Day 58: Blake

 I've been busy drafting my story to hand in tomorrow.  All I have is another snippet from it for tonight.  I won't pester you about it anymore.  :)

"Miranda, you know, as your best friend, I’d do anything for you, right?”

She had finished painting her nails now and had fingers spread out on her lap to let them dry.  “Of course, and that’s why I think you’re so great.”

“And being a friend means telling your friend something, even if it hurts.”  I bit my lip.  She looked serious now, almost like I was going to tell her that her cat died.  “I don’t think you should see Blake anymore.”

Her eyes grew larger than golf balls.  Her voice was quiet.  “Why not?”

Why not.  What reasons couldn’t I give?  I never liked that guy from the first minute he walked up to us while we were eating lunch at our favorite restaurant near campus.  I always ordered the same sandwich, turkey swiss on rye, while Miranda switched up her order every time.  Miranda had dropped something out of her purse, a lip gloss I think, and it rolled across the floor, landing at his feet.  He picked it and handed it to her. 

“Is this yours?” he had asked, as if he didn’t already see it roll away from her direction.  There was something in his voice.  It was soft and subtle, like how a fox would talk to Jemima Puddle-duck in those Beatrix Potter stories.  His hair was styled to accentuate his hair over his eyebrows.  He reeked of cologne and teeth so perfect I knew they must have been veneers.  He did have good taste in clothes though, a Ralph Lauren polo and jeans.  I wasn’t about to be fooled by his tricks, but Miranda was smitten.  He somehow managed to weasel his way into our lunch.  He asked her out the following night.

“You only met him for like a half hour, Miranda.  How are you certain he won’t turn out to be some psycho serial killer?”

“Don’t be crazy, Sammy!  He’s really nice.  It’s not like I’m going to his house or anything.  It’s just dinner.”

Well, “just dinner” turned out to be one and a half years.  They used to meet only once or twice a week.  I didn’t mind it so much because I had homework to do.  I never liked to leave our dorm to do any fun stuff until my homework was done.  I figure if I’m paying so much for tuition, I might as well do what I can to get good grades and make the education pay off.  I have little time as it balancing school and my job at Macy’s.

It started getting more serious about six months ago.  It was so frustrating to hear her say things like, “I’m sorry I can’t go to the movies tonight.  I was going tot meet Blake.”

Blake!  What kind of a name is that anyways?  It was always, “Blake is so good is this” or “Blake told me that last night.”  How did it get the point that she started talking more about his life than our lives anyways?  At night, we would stay up late and dream about what we would do with our lives.  We had it figured out since junior year of high school.  I would be a manager of a retail store and sell the clothes that Miranda would design.  It was perfect.  Now, Miranda had started talking about how Blake was a great photographer but he wanted to live near the coast so he could take more oceanic themed photos.  She started talking about the ocean more, how pretty the weather is near there, how nice beach houses were, how beach clothes are looking so trendy now.  Beaches?  We lived in New York City.  If Blake left, Miranda would leave too.