One Of The Girls

Chapter 8: Beatrix

​After my emotional breakdown in the bathroom with her on Monday, I feel like I can really talk to Emily. I never thought I would connect with someone so late into my high school career, but she and I are becoming fast friends. More than anything, she's a girl. I didn't know how important female-to-female connection could be. I mean sure, I can talk to Josh and Drew and Noah about everything, don't get me wrong. And my friendship with Emily doesn't make them any less important, but it just feels so nice having a close girl friend. It's something I have never had before. We can complain about bras and talk about shoes and debate about different styles of underwear, and I know she gets it. The girly things were things I had never taken interest in before now, but now that I have, it's fun to have someone to share them with.

​That's why I go home with her after school to hang out. I want to talk to her about how I'm feeling. She was so great with me in the bathroom at school, so why wouldn't I?

​The first thing I see when I enter the house is a massive cat walking in the hallway. It's white and looks like it swallowed a bowling ball. I watch it enter the kitchen and notice that the food bowl is on the counter. I fear it won't be able to reach, but Emily touches my arm and says, "Watch." I watch in pure amazement as the cat springs from the ground, defying all laws of physics, and lands delicately on the counter to eat its food. Emily smiles at me, and welcomes me up the stairs. Here, she introduces me to her parents, old and still very much in love. They are sweet and make small talk with me as I peruse through her many tennis and volleyball pictures hanging on the fridge. Among them is a male look-alike who I am told is her older brother. I never knew she had an older brother. How weird is it that I could have gone my senior year without making this new friend, without meeting her parents, and without knowing what it was like to hang out with another girl? I owe it to the makeover. If I hadn't changed, I wouldn't know Emily. She would still just be one of the popular girls that seemed so untouchable.

​After greeting her family, we venture through the house and to her bedroom. It's filled with a lot of my own favorite colors. Emily has a lot of trophies, so many that they capture your gaze when you walk into the room. I always thought it was just a given that the popular girl would win. Whenever I'd be told that Emily Dunn had won state, once again, I would roll my eyes. She was perfect, why wouldn't she win? What was the point in even talking about it? C'est la vie. But now I am in her room, and I see the containers of tennis balls, the multiple rackets, and a pile of tennis shoes stacked in her closet. I see the track medals hanging around her vanity mirror, and the trophies lined up on her dresser, and they are juxtaposed with a signed cast laying on her nightstand and a box of wrap for shin splints. I realize that the trophies didn't just come naturally to her; she had to work for what she had, just like I did in softball. This blond popular girl wasn't any different from me.

​Emily plops down on her bed, and watches me look around. "Oh stop looking at all the trophies! It's embarrassing. My parents make me keep them out," she says. I look at her, and she is embarrassed. I join her on the bed, lay down on my back, and watch the ceiling fan circulate over and over.

​"Nice Taylor Swift poster," I tease her.

​"Shut up," she says, "It's from like middle school. 

​"No seriously! I'm only saying so because I have the same one."

​"Wow, you're so lame," Emily jokes. ​

​"So are you!" I say, and we both laugh.

"Okay, confession, I still like Taylor Swift."

​"Me too," I admit.

​"So," Emily says, rolling over to face me, "You and Alex, huh?"

​The laughter dies quickly to make room for a sigh, "Me and Alex."