I remember the day I met you. It was my second day of first grade- I had just moved schools- and I tackled you at recess. When I saw your pretty face, I felt so bad. I had stood up and helped you get up and brush off the leaves and grass. You smiled at me in the sweetest, most cutest way in the world.
Angle. That was your name. It fit you so perfectly. You had long, blonde, almost white, hair. Your eyes were a deep blue that I wanted to stare into forever. Your skin was white as snow, but warm and soft. Everyday you would wear the most beautiful clothes and everyday I'd draw you- even if you didn't notice.
Ever since that day we were inseparable. I don't know why you stay around me. I'm not pretty, I'm not popular, and I'm not even that likable. With my short, choppy black hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin, I look like your polar opposite.
In fourth grade you got your first boyfriend. His name was Jordan. You two were perfect together. He was popular, you were popular. He was handsome, you were gorgeous. But, I hated him. He stole you from me. You broke up after two months.
I had told you he tried to kiss me. That was a lie. No one ever wanted to kiss your ugly best friend. Angle and Jess. You were the pretty, popular one. And I was your ugly, loner sidekick.
In sixth grade you and Jordan got back together. It lasted all year. One day you walked into school and told me you and Jordan just made out. I just smiled and congratulated you. I wanted to kill him for doing that with you.
In seventh grade you and Jordan were still together. In the fourth month of school you walked into our math class, sat beside me, and didn't say a word. There was a large bruise on your cheek. I wanted to ask why, but I didn't. It wasn't the right time to.
The next day you didn't come to school. Or the next day. Or the next day. Finally, on the fourth day you didn't show up to school, I went to your house. I went right inside, knowing your mom and dad wouldn't be home until seven or eight. You were curled up on the couch, watching tv.
Your hair was a mess, you had bags under your eyes, and you were in the most hideous sweatpants in the world. I sat beside you, knowing you didn't want to talk about what was bothering you.
An hour later you finally sat up and looked me in the eyes. You said one sentence, and I knew why you acting so...differently.
"He raped me."
I pulled you into a hug and told you lies. That it would be okay. That it would get better. That he would be taken to jail. I was so angry. I knew Jordan wasn't perfect. I knew he would hurt you.
I'm just sorry I didn't warn you.
Four months later you gave birth. The baby was born dead. She was birthed so early. Far too early. You weren't the same after that. You were depressed. You were different. You weren't my best friend anymore. You were a ghost in her body.
Two months after you gave birth, you died in a car crash. It wasn't an accident. You had mailed me a note the same day. It said two words:
I'm sorry.
You killed yourself. And now it's too late to tell you. To tell you that I've loved you since first grade. And that you will always be my guardian angel.
Sweet dreams, love.
I'll see you soon.
In Heaven or Hell.
We'll sing to the moon.
