My Best Friend: A Short Story

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Every week I write a different letter to my best friend. When I say best friend, I mean to say my only friend. My letters are painfully long and usually about the terrible teachers at my high school, but I know Oli appreciates them as he always writes back. Now, why would my best friend be so far away? What a long story that is. Everything began the day before summer in fifth grade. On this day, which is now marked on my pastel blue calendar, a small boy decided to approach me and compliment my outfit. With that, a great friendship blossomed. Being a pre-teen in fifth grade is quite stressful, thank goodness it is almost over. I could not believe it when I began to recap the past few days. Just two days ago a white, blonde, twig-like girl…show more content…
“Right, so Gwyn I was wondering...” He took a sharp breath in and continued, “Would you like to come to my house?” His question took me aback. Would I, Gwyneth, like to go to a perky and slightly annoying boy’s house? “No.” It slipped out. “Come on, Gwyn. I already told my mom. She made brownies!” he whined. My head snapped up fast enough to give me whiplash. Although I couldn’t fathom going to a strangers house, my mouth watered at the thought of the chocolatey treat. So, much to my dismay, I agreed to his offer and followed the stranger out of the school. Though walking home was quite irritating as it was raining copious amounts of water, we continued to amble through the sea of students. Soon, we were both drenched in water. Once in his home, the walls painted cream and rose, the smell of baked goods filled the house, giving a welcoming feel to the house and a much needed smile to my face. His mother quickly handed us towels to dry off our newly soaked clothes. He then took notice to my smile and overdramatically gasped. “Wow, you smile?” he asked while giggling. “Now, Oli there’s no need to be crude!” His mom scolded. “Sorry mama,” Oli replied in a small voice shifting his weight to his other…show more content…
My parents, which had previously been oblivious to my existence, began gushing words of love and assurance. I sat down on the couch, content with the sweet, yet false affection I was receiving. I then began looking through the picture book he had gifted me, scanning over the pictures of us laughing, crying, and singing. I couldn’t help but think it was for the best. A smile was brought upon my face realized that this was my opportunity. This was my time to go out in the world and make memories with other people. That alone made me grin. As I closed the book of memories Oli had provided, I pulled out a pen and began to write my first of many letters to

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