Like Gold

14.

14.

MY FINGERS PRESSED INTO MY FACE, tapping gently at my swollen eyelids. I'd stopped crying a while ago, but I refused to look up.

Beside me, Jace's arm pressed into mine. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut. Afraid.

"I'm sorry," I managed finally.

"For what?"

"Crying," I scoffed because it was obvious, pushing my fingers harder into my skin as if the pain would make the shame disappear. "Like an idiot."

A moment of silence passed, before he leaned closer to me, his shoulder knocking clumsily into mine.

"Jasmine, it's normal to cry," he said quietly, chuckling slightly. "Especially... today."

October 12.

Worst day ever.

"I just – I miss her, you know?" I said, my voice feint. "I miss her every day. And I keep waiting for it to stop fucking hurting. I keep waiting to wake up one morning and not think about her the second I open my eyes. A day where I can hear a car drive past without freezing up, or walk past Simon Street without holding my breath. But it's been a year, Jace. It's never going to happen."

I released a tight breath, a sudden ache erupting in my chest. Because it was true. Everyone spoke about how it'd get easier. With time, they'd say. You'd get over it. You'd forget. Things would go back to normal.

Even my mom had gotten over it, like she hadn't known Amber since she was crawling in diapers. She'd gotten over it in a month.

I wondered vaguely if Amber's parents still thought of her. They'd moved out of town the week after the accident. They'd probably had moved sooner if they had been able to sell their house quicker.

I frowned, grabbing at my shirt, clawing at my chest. It hurt so bad.

How could this get easier?

"What was she like?"

I blinked, turning to finally face Jace. He watched me with those brown eyes – brown like honey. Warm and sweet. His lips were tight, tugged into a small frown. But it wasn't pity.

It was understanding.

"Amber?" I asked stupidly.

He laughed. "No, your middle school principal. Who else, Jasmine?"

I chuckled weakly, rolling my eyes, and he smiled at my reaction. His hand reached up, brushing the hair out of my face. My skin burned where he touched.

"Tell me," he said.

I released a breath, my mind drifting to Amber. Not Amber lying in that mutilated car. Not Amber, dead.

Amber, when she was alive.

"She was my best friend," I said finally. "I met her in day care. Known her since I was two years old. We went to preschool together. We did ballet together when we were six. We had our first crushes on the same boy."

I laughed, remembering Antonio from sixth grade – a dorky, lanky boy with overgrown hair and glasses. I remembered us both developing crushes on him. I remembered fighting – not over who had dibs, but over who would give up first, because I wanted Amber to be happy, and she wanted me to be happy.

In the end, Isabella Montero got her because she was older and had pretty green eyes, but it didn't matter, because I had Amber.

"She always put me first," I continued. "She was way more popular than me, but if anyone dared to tease me or exclude me, she was the first one to stand up for me. She – she made me come out of my shell. I just... I miss her."