𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

The mornin' sun shines on your skin,
'cause your white curtains,
they are paper thin
-girl in red

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The shower water feels nice over my tired body. Finals exhausted me, but now I can put the semester behind me and focus on the next. Frankie, however, is allowing no rest. She talks my leg off beyond the flimsy plastic curtain.

"So, you are for sure going home for winter break?"

"Yes, for the thousandth time," I shout over the water. "I am leaving in the morning."

"Okay, okay, sassy." We patched things up soon after our spat. Friends, they fight—that's what Emily had said, and in me and Frankie's case, they make-up, too. And just as predicted, in no time, Frankie was back with Andres. Like the whole incident had never happened. Like it hadn't resulted in real-life casualties.

"So then, me and Andres are staying here for Christmas," she said. "We can shack up in our dorm, watch movies and open presents. Doesn't that sound totally romantic?"

"Are you sure you want to miss out on Christmas with your family for this guy you hardly know?" Frankie rips open my shower curtain. She has no shame, there's a shower cap over her hair and her face is all knotted up.

"Please don't start this again," she whines. "You know how much I like him! And it's not like he can fly to Spain and back in a week."

"No, but you could take him home with you," I remind.

She rolls her eyes and pulls the curtain closed. "As if."

Frankie's father is a hardcore Christian, and she has told me a million times he would never approve of her fast-paced relationship with Andres. I have argued the only reason that bothers her is because Andres won't be allowed to stay in her room. And as it turns out, Frankie would rather forgo seeing her family on Christmas than miss out on a singular night with Andres.

I shut off the water and wrap a towel around my body. Water drips from my hair as the two of us patter down the hall in our shower shoes and towels. I set my shower caddy on my desktop and our door flies open. I clutch onto my towel, sighing when I see it's only Dalton.

"Morning," he says, kissing my cheek.

"Hey, you about ready to head out?" I ask. He's heading for Tuscaloosa, about a three hour drive, so he wanted to get an early start. He nods.

"Yeah, I just wanted to say good-bye first." He snakes his arms around me and I squeal.

"But I'm all wet!"

"I don't mind."

There's a knock at the door, and we both jump. It's Bailey, his face flushes pink when he sees what he's walked in on—not me tangled up with Dalton, but Frankie, now getting dressed across the floor: a black bra and pajama bottoms.

Bailey turns around quickly, back plastered against the open door. "Oh, sorry, sorry," he stammers. "I just saw Dalton and the open door and—"

"It's fine, Bails," Frankie shouts, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Right, uh—I wanted to say good-bye before I head out."

"You're leaving, too?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yeah, setting out for Jackson. Should be there by lunchtime," he explains. "Frankie, when are you leaving for Atlanta?" My face falls. No one must have told him. I wince as Frankie starts in.