My entire life, I’ve watched friendships bloom around me, easily. I watched my siblings love and be loved. They had people waiting at the door, calling their names, linking their arms as they walked down the street. They had sleepovers and inside jokes and birthday parties filled with people…
They knew how to make people love them. I could barely get people to tolerate me.
I cared too much, and they cared just enough.
Somehow, I always get everything wrong, and they always get it right. They speak and people listen, they walk into a room and peoplewantthem there. Their mistakes are the kind that get laughed off.
Mine aren’t.
I don’t get to be the funny one, the charming one, the effortlessly likable one. I don’t get to be the friend that someone is excited to see, the person people text first, the one who belongs without having toproveit.
I am tolerated, at best. A mistake, at worst.
It’s almost like trying to force something to grow in soil that has already been claimed.
Exhausting and pointless.
I’ve just taken a bite of my sandwich when someone steps into my peripheral vision.
I look up and see… Lacey?
She’s not someone I would have expected. Not here, not at my table. Not in my orbit at all. She’s pretty and popular, and everyonelovesher.
I’m so caught off-guard that I choke on a piece of lettuce.
I cough violently, hands flying to my throat.
Lacey doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t roll her eyes or turn away in second-hand embarrassment. She just watches, an amused glint in her eyes as she pulls out the chair across from me.
“It’s Adeline, right?” she asks, her voice warm.
For a second, I just stare at her.
Like an idiot.
Then I realize she’s talking tome.
“Me?” I ask, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
She nods graciously, and I suddenly feel quite pathetic.
Who else would she be talking to, you big fool?
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m Adeline.”
I hate how my voice shakes, how my tongue stumbles over my own name, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care.
She tucks her hair behind her ears, and smiles. “I’m Lacey.”
There’s something so surreal about this moment that my brain short-circuits.
“Not to sound rude or anything,” I blurt out, “but why are you here?” The words rush out before I can filter them, and I cringe, my stomach twisting. “Notthat I don’t want you to be here—because I do. I just—uh—”
I really should just stop talking. Maybe if I say less, I’ll mess up less.
Lacy doesn’t seem offended, though. If anything, she looks… thoughtful. She studies me like she’s trying to understand something that doesn’t quite make sense to her.
“You seemed lonely,” she says finally. Her voice is soft, not pitying, but knowing. “Actually, you seem lonely all the time.” She hesitates, giving me a chance to deny it. “Do you even have friends?”
