Friends and Lovers

O N E

Hey there!

I'm back with a revamped version of a beloved story. I've completely overhauled it, giving it a fresh perspective and structure. This story has always held a special place in my heart, and I'm sure it's dear to some of you too. Over the years, I've felt that it deserved more attention and more depth. I hope you'll appreciate and enjoy this new take on "Friends and Lovers."

 I want to extend my heartfelt thanks for all the love and support you've shown me during my twelve-year journey of writing Stand By Me stories. Your support means the world to me, and it's what drives me to keep creating.

Join me on this new path,

I'm so happy to have you here.

- H.C 

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It had been six months.

That's a total of one hundred and eighty-two days.

Or if you want to get super specific,

Twenty-six weeks.

During that entire period, neither of us mentioned that chilly December night when Eyeball Chambers had kissed me for the first time, and we had been best friends since the second grade.

I had so many chances to break my silence and ask about the significance of that moment. However, every time, I faltered and couldn't muster the courage. Truth be told, it seemed like he had forgotten the whole thing, leaving me not only confused but undeniably pissed off.

It seemed to me that his kiss had stemmed from a combination of drunkenness and boredom that night. Nevertheless, when our lips met for the first time, it sealed my unfortunate fate—I found myself deeply in love with Eyeball Chambers, and the window to confess my feelings had unfortunately closed.

Much to my disappointment, there was another girl in the equation.

About a month ago, Eyeball brought around his newest romantic interest. At first, we all thought she was just another temporary companion, given Eyeball's tendency to have someone on his arm for a few weeks before moving on. That was his usual approach with girls. However, the regularity of her presence and the way he looked at her suggested that it was more than just a passing fling.

The worst part about it all was that I was starting to think he loved her.

Her name was Rita Sweeting, a name that carried an aura of saccharine charm matching her last name. Everyone seemed to have adored her. My circle of friends, a group of stereotypical beatniks and rough-talking males, reveled in her presence, seemingly drawn solely by her beauty. I mean, in my own biased opinion, there wasn't really much to her personality. I just couldn't shake the feeling that their attention was solely based on her physical appeal.

Rita embodied the epitome of all-American beauty. Hailing from a big city, she was a pageant queen, boasting about a litany of titles she had clinched in the past. A natural blonde with big blue eyes, she possessed a slender figure and a full chest. Not a single blemish marred her flawless appearance, and every day, without fail, she exuded an air of well-put-togetherness.

In stark contrast, Rita and I were polar opposites. While she basked in the glory of academic accolades, gracing the honor roll with ease, I struggled to keep pace in shop classes and frequently found myself relegated to summer school to make up for lost ground. Her stable family background sharply contrasted with my fractured upbringing, marked by an absentee mother and a drunk for a father. While Rita was inundated with invitations and admirers, I languished in solitude, unable to attract even a passing glance from anyone outside the circle of boys I'd grown up with. She amassed a collection of beauty pageant titles, while my greatest claim to fame was a third-place finish in a fifth-grade potato sack race—I even had a ribbon to show for it.