Rachel

Rachel always looks amazing. It doesn't matter what she wears. It doesn't matter how she styles her hair or does her makeup. No matter what she does, what jewelry she wears, she is constantly the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Her eyes are a rich brown that feels like I'm swimming in chocolate every time I stare into them. Her hair is a magically curly brown that I want to lose myself in forever. Her scent is soft and sweet, just being near her feels like dancing through a fragrant meadow.

When our English teacher decided to assign our seating on the first day, I was so upset that he sat her so far away from me, but after a few days I realized how wonderful it was to have such a perfect view of her. There's no learning to be had in that class for me. All I want to study is Rachel. Fitzgerald, Bradbury, Golding – it's a miracle I even remember the names as little attention as I pay in that class. The miracle, mind you, isn't that I can remember them from class. The miracle is that Rachel is my best friend and a lot more focused than I am.

Every day after school, Rachel helps me study. As boring as homework and studying are, somehow it comes so much easier when I hear her gentle voice explaining everything I missed in class. Sometimes I wonder if some, subconscious part of me is deliberately ignoring the teacher just so I have an excuse to ask Rachel to explain it to me again.

"You there, space girl?" she asks, snapping me out of the thoughts I got lost in once again.

"Yeah, no, I'm still listening," I say, adjusting myself on my bed. "This book really doesn't do it for me though."

"What? An island full of boys isn't good enough for you?" she asks jokingly.

"They're kids, Rach," I shoot back with an amused smile.

"It's a story. You can pretend they're all our age," she says playfully.

"Still a no go for me. They're not exactly the nicest boys, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Rachel says, setting the book aside. "Would you prefer it if they were girls?" She gives me a playful grin.

Rachel and I have been best friends since sixth grade. She knows me better than anyone else in the world. She knows every struggle I've had, every happy moment, and every single secret. Except for one.

"I'd rather a story about just two girls on an island together," I say wistfully. "They'd be BFFs and their names would be Rachel and..." I trail off, losing myself in her eyes.

"Sounds like a nice vacation," she says cheerfully. "But I'm sure you'd want to hang out with someone else eventually," her voice still friendly and playful.

Never as long as I have you, I think to myself.

When we were in the seventh grade, Rachel and I were bored one day, hanging out at her place over the weekend. While trying to decide what to do, we started talking about the future, love, and romance. She asked me if I'd ever kissed a boy before. I said "no," of course, and she hadn't either. We started talking about what it would be like to actually kiss a boy.

I always knew that it was normal for boys and girls to kiss when they loved each other. My parents, of course, insisted that I wasn't allowed to kiss boys until I was much older, and I think they'd still say the same thing if I asked them if I could. I never really had the urge, though. I figured that I was still too young and I'd want to when I was older, but now I'm halfway through high school and still haven't felt that desire.

Rachel had an idea that day. She figured that, seeing as how neither of us knew much about kissing, maybe it would be a good idea to practice. I naturally asked how we would practice without any boys to practice on, but she already had that covered. She suggested that we practice on each other. I remember getting up to close the door to her room to make sure no one would overhear or see us if they walked by.