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Class was finally over! I raced to my locker at the other end of the school, hoping to get out of the halls and into the streets before I had to look at anyone else. Life had become such a chore. I dreaded waking up each morning, going to school, walking through the narrow halls, hearing whispers when I turned a corner, noticing the abrupt silence when I entered a room. My life was a nightmare – a nightmare I no longer wanted to endure.

Ever since the beginning of high school, my life had been this nightmare. I was not able to wake up and end the torture which has become my destiny. When I think about the beginning of the end of my life, only one name comes to mind – Francie Hunter.

During the summer before the beginning of our high school years, Francie had single handedly turned every face against mine, added my name to each rude remark, and placed me in the center of every single rumor and bit of gossip. I never thought that the simple end of a friendship would be the beginning of the tortured life which I would be forced to endure.

I remember that pivotal moment in my life so well. Francie and I had just spent the week at her aunt’s cabin in Ontario. We were sitting in my basement,, watching my mom’s old black and white movies.

“I can’t be your best friend anymore, Francie,” I blurted nonchalantly.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t be your best friend, that’s what I mean.”
“Megs, we’ve been friends forever. You can’t just say ‘I can’t be your best friend anymore.’ Of anyone is going to decide of the end of our friendship, it would be me.” She looked at me with her fiercely blue eyes, as if trying to curse my soul.
“Francie, you said it yourself last week, ‘High school is a new chapter in our lives. We’ll meet new people. Find new boys, and by the end of it, we may not ever be best friends anymore.’ I’m just trying to make it so that we don’t have to go through a bad fight and never speak to each other again. This way, we know we’re not mad at each other, so we can’t hate each other. We’ll still be friends France – just not best friends.”
Again, Francie looked at me with those eyes that could pierce through my soul.
Francie stood up and walked to the door at the other end of the room, leading to the backyard. As she was about to turn the doorknob, she turned around abruptly.
“You’ll regret this, Dawson.” She then turned on her heel and walked out the door as quickly as her feet would take her. The house seemed to shake as she slammed the door shut with every muscle in her small fourteen-year-old arm.

I sat there for what seemed like hours after Francie left. I felt numb, unable to process what had just happened. I couldn’t understand why Francie could take what I said so wrong. I thought that since we had been friends for s long, she would understand what I meant, and not be hurt by it. I shouldn’t have been so naïve though. If only I’d remembered that time I lost her favorite Barbie when we were five. She didn’t talk to me for two weeks. While all these thoughts were going through my mind, my older sister, Madelyn, came downstairs. When she saw me sitting there on the floor, my head hung low, he face fell, and she hurried toward me. As she sat down on the carpeted floor, she placed her hand on my knee reassuringly.
“Hey, what’s wrong, kiddo?”

Madelyn was an amazing sister. She always has such a sunny disposition about her, and I rarely saw a frown on her bright face. Her beautiful, dark auburn hair always added to the glow of her creamy white face, and her green eyes gave truth to the saying “Irish eyes are smiling.” I always felt that it was a great compliment when people knew that I was Madelyn’s sister and that I looked like her, even though my lighter, curly locks were no match for her long, straight hair.

As I began to recount every painful detail of my fight with Francie, I began to cry. Madelyn put her arm around my shoulder, and held me like that for a long time. Even though she was five years older than me, and had her own life, she was never to busy to hear about my lame pre-high school drama.

“Well, that was smart of you, Meg. I never would have had the brains to come up with that genius plan. I remember the fright that Debra Cohen and I had in grade eleven. We had been best friends since grade three, when she moved to Calgary from New York. We though we would be friends forever, but of course we realized that when we both had our eyes on Nolan Welsh, that our friendship might not last through the trials of high school. And as you are well aware, it didn’t. I haven’t talked to her since. She was so upset when Nolan asked me to go with him to grad. You and Francie have been friends far too long to let this ruin everything. She’ll be back, just you wait.”

I thought about what Madelyn said for a long time, long after she had gone back upstairs. Francie and I had been friends for a long time. I honestly couldn’t remember a time when Francie wasn’t my best friend – well, not counting the Barbie incident of ’94.

After sitting on the basement floor for so long, I decided to go back up to my room. As I passed the kitchen on my way upstairs to my room, my mom called after me.
“Wait, Meg,” my mom said in the soft voice my ears had become so accustomed to in my fourteen years. “Is something wrong, honey?”
“No, I’m fine, mom.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk?”
“No, I’m fine.”
I ran up the stairs, wanting to avoid more questions, which would surely make me crack.

My room seemed to welcome me as I opened the door and walked in. I walked past my dresser, and headed straight for my bed. As I lay down on my small bed, I reached under my blankets and found my favorite stuffed animal – Brownie the brown bear. I got him when I was two, and I had slept with him every night since. I hugged him against my chest, searching for the comfort I knew I wouldn’t find. I felt so alone, but I still had the hope that Francie would see my side of this and come back. She couldn’t hold a grudge that long – or so I thought.

When the phone rang, I was startled awake. I reached for the phone which sat on my bedside table.
“Hello?” I asked groggily.
“This is Meg, right? Meg Dawson?”
“Uh, yeah. This is she.” I was quite apprehensive in continuing this call. I had a bad feeling in my stomach, as if the worst thing was about to happen – something I had no power over.