I turned in art for my first picture book yesterday (ahhh!!!), and I’m still feeling spaced out, coming off that disoriented post-exam feeling of anxiety and anticipating the months ahead before being able to see how it all turned out.
“You’ve got to stop doing this to me. We are not a thing, we are not even friends.”
“That’s right. How can we be friends when our parents despise one another. How can we be friends if we live next door to each other yet can’t even talk? How can we be friends if we have to compete against one another in everything? You know what? When you were away, I was so damn happy. I didn’t have to compete against you. I wasn’t being paranoid. I didn’t need to know what your GPA was. I didn’t need to know which sports you were involved in. But guess what? It was so depressingly lonely for me. What we have now, what should we call it? If we’re not enemies, do you think we can be friends?”
