We still sit at the same table, with the same people, but we aren’t the same. I look at you and don’t know who I am looking at anymore. I wonder if you feel the same, but then I want to smack myself, because I know you don’t. I know you could care less about me now. But I don’t know why.

Now, we are in our last year here. One more year, and we might not see each other again. It is funny; we met the first year, in fifth grade, and were best friends. Now, going into eighth grade, you couldn’t care about me. But I still think of you every single day. I don’t get why I do anymore, but I do. And I can’t stop.

Do you remember the day we met? We were placed in the same homeroom, and as we lined up on the blacktop, I was the only fifth grade girl who didn’t have a mother with her. I saw you, your sister walking off as you talked with your friends and your mother talked with other mothers. I fingered my shirt, stood there awkwardly. I wasn’t the new girl, not anymore, but I still didn’t have many friends.

When my few friends did show up, I saw you glance at me curiously. I know you did. I was the shiny new toy to a lot of people, the strange girl who moved to the small town in second grade. Who had a dead aunt. Who stayed by herself in school.

I thought you were another mean girl, I admit it. You had the looks—long light blonde hair and hazel eyes, pale skin with the right amount of freckles, skinny yet not too skinny—and the popularity. I thought you would beat me down like the others did. I was afraid of you.

When the homerooms lined up and you hit me, I thought it was on purpose. I thought you knew about me already, what a freak I was. But you held out a hand, helped me up when no one else did. Maybe, just maybe, I was wrong.

You sat next to me. While all the other girls were is dresses and skirts, I sat there in my jeans and t-shirt. You didn’t say anything, even defended me when others joked about it. When I kept dropping things, you kept picking them up. Maybe you were just humoring me.

I learned your name, Marianna. I thought it sounded like a name for a princess. You blushed and shrugged it off. You managed to find out mine, eventually reading it from my school supplies since I talked so quietly. You laughed—such a pretty laugh—when you realized how simple it was. Caitlin. Seven letters.

I learned all about you that day—your favorite color, favorite food, that you danced for your Russian school, just like your sister, everything. All anyone learned about me was that I was shy as could be. No one could hear a thing I said. My face was brighter than a fire truck after my 17 second introduction.

You invited me to eat lunch with you, since I had nowhere else to eat lunch. And the table became OURS. No one else dared sit there after that first week. I felt so welcome with you and your friends. But I still was the shiny new toy. Something to be “improved upon.” You guys were going to give me a makeover, teach me how to dress more like a girl, things I didn’t want. But I was ecstatic about having a friend. So I said okay.

When we went on our three day, two night school trip, we were already best friends. It had been two months, but we couldn’t be separated. The girls who made my earlier years horrible didn’t enjoy it. They fed lies to you and me, until we were angry at each other about fake problems. When we learned, we apologized, made up, and continued our friendship from where it left off. No problem.

After my eye surgery, you made sure to get to school early to be the first one to greet me. I was back before I was supposed to be, but you learned and were there. You were by me for the whole week, my eyes when I couldn’t see. You talked back to those who made fun of my glasses, protected me from the cruel people around me.
When we were grouped together for our grade project, we had so much fun. We did all of the work, but neither of us care. The day of, you dressed as the Cat in the Hat, I was dressed like Abigail Adams. I had my John Adams, and we almost did a proposal to get more people to our booth. Almost.

That first year was great. We had so much fun, enjoyed so much together. We were free like girls our age should be, not caring what others thought of us. If someone said something bad, we stood up for each other. It was perfect.

Sixth grade, we grew closer. The year was full of fun, and we stood beside each other through thick and thin. We were like sisters. I loved that year so much. I thank you for that wonderful year.

But seventh grade, you gained more popularity while I went down on the meter. What used to be our table was yours. I still sat there, on the opposite end from you and all your friends. I had the “losers” of the grade as my friends. They were wonderful, always funny. But, they were so different from me.

We were seated next to each other for the entire year in one of our classes, and you were in a lot of mine. The only time you were close to me was when I broke my foot and had an elevator pass for five months. I kept the small friendship going, writing all your papers for you when you broke your wrist. But I got nothing. Just looks from you.

I remember the first day of school; I stood waiting to find out how your summer went. The response I got, “I have a boyfriend in Canada.” And a look. Just a look. Nothing else. You blew me off to talk to people you used to hate. I felt so broken inside. We used to be so close. I wondered what happened to you that summer. But I got nothing.

You didn’t even say more than ten words a day to me for months. I wondered where our friendship went. Did it fly south and get lost on its way back? I didn’t know. I still don’t.

But now, I don’t hear from you. Nothing. Do you know how hard it is to invest yourself completely into something, and then have it ripped away from you? Because I invested my whole self in you. You told me we would be friends forever, that nothing could tear us apart. Yet you did. You were the one. Where did you go?

Where did the Marianna I knew go? All I see now is a shell of her. Or is it me? Have I been the one to change? I don’t even know anymore. All I know is that I miss what we had. If I had a dying wish, it would be to go back to how it was, even if it was just for a few moments. But even if we can’t, those two years of friendship will go with me forever. Because they were perfect.