Best Friend's Revenge

3. Imitating Elizabeth Bennett

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XOXO,
LOSALINI

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The thought of Frank lingered in my mind even after we reached our classroom and took our seats.

Even though I knew that there was a five percent chance I would ever see him again, I hope I would one day and make it up to him.

The regret of the past two years still remained etched into me. I had regretted my decision as soon as Frank had left that night. As soon as Samantha had texted me back with a simple, "You did the right thing' I knew with certainty that I hadn't made the right decision. No amount of popularity or recognition could ever be a true replacement for what I had with Frank. No social standing could make up for what I felt for him when he was around, or the sense of void I felt when he wasn't.

As soon as reality hit me, I had pulled out my phone and called him. He didn't answer. I understood the reason as to why he didn't, but I didn't like it. I called him several more times and by the thirteenth time I called him, his phone had been switched off.

The next day, I tried to call him again. He didn't answer any of my calls for the rest of the weekend. I decided that he needed his space. I would give him the weekend and let him be.

On Monday the following week, I went to school deciding to tell Samantha I would not be joining the squad if it meant pushing away the people I held dear after apologizing extensively to Frank during our free period. However, I soon found out that Frank was absent.

The next day, Frank was a no-show again.

By Wednesday I was getting anxious when he didn't come to school again. This time I decided to go to his house instead and face him there.

After buying a packet of black licorice which was his favorite of all goodies, I headed over to his house on my bicycle.

The 'For Sale' sign threw me off and I drove into it after I read it in shock.

I found out later when I got home that Mr Blackstone had gotten a promotion and that they had moved yesterday. The promotion was only valid if he was able to start working that day.

And just like that, I lost my best friend.

"Now class," Ms Jacobs, the Lit teacher, called our attention.

I broke out of my thoughts and looked up to face her.

"As I'm sure all of you remember, your speeches make up ten percent of your annual assessment. That said, no pressure. Just have fun with it and I'm sure everyone did a good job preparing everything." In her late twenties, Ms Jacobs was always sweet and cheerful. Dressed in her comfortable skirt and sweater, she always reminded me of an average girl next door. An older sister of sorts. With her sun blonde hair tied up in a perfect and proper bun, her warm chocolate brown eyes made everyone adore her within an instant. "Let's begin," she said as the third bell that indicated late comers rang loud. "Elizabeth," she called me, her ten-watt smile focused on me.

Caught off-guard, I jumped a little. "Yes ma'am?"

"Do you mind starting us off?"

"No, Ms Jacobs," I replied, then rummaged through my handbag as I searched for my notes. Where did I put it? I wondered as I came up short. After a couple of seconds I found the folder with my notes in it right under my Calculus notes.