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IZZIE AND Iare in her room, sprawled across her bed-the door wide open, because her mom is working in the basement.
The sun is already low because it's November and the light slanting in through the window makes Izzie's room glow a reddish-orange color. Her room overlooks one of the main roads in town, and every now and then there's a burst of street noise that drowns out the music playing on her phone.
Her room is smaller than mine-colder, somehow. I've got childhood memories scattered throughout my space, as well as dozens of pictures and posters pinned up on my walls.
Izzie's walls are beige and bare except for one pencil drawing of what looks to be a setting sun between two city skyscrapers. There's a desk pushed into one corner that's piled high with books, but there's no pictures anywhere.
Izzie, of course, is reading: lying on her stomach at the foot of the bed, neck craned over our next philosophy book. Her shirt has ridden up her back ever-so-slightly, leaving a thin line of skin exposed between the top of her sweats and the hem of her shirt.
I'm supposed to be doing the same philosophy reading (by tomorrow, in fact), but I am instead using the time to stare at Izzie, trying to decipher the mess of feelings I experience every time I look at her, the meaning of the knot that seems to have permanently settled in my stomach. Sometimes just thinking about the past couple of weeks leaves me flustered and overwhelmed and frustrated with my inability to understand my emotions, at which point I usually detox by scrolling through Instagram on my phone. Fortunately, the antics that Clayton Prep students put out there on the internet for everyone to see very rarely elicit complex emotions of any sort.
The first thing that comes up when I refresh my feed is a picture of Sharice and Jude at an ice-skating rink with Victoria and her boyfriend, Mikey. I vaguely remember Sharice texting me about going out with the two of them on Friday-and then never responding.
But I guess it's actually not so bad that Izzie and I didn't go, because the four of them look-well, perfect, in a way that the two of us would probably ruin. Sharice is beaming toward the camera and Victoria is midlaugh, with Mikey's right arm slung loosely around her waist. Their cheeks are slightly red from the cold and the skating. It would look staged if it weren't so candid.
I nudge Izzie in the side with my foot. "Check out this double date we missed." I show her the picture.
She looks up. Glances at the post for two seconds. Then looks back down. "Mmm."
"I mean, they all look amazing," I add. And I'm trying to say it in a totally normal, happy-for-my-hot-best-friend-and-her-hot-friends kind of way. But I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't a note of sadness in my voice.
