The air pricked at the back of my throat. Sour. My hand didn’t want to wave, my head didn’t want to look back. But how could I not? She was crying through her smile. Like a snapped guitar string, such a distinguished sound, my best friend. I could not ignore her.
“I’ll see you soon” was the lie I told and her gaze, in that moment, believed me. It was, however, followed by a long and drawn out st...