Peribat

Christy Wells

Middle school was an ocean. Each shark had its own motive. As soon as I entered the school, I knew what I was dealing with. You had your popular girls who tried to gossip people to death, your jocks, who sprung at every opportunity to show off, your gamers, who only talked about video games and how introverted they are, and last but not least, you had your stoners and depressed freaks, like me, who were so screwed up, they didn't care where they fit in.
I had a friend named Ann, who was so involved with herself, she'd fish for compliments every chance she got. Her self involvement was the one thing keeping her from being popular. She was skinny, fashionable, and wore heaps of makeup, but she had such a horrible personality, that it started to hold her back. One day, she was being so selfish, that I called her out on it. That one comment transformed our friendship into a civil war. I eventually gave up, and apologized.
She only got worse, and every day now, she'd be talking about herself, and bragging. The worst part is that she could pull you in with a compliment, and start drowning you slowly by transitioning the conversation to her own selfish needs. Everytime that we would hang out, she would focus on herself. There was only one thing that came out of that friendship, which was ultimately what lead me to Jamison. That was Christy.
She was my best friend when I didn't have one. She was my rock when I needed her to be. She made me laugh and I made her a better person. Christy was the sister I had always wanted. Although she wasn't always the brightest, she brought out the best of me. I defended her when everyone called her stupid, and I helped her seem less abrasive. She helped me with Math and my social life while I was in my darkest times with my family.
Honestly, I think she kept me around to comfort herself. In her mind, she was messed up, but she would never be as messed up as I was. Her family was shit, but her family would never be as shitty as mine. Christy made some bad choices, but her decisions weren't as bad as mine. I was just a disaster to her that she needed to reflect upon.
I had known her since we were six years old, but it was always in groups of friends set up by our status obsessed softball moms. Sixth grade was probably when we connected the most. For the longest time, we were best friends, but you know how friendship works. It's all fun and games until someone gets therapy. She didn't need me anymore to make herself feel better.
Jamison glared at me, the corners of his mouth scrunching up as the slurry of rain and snow flung to the ground. We were close to New York City, however, we weren't close enough to sleep. Our eyes were strained from exhaustion and the lack of humidity. He had pulled into a small shop on the border of New York state. It was a little hut where they sold leatherbound journals, trinkets, and animal furs. Jamison had a hefty sum of cash in his wallet, mainly because he had been involved with numerous paid programs involving swimming. Now, I don't know if he was bored of me or if he just wanted to do something nice, but as we reached the checkout counter, he pulled out the black leatherbound journal and handed it to me.
"Here, I know you love writing, and this seemed pretty cool."
"Oh, thank you. Gosh, it's really pretty, reminds me of one of those colonial notebooks."
"I bought you a feather pen too, I know how you like old time-ey things." He did that thing again. That cute little notion where he signals that he cares about you. He placed his hand on the back of his neck and smiled. It was the smile that meant the most to me. Though, maybe looking back on it, his smile was the only thing that meant anything to me. Jamison was the only thing that I was focused on.
As we proceeded to enter the car, my boots slipped on the icy sidewalk, almost making me slide across the pavement. However, instead of falling, Jamison's hands caught me and pulled me upward as our eyes met. He ran his fingers though my hair, feeling every strand. He wrapped me in warmth, giving me a tight hug in the cold winter rain. He wasn't the type to get emotional, but this time, he didn't hesitate. Jamison started to say something, going on a long speech, but I didn't hear any of it. I just felt his skin against mine as we hugged. That's all that mattered.
When we got back in the car, I pulled out my pen and journal, scribbling down a story.