Friends Forever, huh?

Chapter 2 | the boy with the weird hair

When you're a child, you become homesick for four walls and a building. Somewhere along the way, this changes to where home looks more like a pair of brown eyes and a pair of arms.

The four walls are steadier. Because when home is a person, home leaves.

And then one day, home might come back. He might catch you completely off guard. He might end up standing in front of you.

"Ash.." Cole murmurs, his eyes easily as wide as mine. His voice softens and his arm flinches as if he wants to pull me close to him. He's still the boy I've been secretly in love with for years. It's as if nothing changed...

His gaze travels over my face and mine does the same. He's here. How is he here?

I'm about to open my mouth and say something foolishly sentimental like "I missed you," But then the smirk he aimed at Mr. Lester returns and something seems to close off in his brown eyes.

"Miss me, babe?" No "I missed you." No "I haven't seen you in so long, how have you been?" Just a cocky smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

The briefly wonderful moment I had upon seeing him again disappears. I have a reoccurring realization that everything has indeed changed.

My Cole--the one I was best friends with for practically my whole life--is not a punk. The Cole I know makes terrible puns and quotes Mulan on a regular basis. Along with that, his hair is blonde, not the black hair he's currently sporting.

To be quite honest, I want to slap him. I want to slap him for making me miss him for two years. For never responding to my texts. For calling me babe in a cocky voice like he was talking to a stranger. For having his eyes locked on Shelby Stace and that blond hair of hers from across the room.

She catches his eye from across the room, sizing him up for a moment. Then she gives him a sweet smile, giggling as she waves. Cole winks at her before catching me staring at him.

I glance away quickly. Of course he would be looking at Shelby--who wouldn't? In all my foolish reunion fantasies, I imagined him looking at me like that. I imagined at him looking at me with intrigue in his eyes.

I raise my hand, asking to be excused to the bathroom. I feel sick. I'd just convinced myself I could get over the boy with the brown eyes and the smile so bright that the sun would be jealous.

But he had to ruin that by showing up.

I don't cry often--especially in front of people. I've always viewed tears as a sign of weakness, an unfortunate way of showing vulnerability in front of people. The last thing I want to do is show weakness. So I don't dare look at Cole as I wait for Mr. Lester's reluctantly given okay.

I walk out of the classroom in a composed manner...but as soon I'm out of sight, I sprint to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall.

My chest tightens in the way it does when I'm about to cry. I swallow, trying to clear the lump in my throat. The two of these combined are a unmistakable sign of oncoming tears.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

I take a deep breath, but it's too late to stop the tears. They slide down my cheeks, tasting of salt and effectively ruining my mascara.