Also, I'm entering a contest called "Write On!". I'm going to write a few things that I might enter and decided on the best... here's choice number one. Thoughts? Critiques? It has to be under 600 words and this is 595, so that's why it seems fairly squished.
There are some people that you can do anything with, and some people you would do anything for.
For me, Blythe was both. Today, for example, the two of us are sitting at our spot, down by the river. It’s one of those hot, muggy summer days, you know the ones, where you feel nothing will go wrong? I mentioned that to Blythe and she agreed—today was definitely one of those days.
In hindsight, we were dead wrong.
Anyway, though, there we were by the river, totally comfortable. I was leaning on the old oak tree; Blythe was leaning on my legs. Her eyes were closed and she was dozing, which gave me the chance to stare at her without her noticing.
Blythe and I had been best friends since kindergarten and I had been in love with her for about as long. It was hard not to be in love with Blythe. She was beautiful—this is a girl who got scouted by modeling agents on the street. No joke. It happened once, in ninth grade, when the two of us were walking down to the corner store for pop and licorice. No one understands why we’re still friends—me, gangly and gawky and skinny, and her, blond and blue-eyed and slender. Not to mention that, but she’s actually, like, nice. You always think that the really pretty ones have to be jerks, but Blythe is the definite exception.
I felt her stirring and close my eyes fast.
“Jay?” she asks. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Daydreaming. Sorry.” And then she said something, and I said something, and pretty soon we were just talking about aimless things.
Pretty soon it was late and Blythe drove me home. Despite being seventeen, I still don’t have my license. I’m terrified of driving, especially when I know that there are people like Blythe on the road—if you had to find one flaw in her, it would be her “brakes are for the weak” personality. Honestly, I’m shocked she hasn’t gotten killed or at least ticketed by now.
“By the way,” Blythe says casually, stopping at a red light and nearly giving me whiplash as she starts again, “did you hear that Tommy’s having a party tonight? His parents are out of town.”
“He never was very original,” I say. “I mean, anyone can have a party when their parents are out of town. It takes real guts to do something when they’re here.”
Blythe laughs, accelerating. I dig my nails into the cracked leather of her passenger seat. “Wanna go?” she asks.
“I don’t think so, Blythe,” I say, as she turns into my driveway and idles the car. “I think I’m going to go get some dinner and go to bed.”
Blythe frowns and so do I—I hate making her frown. “Alright. Do you mind if I go?”
“No—of course not,” I say quickly. “Have fun!” She nods and smiles at me, her mood changing in an instant.
We say goodbye and I do exactly what I told her I would—go inside, eat a sandwich and go to bed. I fall asleep almost instantly.
The call comes at 3:20 AM. I know it’s not good. Nothing good comes to you at 3:20 in the morning.
It’s Blythe’s mom. Why is Blythe’s mom calling me at 3:20 in the morning?
“’Lo?”
“Jay? I’m sorry, but you need to know…” She’s crying. Why is she crying? “There’s been a car accident… Blythe…” And she doesn’t need to say anything else. I already know.
Happy Family Day if you're Canadian, and happy Monday if you're anywhere else! Oh, and happy Presidents Day if you're American... do you guys get that off?
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