Matches | √

Chapter Nine

inflame | provoke or intensify

• • •

2/10/17

BETWEEN THE CLOTHES, the shoes, and the makeup, girls cover every inch of Francesca's humongous room. She invited girls from the cheer squad to get ready with us for Asher's party tonight. My best friend herself may not cheer herself, but every single girl on the squad knows that Francesca is the girl to befriend. The girl to stand beside at school to gain status.

My best friend's room is filled with girls just like her. Naturally beautiful, popular, rich. Girls I find I rarely have anything in common with, but I find myself trying more than in the past. Trying to engage in conversations, even if I fail, and I don't know if it's a change that's stemmed from Asher or myself. But I'm not mad about it.

One face is noticeably missing from the usual group of attendees I know Francesca parties with. I quietly walk over to her as she thumbs through a closet I swear is almost as big as my room.

"Hey," I say quietly, not trying to gain any attention though as my eyes cast around the room I realize it's not needed, as no one is even looking my way.

"Hi," she smiles back at me warmly.

"Where's Jessica?" I question asking about the girl most noticeably missing from the pack. Jessica is someone who always parties with Francesca. They even head over to state college some weekends to party at the bars and fraternities there.

Her eyes focus on the multitude of skirts in front of her. "She's not coming," she states simply.

"Oh," I breathe. "Why?" I ask not understanding why one of Francesca's friends and someone so popular wouldn't be in attendance when every other girl sits getting ready in her room.

My best friend's cat-like eyes meet mine. "Because she can be mean to you sometimes, and I know you don't feel super comfortable around her," she says with a small shrug as if her actions mean nothing. When they mean everything. Francesca is aware I don't get along great with her friends, but she always involves me when she can, sticks up for me if someone says something rude, and always puts me first.

"But she's your friend," I tell her. Letting my words allude to the fact that Francesca can invite anyone she likes to her house. It is her house.

She shakes her head lightly. "And you're my best friend," she states. "I love Jessica, but even she can get on my nerves sometimes and I wanted a fun night," my best friend tells me with a playful wink trying to brush off what she did as if it doesn't matter. As if she didn't look out for me to make sure I'm going to have a fun night, a night I was tagging along no matter what. But she doesn't just want me to be her sidekick; she wants me to enjoy the night with her.

My chest fills with a feeling only my mother and my best friend can produce, a feeling of complete and total love and acceptance. Then of course a dash of guilt strikes my chest at the fact that Francesca would do anything for me, and here I am messing around with her crush.

Is messing around the right word here? What does one call a kiss? A gift of donuts? I shake my head of all the confusing thoughts that want to attack me, and let my lips turn up in an earnest smile at my best friend.

"Love you," I speak truthfully.

"Love you more Mae," she responds before playfully smacking my hip. "Now go get some makeup on your damn face."

I chuckle but go over to her vanity and pull out my small makeup bag compared to the vast array of shades and types of makeup my best friend owns. I mess around and let myself put on a little more than usual. Let myself experiment with shades of eye shadow and eye liner.