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That’s why I’m grateful my mom finally decided four years ago to settle permanently in San Francisco.
Before that, we would usually stay a maximum of two years in one place.
We lived in Boston, Seattle, Utah, Dallas, Detroit, and many other cities, always in a small three-bedroom house. My mom would find a job as a teacher or an HR professional in a school or company, and once she felt we didn’t belong there anymore, we would move.
As a kid, I loved the thrill of exploring new places and meeting people with different accents and lifestyles.
But as I got older, I started to really miss having steady friendships.
I wish I could have properly said goodbye to Justin from Detroit, who left daisies on our doorstep because they reminded him of me. I wish I’d had a chance to say farewell to Selena from Seattle, who taught me Spanish curses, and to Kiara from Utah, who warned me that Jesus would come back soon to save us from Satan, which gave me nightmares for days. And I still think about Hunter from New Orleans, who showed me his voodoo dolls representing his cousins who kept stealing his Pokémon cards and whom he’d later "punish" with pins.
Each of these neighbors was a friend I made during our travels across the country, and I can’t help but wonder how many more friends I might have had if I’d stayed in one place and gone to school like everyone else.
But thank God Claire and I crossed paths.
I met her in the university library almost a month ago.
I was working on an essay about the myth of Odysseus when a tall, lean girl with short blonde hair plopped down next to me. Wearing sunglasses and looking exhausted, she rested her head on the table and asked if I had an aspirin.
“I’m so hungover,” she sighed. “Take my advice: don’t drink more than two Pink Bikini Cocktails. I had five last night, and I feel like I got run over by a truck and then dragged through the desert for miles. Honestly, I’m half-expecting to find tumbleweeds in my hair.”
I laughed and gave her an aspirin I found in my bag, the kind I used for killer period cramps. And that’s how our friendship started.
The thing is, we’re like two sides of a coin.
She’s all about hitting the town and partying till dawn, while I’m more of a homebody, happiest with a movie marathon and enough snacks to feed a small army. She’s the life of the party, while I’m the queen of Netflix and chill.
But if there’s one thing you can never tell Claire, it’s “no.”
I’ve never been much for the club scene—never had the chance or the desire, really. But with Claire, it’s like trying to say “no” to a hurricane in high heels. I’d probably end up feeling guilty for weeks if I even thought about turning her down.
So, I caved and asked her to pick me up.
Now, as I strolled through the university hallways, I’m concocting a master plan to slip away undetected because if my mom finds out I snuck out, she’ll have me beheaded—or worse, grounded indefinitely.
?
I reapplied my lip gloss using my phone’s camera while Claire checked her phone for the hundredth time in the past five minutes.
I rolled my eyes. “Quit it, or the bouncer’s gonna boot us out of line.”
We’d been waiting for twenty minutes, our feet screaming in our high heels, the night’s humidity making us sweat like we were in a sauna.
Claire sighed dramatically, crossing her arms. “If we wait any longer, I’m gonna pass out. I can’t feel my legs; these Jimmy Choos are killing me.”
“Beauty is pain, Claire. And apparently, it’s also sweat, blisters, and possible heatstroke.”
She rolled her eyes. “If beauty is pain, I must be a supermodel. My feet are staging a rebellion.”
I laughed just as the bouncer finally gestured for us to come closer.
“About time,” Claire muttered under her breath.
We stepped up to the bouncer, who checked our IDs with a practiced glance. He handed them back and waved us in.
We walked down the stairs, the air growing thicker and more suffocating with each step. The bass from the music vibrated through the walls, and the scent of sweat and perfume filled the air. Claire grinned at me, excitement lighting up her eyes despite her earlier complaints.
“Ready to dance?” she shouted over the music.
