Tears in the Sleeping Bags

The air in my room, which had been buzzing with laughter and the scent of popcorn just minutes before, now felt thick and heavy, like a blanket too warm for a summer night. Katie and I stood facing each other, the space between us a chasm that had suddenly opened up, wider and deeper than any pillow fort we’d ever built. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening, mirroring the sting behind my own. The words we’d hurled at each other, sharp and careless, echoed in the sudden, suffocating silence.

"I can't believe you said that, Katie," I whispered, my voice cracking. It wasn’t just about James anymore. It was about everything. The way she’d twisted my words, the way she’d made it sound like I was trying to steal him, like our friendship meant nothing compared to some boy.

Katie sniffled, a small, heartbroken sound. "Well, you were acting like you owned him, Sophia! Like, 'Oh, I know James best, and he likes me more.'" She mimicked my tone, but it sounded hollow, a poor imitation of the confidence I’d been trying to muster.