”He’s my brother.”

I sat across from her, glaring. Watching. Seeing if she’d dare testify against me. I felt my cheeks redden and my eyebrows knit together as I tapped my nails rapidly on the kitchen table and filled the vast silence that seemed to overflow the room.

Her lip trembled. Only slightly.

”So what?!” She shrieked back, slamming her fists on the other end of the table, making it thud against my leg. ”He’s not allowed to choose me?! Surely I’m the best because you know me.”

”you agreed-

”I DIDN’T AGREE SHIT!” She burst out, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks in little streams, and beginning to pace in what little kitchen space we owned. ”He makes me happy. If you were my friend you’d cherish that.”

”You agreed to stop this.” I stopped tapping. Instead I looked up to face her as she cried patheticallyly. Sue Marthers, always the victim. Never to blame. The atmosphere seemed to wrap cold against my shoulders, embracing me in an unwanted hug as the situation dawned on me. Even my best friend can’t choose the guy she likes before me.

An arm rested on my shoulder.

I looked up.

Still glaring.

”Look,” She began, ”If you let me go out with him, so we can both be happy. You’ll never have to hear from me again.”

I shrugged off the hand. ”Ah yes, until there’s the wedding, where I sit in the back and try not to interrupt.”

”Katelyn-

”I don’t think we can be friends.”

The statement was simple and punctual. So punctual in fact, it seemed to puncture her heart right there and then. making her face deflate into more snot and tears as she let out a whine.

”you know what, GOOD!” She shoved me. Not enough to hurt. But enough to get the message across. The kitchen tiles clicked as my sneakers stopped my fall.

We were done. Weren’t we?

I sighed, taking a step towards her. ”Can you promise me one thing?”

She growled. ”WHAT?!”

”You’ll learn from this.”

She spat at me. The silence lingered for a few painful seconds more, until she turned her back and trotted out to the front hall.

I heard the door slam. I smiled wearily, sipping my cup of coacoa and not thinking about her, but instead, on the new daffodils growing up the windowsill, promising a new beginning.