Summary: Waiting is never easy for some people
Paring: Read and see
Disclaimer: If I was Ann M. Martin, I would have aged them after awhile. But I'm not, and I'm not rich. I'm just trying my hand at some good ol' BSC slash. A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend.
A/N: I hope everyone likes it.
Dedication: To the two people who may not understand why I write slash, but support me in whatever I write, I love you and this one is for you.
Waiting by my locker, I wonder why I'm doing this. After all, it's been three years since we've spoken, three years since we've actually been anything more than mere acquaintances.
I've missed her in these three years we haven't been friends. I miss the whispered secrets behind the lockers, the notes passed in the hallway, how she could just look at me and knew what I was thinking. Now, for three years, as I watch her pass in the hallway, surrounded by her new friends, I wonder if she misses what we had. She scarcely passes me by without a glance and I feel the hurt every time she passes by without so much of a glance.
But I can deal with it, right? I can deal with the fact that the girls I thought would be my friends forever no longer speak to each other.
I can deal with that everything changed in my life in a sudden moment and for three years I've floated adrift and aimless, wondering where my life was going to go. Right? After all, smile on the outside, never let anyone see that you're upset or unhappy, because if you do, then you're weak.
Weakness is not in the game plan as I've perfected myself as the toughest girl in the school, the one that everyone respects because their afraid of my temper. I've perfected the bad-ass bitch routine. I've got acquaintances, I never have friends, because if I have friends, then they'll get close and see through the carefully constructed mask that I present to the world.
So why am I waiting at my locker for her, my heart beating a mile a minute, my palms sweaty in anticipation. Why do I care if she meets me here or not? Do I honestly think we're the same people we were when we entered high school? I know I've changed in three years, but has she?
Suddenly, she's standing before me and looking hopeful and wary at the same time. Her once blonde hair is dyed black and her clothes are all black. With her pale complexion, she looks like death. I know that she's going for the gothic look, but the gothic look is so not her.
"Kristy?" she asks me, looking up at me hopefully
"What is it you want? You haven't spoken to me since we had that fight our freshman year and now all of the sudden, you want to talk again?"
Her lower lip trembles for a moment and then a hard look comes into her eyes. "All I wanted to say was I wanted to ask you about the class assignment that I missed today. But if you're going to be a bitch about it……."
"You know what it is, you were there. What's the real reason?"
She looks at me for a moment and shakes her head. "This is the reason we're no longer friends, for the fact that you can't bend."
"You didn't say that the night we kissed as Cokie Mason's party. You were all into me that night. After that night, you avoided me. What the hell was I supposed to think? Every time I tried to talk to you, you either looked through me, around me, or ignored me. So what the hell was up with that?"
She looks at me and shakes her head. "You just don't get it, do you?" Leaning in, she brushes her lips across mine and pulls back, darting down the hall.
I stare after her for a moment and bring my hand to my lips. "I get it Stace, I get it."