I had a friend die of cancer, you know. We were ten. Her name was Kieara. Kieara and I didn’t really get along that well, actually. Our relationship was more a competition than anything else. We were interested in mostly all the same things, and we were talented in mostly all the same areas. But there was one thing I was never able to forgive her for being good at; boys. I always used to wonder what was the matter with me, that I couldn’t seem to have a single conversation with a kid my age of the opposite sex without turning back to Kieara to take over, or maybe, if I was being particularily stubborn, simply keeping talking until the boy lost any interest he got from the fact that I was indeed a girl, and left. Kieara, I thought, had it so easy. She simply turned on her charm and any guy that came within a ten foot radius, and was straight, would be instantly captured by her enchantment…Kieara was the best when we were alone together. Just, doing what kids do, hanging out, or playing hopscotch, playing make believe and such. There, we were able to be friends, for real. We didn’t worry about popularity or boys or talents. When it was just us two…there was something…a connection. I have to laugh, when I look at my jealousy of Kieara. Here I am, now, with the world’s sweetest boyfriend hooked around one arm, and an entourage of friends just a call on my cell phone away. And there she is, six feet under, not a male friend in sight.
My Pretty not-pink Dream Avi
