Toxic Friends


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 Pastel pink walls, white furniture, mint green couch, and a pitcher of lemonade ; it was all how I imagined it would be.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked formally, as if forgetting the fact that we were once best friends.

I looked down at the pitcher, then felt ashamed of myself for ever doubting her intentions. We used to be best friends, and now I can’t even trust her when she offers me lemonade?

I thought about it some more, without realizing that she could sense my hesitation, and when I finally realized it, we both just stared down at the floor awkwardly.

I couldn’t think of anything to say to the person I was best friends with for nearly four years.


I hate it when I run into old friends who I haven’t seen in a few years.

It actually happens surprisingly often to me. Like today, when I ran into Audrey.

Audrey Fern Bluett was my best friend in middle school.  We formed a trio:Me, Audrey, and this other girl named Julianne.

Audrey was your typical all-American-girl: blonde, blue-eyed, sweet, bubbly, and one-hundred percent Christian. She was the one person I could truly trust back then. But now it’s like I have to get to know her all over again.  I just feel like I have to look at her in a whole new light. She isn’t the girl I’m best friends with anymore.  She’s the girl I used to be best friends with. Ten years ago.

For all I know, she could be a serial killer trying to poison me with lemonade.

That’s the way I was raised; my mother always told me, “the world isn’t a nice place, Vivian, people change, people betray, and you can never ever truly trust anyone.”

Not exactly something you would want to say to someone if you want her to grow up as a psychologically healthy human being, but my mother had good reasons.

One, she was the daughter of a 

Julianne was the golden girl: rich, popular, talented, and beautiful.

I haven’t heard from either of them since we graduated eight grade and said our goodbyes, until I saw Audrey today. It all can be summed up by one word: awkward.

That’s why I hate these accidental run-ins with old friends; I hate awkward. I hate having to make small talk with someone I already said goodbye to ten years ago. I hate being offered lemonade and having to turn it down because I don’t trust that old friend friend as much as I used to. But what I hate most of all, is thinking back to middle-school. It’s something I never thought I would have to do again, until today. 

I saw Audrey through the window of 

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