On Monday, Matt waves at me at the beginning of English. On Tuesday, he asks how it’s going—from across the room before class—making at least three girls seated between us breathe jealousy. Every day except Wednesday, when she has an appointment at noon, Audrey and I eat lunch together, either in the cafeteria or off-campus. Despite the fact that others say “hello” in the halls, I seem to be Audrey’s only friend. She and I text every night, and she even starts reading my blog. Thursday night, she texts: Audrey: I love your post about the anatomy of mall crowds. Daisy: Thanks! Audrey: Sure. And your friend Fabulous is hilarious. Daisy: That’s Megan. You’d love her. My life starts to feel like a prime-time sitcom. Then, on Friday, the cracks start to show. The morning is fine, but things begin to unravel at lunch. Audrey and I go to the taco place down the street from school for the Friday special: two hard-shell tacos, chips and salsa, and a drink. Right after we finish eating, Audrey runs to the bathroom and throws up (I hear it because we’re at a table close to the restrooms).
