Black and White and Streaks of Color

Chapter Nine: Mabel's P.O.V. Friends?

  Soon after that, every night Pacifica would sneak out. She would knock on our door and I'd let her in, and we'd go into the attic and talk.
  Just talk.
  I've never had a friend like this: a friend who listens to my stories and problems and comforts me and cares for me. I'm not sure if we even are friends. We've never announced it as an official thing but I don't think we need to say anything; we can just feel it.
  Yet then we're not friends if only one person considers it.
  One night she comes and we sit on my bed. I ask her,"Are we friends?"
  She looks into my eyes."I-I don't really know what a friend is."
  "A friend is someone who cares for you, and likes you for who you are, I guess," I reply.
  "That seems nice."
  "Am I that to you?"
  "I think so. Am I that to you?"
  "Yeah, I think so."
  We sit in silence for a moment, looking around the room randomly.
  "Thank you for listening to me," Pacifica says.
  "No problem. Thank you for listening to me, too," I state."Sure, I'm social, but I've never had a close friend. Just random people I talk to who don't really seem to like me. But you, you're different."
  Her cheeks turn pink."Yeah, I had two girls I would hang around with. I would boss them around and stuff. They only hung with me because they thought I was popular. And because - I hope this doesn't sound snobby - I'm rich."
  "Humans are so weird."
  She giggles."Yeah."
  "I'd rather be a space mermaid who has kittens for fists!" I feel like lightening the mood from this silent depressing one.
  Sure enough, she laughs. It's a wonderful laugh, she has. She kind of just lets all of her happiness out. It's so cheerful and nice.
  I smile.
  I like the sound of that: friends.