Unfortunate Friends 1: My Best Frenemy

Today’s the last day of summer.

I know, I know. Everybody dreads the first day of school.

But when I wake up on the last Sunday before my senior year, I can’t wait to get out of bed. Not because I enjoy school so much, but because Jake Nelson, my best friend from childhood, is moving to San Francisco and starting at my school.

Better still, he’s staying with me until he and his dad can find a new place.

Just thinking about it makes the blood rush through my veins. There’s the football season, the prom, college applications… The start of my future.

And especially that last bit fills me with hope. I can’t wait to leave this school and this popular-kid game behind.

My phone starts buzzing on my bedside table, and I look over at it.

When I see the name “Jake” pop up on the screen, a huge smile overtakes my face.

Grabbing my phone off the bedside table, I jump up and run downstairs, to step out of my house thirty seconds later.

A wide grin breaks out on my face as I spot him running across the street with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s got his phone tucked under his ear and seems to be finishing a call.

“Yeah, dude, for sure. I’m just getting to George’s now,” he says as he stops in front of me. “I’m gonna miss the first week of school cause of logistical stuff, but I promise I’ll be there ASAP!”

A matching grin spreads across Jake’s face as he hangs up. I launch myself toward him, flinging my arms around his neck.

“Jakey!” I squeal.

He chokes slightly with the force of the contact before laughing and picking me up to swing me around in a circle.

“How was the flight?” I ask Jake when he finally puts me down.

“Not bad. My dad wanted me to take the truck up with him next weekend, but I knew I had to see you before school started,” he chuckles.

“Was that him?” I ask, gesturing to his phone.

“Nah, that was Andy,” he says, pocketing his phone.

Ah, Andy, Jake’s best friend from this year’s football camp. Apparently, he goes to our school, but I don’t know anybody named Andy in our school.

“Can’t wait to meet him,” I smile at Jake. “Well, let’s not stand on the street all day! Come on inside!”

I pull open the door to our house and lead the way up to my room, shouting a greeting at Dad on the way up.

My family and the Nelsons have always been like extensions of the same family, vacationing together every summer since Jake and I were toddlers.

Before my mom died, she was really good friends with Jake’s mom. Unfortunately, Jake’s dad and mom are getting a divorce now, which is why Jake and his dad are coming to SF.

I feel terrible for Jakey—his family breaking apart and having to choose a side can’t have been easy. Even though I have to go to school tomorrow, and Jake’s not starting for another week, I’m going to do my best to take his mind off things today.

“You know what time it is,” I say, holding up an Xbox controller in one hand and my phone, which is open to a food delivery app, in the other.

The next morning, I wake up with a pit in my stomach.

I don’t want to move, I don’t want to leave the safety of my bed, but the world doesn’t care. The clock keeps ticking.

Jake is still passed out on the floor of my bedroom when I creep out of bed and start my daily transformation.

Ever since starting high school, I have done everything I can to fit in.

I had arrived on my first day of school as myself, looking for people like Jake, to have the kind of friendship that we have. But I soon realized that I’d been naive.

My first few attempts to get close to people were a cold shower. I received nothing but nasty comments. I was absolutely terrified that I’d be bullied on top of the shit that I was still processing, so I decided I’d play their game.

That day, I left as George.

The next day, I arrived as my new self. My strong self. Gina.

I started wearing skirts and dresses every day instead of the jeans and shorts I had lived in up till then.

My tops became tighter and brighter in color. I begged my dad to let me get contacts so I didn’t have to wear my glasses to school. I started wearing makeup and high heels.

The girls who approached me first were all cheerleaders, so I joined the team too. I listen to the same pop music as them.

But it is all superficial. I have never invited any of the girls to my house, not that any of them have ever asked to come. I have never told them my mom is dead.

I have never told them that I actually hate their shitty taste in music and really didn’t care when One Direction split up.

I grab my earbuds from my bedside table and put on the growling, gravelly voice of Tom Waits, my favorite singer.

I’m aware of the contrast when I stuff yesterday’s band shirt on a shelf on the right side of my closet and scan the content on the left, instead.

From the rows of clothes that look like a unicorn vomited on them, I pick a short, pleated skirt in white and pair it with a bright-pink cropped tank top that clings just right.

I sit down at my vanity and start painting on my mask.

I dab, smear, blend, curl, trace, and fill. A layer of shiny pink lip gloss makes my lips extra pouty.

I brush my long, straight strawberry-blonde hair, the only thing that doesn’t need much work, as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I finish with a spray of perfume, something sweet and heavy, and grab a pair of gold-rose three-inch heels. They’re uncomfortable, but they make me feel like I can walk over anyone.

And it’s what they expect.

But the person looking back at me is not me.

The morning sun finally pierces through the fog on my way to school. I listen to my favorite rock music while I should be getting into my persona—who adores Taylor Swift.

It doesn’t matter. I just have to pick up my role where I left off in June.

I pull into the parking lot and sit there for a moment, watching people pass.

Two freshmen stand by the front entrance holding a map like they’re lost in the wilderness, while a group of junior girls walks past in matching crop tops and claw clips. Several other people are standing around by themselves, waiting for their friends to show up.

I take a deep breath before getting out.

I’m not dreading classes or alarms or cheer squad practice. I’m dreading seeing one specific person.

All the plastic Barbies at my school are obsessed with him. And I guess they have a point about his looks. I can’t deny that he’s hot.

But it doesn’t matter what he looks like. Because AJ McGabe is an asshole.

No sooner do I start walking up the front steps than I hear his fucking voice.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Gina,” comes a familiar, drawling voice from behind me.

Turning around, I give him my best drop-dead look.

I’m very annoyed when I notice his muscles. He’s clearly been hitting the gym over the summer. His muscles are a good deal more impressive than they were in June.

Only his mischievous brown eyes let on what an ugly heart is hiding under all that sexy.

“And here I was, thinking I’d have a good first day of school.”

“Now, Gina, you know I’m ahead of you in all our classes,” he replies, making me scowl. “So I suggest you toddle off and make up some new cheers about your starring QB.”

“C’mon guys, let’s go,” he says, turning to his band of football idiots, who march off after him.

I glare after his arrogant ass, already dreading this coming year.