Not Another High School Love Story

36. Worth a Thousand Words

Love comes in so many different forms, most of them durable, which I guess is lucky for me since I spent a little too much time focusing on what I had with Brent. It sounds super obvious, I know, but I think the power of platonic love gets lost in the bigger picture. I said before that I never felt more loved than I did when I was with Brent, but that's not totally true, there's plenty of love in my life to keep me warm. There's the maternal affection Ms. Montgomery has been showering me with, which is certainly not in short supply, and then there's the kind of love that only someone like Grace can give me. It's the kind of love that's old, weathered but strong—the love forged between people who have seen it all together.

I'll be the first to admit I got a bit overzealous in my relationship with Brent, but maybe that's because it blindsided me and I didn't really have time to prepare for it. Before him I'd never had a boyfriend, or been in love, so I held on tighter than I should've, and I lost too much of myself in the process. Of course that just makes the way it ended hurt worse. Yet time heals all wounds, I'm starting to learn that, and now that I've got some distance—and some time—things are becoming clearer. I'm not over it, not by far, but every day I wake up and discover it hurts just a little less than it did before.

Apparently I'm going to pull through after all, and whatever strength I lack is made whole by all the love I still have. There was a period of adjustment for me and Grace, trying to rediscover our friendship, but it didn't take long and we're back to being thick as thieves. Having a boyfriend is nice, but sometimes you just need your best friend, and I'm glad to have mine back. Needless to say we've been pretty much inseparable since, I don't think I could do this without her. We both sit at the head of my bed, legs outstretched and tangled together while we watch a movie on my laptop. It's mindless fun, but I'm more focused on the books scattered around.

"This is good." Grace points to a picture on the page I'm opened to. With the year coming to an end I'm about to finish up with yearbook, so I'm looking at some of the old issues for inspiration. It's all my work, but just like every year before I have too many pictures and not enough space. Now comes the tedious process of choosing what goes in, and it appears my best friend has some ideas of her own. "You definitely have to use the one of me winning prom queen, Madison looks like she's about to cry in it."

"Obviously, was there ever any doubt?" I snicker, nudging her shoulder as I switch to flipping through an album filled with prom pictures. Despite the twinge in my heart I'm able to look at them fondly, even the ones of Brent. Whatever came after, it was a great night, and I do love the picture Grace is talking about—and not just because of Madison's mortified expression. I take it out and scoff. "I still can't believe she didn't try to snatch the crown right off your head. Or that you ran in the first place."

"What can I say? I like to win." Her reply is cocky, and she picks up a random album at will to start perusing. "Besides, I won't have a lot of time to dick around next year, I thought it'd be fun to do something stupid."

"Stupid being the optimal word." I'm only teasing. "I know what you mean though, college is going to be a hell of a lot tougher. Especially for you, your application must've been impressive if Stanford accepted you already. Did I tell you congratulations, by the way?"

"You did, but early admissions are pretty common, it's no big deal. He says he didn't, but I'm almost positive my dad called and put in a good word for me. God, I hope he doesn't plan to keep sticking his nose in when I get there." Grace rolls her eyes. She acts like being accepted to her dream school is insignificant, but I know how worried she was about it, and I saw her face when she got the letter. To her this is the answer to countless prayers, but to me it's nothing more than the conclusion of something inevitable. The plan she's had for her life hasn't changed since the day she made it, I wish I had that kind of certainty.