The Bluestocking 2022-23

Amelia Campbell | Grade 12 The Best of Friends “Paige?” She looks up from her book. Her brown glasses are at the tip of her nose like they always are. “Wait. Let me just finish this paragraph,” she mutters, still looking down. I don’t reply, not wanting to disrupt her focus again. I look through the window behind her and silently watch the snow trickle down. I love the winter. Paige hates it. “What’s up?” she says, placing the book in her lap. I watch her grab a pillow from my bed and then lean against the window behind her. Although she hates the cold, the snowy white background makes her olive-green eyes pop. Her eyes are so pretty. “Do you think we will still be friends next year?” I ask softly. As soon as the words come out, I realize how desperate I sound. She laughs for a second and then continues, “Are you serious?” “Yes, I mean we are going to be at different schools in different cities in completely different countries. How will we even see each other?” There is a worried note in my voice that she picks up on. “Oh, my goodness,” she says as she shakes her head. Her hand reaches over to touch my leg. I usually hate any emotional, sappy, physical contact, but with Paige, it’s different. She looks into my eyes and smiles sympathetically before saying, “Remember in grade 5 when I had to spend the whole summer at my grandparents? We only saw each other once that whole summer. You were busy at camp, and I was stuck in Florida. But as soon as we saw each other the first day of school, it was like I never left.” I pause to think about that year. I know she is trying to comfort me, but that summer sucked. I hated that stupid horse camp and I missed seeing her every day. Plus, she came home with a boyfriend and told me her first kiss story about a thousand times. “Although we may not see each other every day, when we finally do,” Paige continues, “it will be the same as ever. And then it will make hanging out that much better.” I guess she has a point. When I saw her the first time after she came back, things did feel different. She had freckles covering her little nose, and her blonde hair was the perfect length to bounce every time she took a step. She was beautiful. She is beautiful. I look over at her with a forced smile and respond, “Yeah, I guess you are right.”

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