, so I might as well go nine miles. “If you truly cared about me, you wouldn’t have left me for…them.” It was low, sure, but I didn’t care at this point.  


“What do you mean, them? They liked you!” 


I scoff, “No they didn’t! They always preferred you.” I take in a shaky breath before I continue. “I don’t know what you did, whether it was making them candy stripes or talking shit about me--“  


“I would never do that, and you know that. I have been nothing but loyal to you since the day we met.”  


“I never asked you to be!”  


“That’s what friends do! They are loyal; they stick to your side. You have barely done that, you have always looked for other stupid groups to join and to be a part of, and you forgot me until the others forgot about you! When I found my group, who would of been willing to let you in, you pushed me away like I was some bad guy!” She exhales, her face slightly red from her outburst. My jaw is pulled down by the utter shock that clouds my mind. 


Joy looks dejected. “You know, I was looking forward to being with them…with you. It would have been a fun new chapter.”  


Hi, my name is Joy and I rub salt into the wound; what’s your name? I keep my mouth shut. I’m still trying to process everything she said, and the more that I think about it, the more I think she has a point. 


She speaks again. “I miss you.”  


I sigh and turn my head to look at her. Her brown eyes have welled up with tears. Guilt pools in my stomach. Joy is being so kind to me, and I’ve been treating her like garbage this entire conversation. She didn’t deserve this. 


In truth, she was painfully accurate. Over the years, I have made many friends that weren’t her. Hell, I even tried the popular shtick in fourth grade before I ran back to Joy, and she  accepted me with open arms. It is pretty selfish for me not to be as receptive back. Just because I ruined that friendship doesn’t mean I have to ruin this one too.  


“I-I” My first words come out garbled and stammered, so I clear my throat to ease some of the nerves. “I’m sorry. You have always been a good friend to me, and it wasn’t right of me to  suddenly ghost you like that. I was just…jealous.” God, that was hard, but that familiar guilt that had weighed on me for the past few months lifted, and I felt like genuinely smiling again.  


She laughs, her watery eyes turning dry, “I get it. That group has all their predetermined duos, so I get jealous now, too. I’m also sorry. I should have talked to you about it. I was just so  excited to be included.” She puts a strand of hair behind her ear, and my mind starts to wander  to the past. 


I nod in understanding and go to say something again, but not before being rudely  interrupted by a disgusting sound to the right of me. Joy and I both turn our heads to see her  cousin and my brother making some sort of concoction out of mashed potatoes, apple juice,  and cherry pie. I genuinely think boys don’t have the mental capacity to do anything meaningful in this universe, and they prove my theory.  


“Oh my gosh, no waywejust reconciled next to the grossest people in the universe,” I  put my finger to my throat to imitate, and Joy laughs. She’s always laughing now that I think of  it. I could never stay mad at her. “They are gross, but in a way, they helped us become friends again, so can you blame  them?” I look into her eyes before saying, “Yeah, I guess so."

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