Two days before term started again, I returned home from a shopping trip with Kim and Amy, to find Jessica sitting on my garden wall.

“So,” she said, taking in my shopping bags. “You’re feeling better then?”

“Finally over the worst of it.” I took her in. She was dressed differently. No “Nympho” mini-top and low-cut jeans. Instead she wore a long floral dress, her hair tied with a scarf. Softer, feminine, more girlfriendy...

“I’ve missed you this holidays.”

I gulped. “I’ve missed you too.”

And, with her, there, in person, I realized I had missed her. Terribly. In fact, I needed to get closer to her right away. I put my bags down and opened my arms. “Hug?”

Jessica’s eyes moistened and she threw herself off the wall and into my arms. I held her to me, taking in the sweet smell of her strawberry shampoo, letting forgiveness flood through my body.

“I’ve got you a present,” she said into my shoulder, before drawing back, and taking out a small velvet bag from her pocket. I dipped inside and withdrew two delicate bracelets, each encasing a small blue gemstone.

“Oh wow.”

“They’re azure,” she explained, grinning. “Azure friendship bracelets.” I laughed as she slipped mine over my wrist and then put its twin on her own thin arm.

“I love them,” I said genuinely, holding it up to the sun.

“To remind you how much I care,” she explained, holding her own bracelet up so it was next to mine.

There was so much to say. So much to unpack and to talk through and to understand and forgive. I knew I was supposed to shower her with questions about Liam, and squeal at all the right parts, and say “I’m so happy for you.” And she knew she was supposed to beg for forgiveness, and say she knew I still liked him but she did it anyway, but she couldn’t help herself and promised we’d work through this.

But we never said any of it. Instead, we hugged once more, our matching jewelry dancing in the sun, and went inside, arms around each other.

32

now.

I absentmindedly scratched at one of the scars on my arm to distract myself from my nerves. Spring sunshine beat through the classroom window, as Hannah and I eyeballed one another from our perfect forty-five-degree angled chairs. Our counseling tutor, Linda, lifted her glasses from their chain around her neck and applied them to the bridge of her nose. It was the first time we’d been assessed on our listening skills—taken to a quiet room so Linda could give us intense feedback.

“Now, who wants to listen first?” she asked, getting the sheet on her clipboard ready. I gave Hannah a go-ahead look, as I knew she was even more nervous than I was.

“I’ll listen first, if that’s all right?” Hannah raised her hand.