I stood at the door with the box of valentines, fuming. She answered and her eyes avoided mine, staring guiltily at the welcome mat. I overflowed with rage, and shoved the box into her arms before riding off. I walked my bike up my rocky backyard, annoyed. Even a guy has trouble hauling a bike up a rocky incline. Why use stones to decorate? Don't people know the difference between aesthetics and practicality?

Now here I am, sitting before my window, hating myself for hating her. I was her best friend since third grade, but what did it matter now that we’re in high school? And she, being the loveliest girl, could pick any guy she wanted. Why should being best friends matter?

The sound of breaking glass shatters my thoughts. I open the ruined window and look down. She’s standing in my backyard, her arms around the box.

"You threw a rock. At my window."

She shrugs "No. Gravel"

"Amber," I started, but tears won over words, and I lay my sobbing head on the windowsill. And she, she being my best friend since third grade, opens the box and casts the other boy's valentines into the wind.

© 2007 Paige M. Original for CCF (Paige M. grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).

*CCF does not publish students' last names on the work they submit for publication.