My Bestfriend's Boy
New classes, new opportunities, a chance to be someone other than the girl whose boyfriend had left her.
I dressed carefully that morning—jeans, a sweater, my hair in a ponytail—and walked into Westbrook High with my shoulders back and my chin up. I was not going to be the girl who fell apart. I was going to be the girl who moved on.
Mia was waiting for me by my locker, two coffees in hand, her smile bright.
“Ready for this?” she asked, handing me a cup.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She fell into step beside me as we walked to first period, her chatter filling the silence. I let it wash over me, grateful for the normalcy, for the sound of her voice, for the fact that she was still here.
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