| I'm starting my xanga back up. Just in case I need to vent again. Since I have nothing relevent to say right now, I'm posting my story. Best Friends Forever Summary: Six best friends have everything going for them: great grades, incredible sports skills, and gorgeous looks. Their biggest talent? Keeping secrets. They lie. They cheat. They steal. They ruin each other’s lives. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The hospital cubical was dim, silent, and cramped. Big enough for only a bed with stiff, over-starched white hospital sheets and a tiny plastic chair, it was lit by a single hanging bulb, the only noise that could be heard was the constant beeping of several machines hooked up to a tiny wisp of a girl. She seemed to be in about her late teens, with clumps of thinning blond hair that looked as though it hadn’t been washed in days. Her cheeks had the sunken, hollow look of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short period of time, and her arms were so thin they looked as though they could be snapped in half by the lightest of touches. Her breathing was shallow, unsteady, as she stared blankly off into space, her body completely immobile, as it had been since they had rushed her to the emergency room five days prior. Finally, she spoke, for what was the first time in days. Her voice was cracked and dry, and sounded as frail as she looked. “Mother?” The woman in the chair sat up quickly, jerking out of her doze. “Lindsey?” “Mother…” She sounded choked, her voice getting raspier. “Do you want something, sweetheart?” “I want you to tell me a story. Like…when I was little.” “A story about what?” “I don't care. Your life. My life. Someone else’s life. Anything. Please?” “There once were six best friends. Four of them grew up together, and two came later in life. They were what most people would call, ‘fortunate,’ from the big trust funds their mommy’s and daddy’s had set up for them, and they took it all completely for granted. The six did everything together. They laughed together, cried together, attended the same boarding school together, studied together, partied and got drunk together, and sometimes…even slept together.” It was finally around that time that the mother realized exactly what she was saying. She flushed and dropped her eyes from Lindsey’s, clearly embarrassed, but if her daughter noticed, she didn’t comment. “What…what were their names?” she asked weakly, closing her eyes and reaching for her mother’s hand. A smile crossed the mother’s face for a second. “There was Larke. Tall, dark, beautiful Larke. No last name was known. She had more grace and poise than everyone else in the world put together. People envied her for her blue-blooded, patrician beauty and her ability to keep her cool under the toughest of situations. Because of these good fortunes, if you could call them that, her five friends were her only five friends. The rest of the school hated her.” “What was the boarding school called?” her daughter wanted to know. “Fletcher-Gordon Academy. It was one of the most expensive, well renowned schools of its time.” “Who were…the other friends?” “Porscha Parker had been Larke’s best friend since they were in diapers. They grew up on the Upper East Side of New York together, in penthouses just down the street from each other. She was self-explained, ‘So plain you could look at her twice and still forget her face.’ It wasn’t true; of course, she just looked that way in contrast to her breathtaking best friend. Rebecca was very into sports and very outspoken. It went without saying that people disliked her, simply because she insulted everyone within a five mile radius. “Gabrielle Fenn was another, who insisted on always being called Gabby, under threat of death. She joined the other two girls in their freshmen year at Fletcher-Gordon. Gabby was disliked because of her eccentricities. Her hair color changed more often than some people change their underwear, and she would come up with the most twisted combinations of outfits to wear. She was a budding photographer, and carried her camera with her everywhere, to catch reaction shots of the splash she always made when jumping into a social pool.” Lindsey offered a soft chuckle. “So…they were friends because…everyone else hated them?” “Basically. Larke and Porchsa had known each other since birth, so of course they were friends. Even back in preschool Porscha would declare that everyone was jealous of them when their classmates would refuse to sit with them at juice time. Gabby understandably migrated to them, as they were the least likely to reject her. Friendship was forged so fast that Tiffany, Porchsa, and Gabby all roomed together from their sophomore year on up.” A tired smile settled over Lindsey’s exhausted features. The story seemed to be doing some good, as she appeared to be lulled slowly to sleep. “What about the other three?” “The other three were boys. Blade Faux had grown up with Larke and Porscha, so they were nearly immune to his good looks and charm. With perfectly cut, smooth brown hair that nearly always feel into stunning gray eyes and a body to absolutely die for, Blade was sometimes accidentally called, ‘Adonis,’ by their sophomore English teacher, who had a crush on him. Every straight female with eyes had a crush on him. He played it up to his advantage, becoming quite the legendary womanizer by his senior year.” “So…he wasn’t hated?” “No, he wasn’t hated, sweetie. It's funny how boys and girls are different from each other, isn't it? When one girl has something other girls want, the others get jealous of her and hate her for it. But when a boy has something other boys want, the other boys look up to them and think they’re cool. I can’t explain it, but I blame estrogen. Do you want me to go on?” After Lindsey’s soft laugh and slight nod, she continued, “Auster Witt had been Blade's best friend since elementary, and he was another who had basically grown up with Tiffany and Rebecca, since he joined their first grade class. Auster's dark good looks went along swimmingly with his sarcastic sense of humor and more often than not, cruel jokes. He and Blade co-captained the football team their senior year, but basketball was his time to shine. He was an absolute sportsoholic, and had a habit of sleeping in his game jersey the night before every game. “Cobalt Edmonds completed the group. He came around seventh grade, and though at first he and Bryan despised each other, they became friends by the time high school rolled around. With his boyish grin and sweet disposition, he melted the heart of females around him and was regarded by many of them as their best guy friend. He was mistaken for Shane West a record of four times before he reached his senior year. He had a total of seven casual girlfriends his entire high school career up to that year, but no serious ones. It was often rumored that he was gay, but as Porscha liked to say, ‘He's just a pussy. The only problem is, all girls already have pussies, so the last thing they want is another one.’” If Lindsey was taken aback by her mother’s crass language or revealing story, she was too weak to show it. She chuckled lightly and exhaled a sigh caught somewhere in between wistful and dreamy. “Sounds perfect…” she murmured in a low voice, her eyelids getting heavier by the second. “Oh. But it wasn’t.” It was clear by then that the mother was so captivated by her own tale that she hadn’t noticed her daughter dozing off. “They were six best friends. They did everything together. But they also lied, cheated, stole, and ruined each other’s lives, and after their senior year, when the shit finally hit the fan…they could barely look each other in the eye. Because while these kids were good at it all, had great grades, incredible sports skills, and gorgeous looks, the one thing they were best at was keeping secrets. They all had secrets. And those secrets would eventually cause everything they had come to know to disappear.” Thick silence swallowed up the tiny room, as she stayed immersed in her thoughts. When Lindsey gave a little snort, she jumped, snapping out of it, and finally realized that her daughter was asleep. Chapter one: Reunion Larke was always in a constant state of rush, never stopping nor slowing down until she reached her destination and fulfilled what she wanted. Even when she had no where to go and nothing to do, she was still running around, trying to find the next place she needed to be, the next person she needed to talk to, or the next thing she needed to do. It was as though someone had pressed the fast forward button on the VCR that was her life and the button got stuck. For someone who had a reputation for being beautiful, level-headed, and stuck-up, she did an awful lot of worrying that she was missing something in a place she wasn’t at, and she had to find that place and get to it pronto. Her oldest friend Porchsa often told her to, “Slow down and smell the fucking roses, they might be covered in thorns, but their beauty is worth it,” but more often than not, Larke was too busy hurrying to get somewhere else to even pay attention to her. That was why it was not unusual for her to be seen scurrying down the cream colored carpet of the corridors of Fletcher-Gordon Academy, a couple of her favorite monogrammed Louis Vuitton suitcases trailing behind her as she pulled them, the wheels making no noise as they turned quickly. Likewise, the strappy black heels on her size ten feet were silent on the thick carpet as well, and as she passed numerous students milling around the dormitory halls, they didn’t even stop to stare at her, unless they were freshmen who weren’t used to the greatness that was Larke. They were far too used to seeing her dash around in high heels that she should have stumbled and snapped her neck in years ago, but somehow her grace just didn’t allow her to trip and fall. The only students who did stare at her were of the male gender, and one couldn’t blame them. The way her sheet of long, shimmering auburn hair fanned out from her chiseled face and her deep-set blue eyes sparkled were enough to turn any male with a pulse into a pile of goo. It was curious, however, how Larke never even considered using her incredible looks to catch a boyfriend. Quite the contrary, she never so much as even flirted with any guy at Fletcher-Gordon as far back as anyone could remember. Perhaps the rumors really were true and she was secretly dating Bryan Witt. But if that was true, his remarkable number of confirmed, notorious infidelities were enough to make any girl with half a brain send him packing, despite how gorgeous he was. Larke finally came to a halt in front of the gleaming silver doors of the elevator and used a long, French tipped nail to hit the up button impatiently a few times. As she for the cable to pull the cab of the elevator to the first floor, she didn’t inspect her appearance in the reflective doors, as every other girl would have. No, Tiffany had the kind of classic, timeless beauty that didn’t need to be checked up on every few minutes. And she was very well aware of this fact. Instead, she glanced at the other students milling around, many of them appearing to be freshmen and looking very confused. She laughed inwardly at their ignorance. She hated freshmen, as she failed to see their, “pathetic, annoying cuteness,” as Gabby had dubbed it. To her, they were just a bunch of snot-nosed brats who thought they were cool now that they were finally in high school. Well news flash. They weren’t going to think they were cool for long if Larke had anything to say about it. With a bright ding, the doors slid open, and Larke eagerly hauled her suitcases into the elevator. A few of bumbling girls, probably sophomores, followed her, gossiping loudly. They each cast Larke a look—it was hard not to, she was a legend around Fletcher-Gordon—but pretty much remained immersed in their own world, sharing stories of summer flings and parties and hook ups as the doors closed and they began rising into the air. It was with the gentlest of smirks that Larke pondered just as to what they would say if she were to reveal what her summer fling had been like. She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of her thought. Puh-lease. Those girls wouldn’t know what had hit them, and it would have been all over by dinnertime. No, it was better to simply keep her eyes flicking back and forth between the numbers near the door of the elevator, as she watched the floors fly by quickly, and her Rolex watch, as she tried to determine just how much time she was wasting by standing here, losing IQ points from listening to these girls. “So then I said to Josh, ‘But like, I so saw you kiss her!’ And he was all, ‘Babe, I love you, I wouldn’t do that to you.’ It felt completely like that episode of, “Laguna Beach,” where like, L.C. finds Jason kissing Jessica, you know?” a very loud, very annoying girl with bleach blond hair was saying to her two friends. She gave her hair an impressive toss and waited for comments, tapping her foot expectantly. “Oh, totally,” friend number one agreed. “That's like, the perfect metaphor,” the second stated, clearly in awe of her friend’s brilliance. Larke snorted, then quickly and successfully passed it off as a cough. Brilliance. Right. Luckily, as they reached the third floor, the elevator came to a halt and the doors exited, still chatting animatedly and acting like they owned the world. There were two things about the whole situation that pissed Larke off. Number one, she owned the world. Number two, these girls were sophomores. It was an unspoken rule at Fletcher-Gordon that sophomores had the first floor of the dorms, sophomores the second, juniors the third, and seniors the forth. So what the hell were they doing on the junior floor? She didn’t have to wait long for her answer, as obnoxious girl number one gave a loud squeal of, “Dave!” and threw herself on a guy who Larke vaguely remembered as the guy she had accidentally-on-purpose thrown a basketball into the face to he previous year. He was a junior. Ah, so it made sense. Those three were whores-in-training. Lovely. The doors closed before she could make any more assumptions, and the journey to the next floor was a short one. When she finally reached the fourth floor, a beautiful smile blossomed over her face. She was here. She was home. Reaching a hand into her matching Louis Vuitton purse, she searched around for her room key she had retrieved from the office just twenty-one minutes before. A new record. Just as her slender fingers retrieved it, the elevator once again reached its destination and opened its doors. As not to waste any time, she hurriedly snatched her things and exited. Her lovely head flew back and forth, examining her surroundings, before heading determinedly to her left. She met no other person on her journey down the long hall, but finally, reached door D19. It would be her home for the next nine months of her life. Sliding the gleaming silver key into the matching lock, she gave it a quick turn, and with a soft, nearly silent, click, the knob turned easily, and she eased the door open. The room was spacious with cream colored carpet that matched that in the hallway and three windows adorned the longest pale pink painted wall, all looking out to the mountainous Colorado landscape. It smelled of fresh paint and wood polisher, and a huge pile of boxes in the center of the room instantly made her cringe. They were going to have a hard time getting through all that by Monday. Three single beds, all with plain white sheets atop them, littered the room, one immediately to her right and next to the door, another across from it on the opposite wall, and the last next to the closet, it's headboard underneath a window. First come, first serve, as Larke wheeled her suitcases around the end of the bed nearest her and tossed her purse onto the springy mattress. Weaving around boxes, she moved towards the closet door, sliding it open, before poking her head into the adjoining bathroom and flicking on the light. Once she surveyed it for any imperfections, and apparently there were none, she padded across the thick carpet to the middle window. They needed curtains badly, and she made a mental note to send for some as soon as possible. After a moment of wrestling with the latches, she slid the window up easily, and let the fresh, pine-scented breeze blow into the room, a contented smile on her face at the complete silence and serenity of the moment. This was why she always tried to beat her roommates here, for moments like these. Moments of peace where she could immerse herself in her own thoughts. Only problem was that her thoughts always ended up going back to the same thing. Or person, for that matter She heaved a huge sigh, her bright blue eyes dimming slightly. Weren't summer flings supposed to be meaningless? Wasn’t she supposed to forget all about them and focus on finding a new fling at school? Because she couldn’t. She couldn’t forget how incredible she had felt the first time she laid eyes on the person she would spend the rest of her summer with. How incredible it felt to kiss them. How amazing it was to hear them whisper, “Te quiero,” in her ear. An ache filled her chest, as she fiddled carelessly with her diamond necklace. What was she supposed to do when her friends asked her if she had hooked up with anyone during the summer? She couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d hate her. They’d disown her. They’d never talk to her again. And she couldn’t deal with that. Eventually she moved away from the window and it's breathtaking view and began sorting out boxes. She placed Porscha's next to the bed that was opposite hers, and Gabby’s next to the bed near the closet. It took her exactly thirteen minutes to complete her task, and she felt proud when she surveyed the room, dusting off her hands. Whoever thought she was too stuck-up or stupid to do menial labor obviously didn’t know what they were talking about. With a long, square nail, she carefully slit the tape on the box marked, “Desk things, organization stuff, and papers.” It took her a few times to get through the thick packing tape, but in the end, she managed, and laughed a soft, reminiscent smile at the bright yellow paper that lay on top of the stack. Fletcher-Gordon Rules Written by: Headmaster Coates and edited by The Larke, Porscha, & Gabriella Every year, the first class of the first day, teachers never failed to pass out the list of mandatory, completely ignored rules. Their sophomore year, Rebecca had started ranting about how no one followed them, so they should be changed. History was born as Gabby grabbed a pen and started marking up the yellow paper, and Larke, the queen of organization, had managed to bribe the student office attendee to laminate it for her. She tacked it up on her bulletin board every year. 1. Students are required to wear school uniforms during class hours. Casual wear is permitted after hours, as sheet for trips during the weekend is locate long as it follows the school dress code. For dress code, see Student Handbook, page 48, paragraph 7. Translation: you’re forced to wear ugly, itchy polyester shit in ugly colors, but on your own time, as long as you’re covered by at least one square inch of cloth, they won't do anything about it. Mr. Phillips is the only one who ever busts out the measuring tape to, “make sure outfits are adequate,” but we all know he's just doing it to feel us all up, as he's obviously a creepy, underground pervert when he's not teaching math. 2. Students are required to be in their dorm rooms by nine PM every night, no acceptations. The sign out d in the office. Weekend pleasure outings can be executed anywhere between the hours of 8 AM and 8 PM. Students who fail to comply with curfew will be severely punished. Am I the only one who thinks the whole, ‘pleasure,’ part is unnecessary and some sort of sexual innuendo? Besides, it's not like they check our rooms to see if we’ve made curfew, and if you’re stupid enough to get caught, that's your fault. I hope that, ‘severe punishment,’ is a hanging by your toes from a wall with vicious, rabid rats crawling around underneath you. Love, Gabbs. Gabbs, stop messing around. This is serious business. 3. Detentions will be served the day they are given, no acceptations. Ignore this rule if your name is not Porscha Parker. 4. After the tardy bell rings, students who arrive in class will be counted as tardy. If you reach four tardies, Saturday school is required. Everyone other than Larke will serve Saturday school at least once. 5. PDA’s are punishable by detention, suspension, and even expulsion. Keep it clean, please, for the sake of our fine school’s reputation. Translation: “We’re going to lock you in a school with a bunch of gorgeous, hormonally charged boys and expect you not to touch them. If you do, we’ll do soak cotton balls in gasoline, glue them to the roof of your mouth, and light them on fire.” Note: Unless your name is Porscha Parker, please disregard this rule. 6. Alcohol, drugs, and narcotics of any type are strictly forbidden at Fletcher-Gordon under expulsion. Yeah, right. 7. Please take your schoolwork seriously; it is the beginning to the rest of your life. Not necessarily. What kind of education does a prostitute meet? I've never met a prostitute who has a master’s degree in Science. And what if I want to be a prostitute, damn it? I'm going to be the best damn prostitute this school has ever seen! Lay off the dramatics, Gabbs. 8. Please respect your teachers, the buildings, and your peers. No, no, and double no. What good have my peers ever done for me? These buildings need to be demolished anyway, and they could build like, Saks and Barneys and ####. Teachers? Puh-lease. Gag me. Maybe that's why you’ve been in the principal’s office more times than I can count in the past year, Porshe. You always did suck at math, Gabbs. Tiffany rolled her eyes at the last line, but laughed all the same. Gabby was just too immature sometimes, and Porscha, of course, as always, just thought it was hilarious. Everything Gabby did was hilarious to Porchsa. Larke used to feel the same. But she really didn’t anymore. Digging around in the box, she pulled out her new corkboard and a pack of brass thumbtacks. Extracting one from the plastic container, she pushed it through the hole in the rules sheet and into the cork, right in the middle, where it always resided. Pictures of the six of them would surround it, she knew. They always did. Everything about Larke's life was very orderly, very familiar, very routine, very closely guarded. Which was also why her summer fling had been so shocking. Grabbing one of the box’s flaps, Larke tugged it towards the massive, cherry wood desk that sat in between two wardrobes. They were placed in between her bed and the bed she had deemed Porchsa's, the other wardrobe was on the opposite side of the closet door. Atop the desk sat a sleek desktop computer, a little red light on the underside of the cordless mouse glowing slightly. With a light smirk, Larke pushed the monitor back as far as she could without upsetting it, and then pulled out the rolling board the keyboard was placed on. Unplugging it from the monitor, she shoved it underneath the desk. Her laptop would go there nicely instead. From her box, she pulled out all her desk necessities—pens, pencils, paper, notebooks, a dictionary, a thesaurus, folders, and a few random knickknacks that she could not study without. A huge conch shell she found on the beaches of St. Bart’s when she was vacationing there with Porscha in seventh grade, a miniscule statue of a girl holding a flower, and her most recent addition, a framed photograph of herself hugging a girl that was so beautiful she rivaled even Larke. Long, curling dark hair framed her tanned, oval face, and bright green eyes stood out shockingly. Her thin, equally tanned arms were curled tightly around Tiffany, and their heads were touching at the temples. Larke stared into her own face. God, she looked happy. Glowing, even. The beautiful little town she had been staying in in Spain showed in the background, including her favorite coffee shop, where she had in fact met Eva. Setting the picture down slowly next to the conch shell, she frowned. She missed Eva. A lot. The door flew open just then, and in all her prosperity stood Porscha Parker, a short boy appearing to perhaps be a freshman or sophomore trailing after her, pulling a suitcase after him. Larke smiled. It was so like Porscha to con a boy into doing her biding. Upon seeing Larke, the boy stopped short and stared, taken aback by her stunning beauty. Larke didn’t even blink. She was far too used to creating this reaction around the male species. Porscha, however, apparently wasn’t, for she cleared her throat rather loudly and tapped her white and lavender Lacoste sneaker impatiently. Finally, when Random Boy turned to look at her, she flashed him a sweet smile, snatched her suitcase from his hand, and swooped down, kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks, Roger,” she cooed, before stepping into the room and all but shutting the door in his face. Turning to look at Larke, she sniggered. “His name was Robert. I think.” Larke laughed, stood up, and rushed towards Porcsha, embracing her tightly. The familiar scent of coconuts hit her nose, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the welcome smell. This was familiar. This was routine. This she actually liked. When they finally released each other, Porscha took a step back and for the first time Tiffany took a good look at her friend. Her perfect eyebrows nearly hit her hairline as she surveyed her in disbelief. “Wow.” While Larke was stunningly, classically beautiful, Porchsa was sultry. She was, as she always replied upon inquiry to her nationality, “Half Native American and half bitch.” Her father, a pureblood Native American with bloodlines running back to Cherokee and Sioux tribes, had married her mother, a coldhearted bitch. So, in short, she was telling the truth. “High-maintenance,” was never a word used to describe Porscha. Her dark hair was almost constantly pulled back into a messy ponytail she had perfected, unless, of course, she was trying to impress a guy, and then she let it hang loose and free, which brought attention to her big brown eyes that were so dark they nearly matched her hair. Her father, a well-known plastic surgeon, has personally fixed the bump in her nose and enhanced her lips with collagen, much to her mother’s displeasure. Her curves were God-given, however, and were much more generous in form than Larke's. Larke had always been slightly jealous of Porscha's luscious curves, while Porscha was jealous of Larke's…well...everything. As Tiffany stared at the girl she had called her best friend since the tender age of two, however, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of…something. Something strange. “You look awesome,” she acknowledged, trying to keep the bitterness at a low. Her skin was naturally tanner than most as it was, but having just flown in from a long, luxurious stay at St. Bart’s the previous week, Larke looked especially dark and exotic. Her 7 for mankind jeans hugged her curvy hips and filled-out backside perfectly, and to Larke's surprise, didn’t make her look the least bit pudgy. While Porcsha always had curves, they weren’t always in the right places. Just the previous year she had what Gabby dubbed, “a baby belly,” which protruded through clothes if she wasn’t careful. Now, however, her Tory Burch white embellished tank hung loosely around her stomach and clung to her breasts tightly. She looked…well…hot. And Larke started to think that maybe this year at Fletcher-Gordon...was going to be full of surprises. I take that back. Due to recent events, she knew. |
