A week later, after sarcastic remarks and more insults, Farrah and I were learning to be in each other's presence with more toleration.

The two of us sat in my room, me on the bed and her on the floor, in steady silence.

Until she broke it.

"You need a makeover." She said as I sat on my bed playing on my phone, "Do you have makeup?"

"Uh, yeah. I only brought it in case I broke out or we went to a fancy dinner or something but..." I trailed off as I pulled my makeup bag from the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

"Give it to me." She demanded, holding her hand out.

I passed her the bag and she positioned herself across from me on the bed, legs crossed. I crossed mine in imitation.

"You've got some pretty good stuff." She hummed with an approving nod.

"What exactly are you doing?" I asked, not 100% trusting her with pointy things near my face.

"Concealer, foundation, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick, anything else fun." She chirped, her mood changing rapidly.

"Oh, alright." I shrugged.

She took a face cleansing wipe from my bag and wiped my face with it, positioning her thumb under my chin.

"What are you-" I squirmed.

"I'm just cleaning your face, relax. And shut up." She said, rolling her eyes.

She pulled out a moisturizer and dabbed some onto my forehead, cheeks, and chin, rubbing it in in circles.

"We're not friends, you know." She reminded me.

"I... I know." I replied, barely resisting the urge to smile. I know it was odd for me to be happy when she said that, but I just felt like she was reminding herself more than me. We weren't friends, yet there she was, insisting on doing my makeup.

"Yeah." She nodded as she applied foundation to my knockoff beauty blender. "Cause girls like you and girls like me don't hang out or anything."

"Of course not." I agreed, squirming as she blended the foundation on my cheeks.

"I'd never have talked to you if our moms hadn't come here." She took out my concealer stick and began to do the areas where I had spots of acne.

"Me either." I nodded.

"Stop moving your face." She rolled her eyes and took out the eyelash curler.

"I'm not letting you put that near my eyes." I said, shaking my head.

"I'm not gonna poke your eye out, Cadence. Now hold still."

I held my eyes open as best I could while she curled my left eye, and then my right.

"Once we get back to school I'll probably never talk to you again." She pulled out an eyeshadow pallet and selected a brush. "Close your eyes."

She lightly brushed eyeshadow across my lids.

"Cause, you know, I've got better people to spend my time with." She said as if it were obvious.

"Trust me, so do I." I laughed.

"Who, that Avril girl?" Her face twisted up in disgust.

"Avery."

"Yeah, sure, okay. It's just that, we're on different levels of the social status. And girls like us aren't friends."

"Obviously not." I agreed.

"Keep your eyes open." She instructed me as she pulled out mascara. I did as I was told.

"I can't be seen with you. How embarrassing would that be?" She laughed.

"It'd be worse for me, trust me." I smirked.

"You tell yourself that." She rolled her eyes for the thousandth time. "Cause I'm popular, and you're not." Her expression turned a little sad, and she stared at me for a second before snapping out of it. "Time for eyebrows." She pulled the pen out and began to fill them in.

"And just because our moms are friends doesn't mean that we are, right?" She laughed anxiously.

"Right." I confirmed, becoming a little concerned with her behavior. "Are you alright?"

"Better than you. You know, I'd never usually be caught hanging out with you. But nobody here knows us so...I guess it's okay."

"What's wrong, Farrah?" I asked.

"I need to do your blush." She pulled a small pink compact out of my bag, along with a brush. She began to tint my cheeks with a look of determination mixed with nervousness.

"Farrah, seriously." I pressed.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not friends. I'm gonna do your lipstick now." She flitted between insulting me and walking me through the process so fast I swear I got whiplash.

"Pink or red?" She asked, holding up two lipsticks in comparison.

"Farrah, is something wrong?" I asked cautiously, afraid of setting off the bomb that was this teenage girl.

"I don't know." Her voice trailed off and she put the pink lipstick back into the bag. "Red it is."

Farrah placed her hand along my cheek and began to line my lips very carefully, staring at them with dedication.

"Okay, you can't talk now. So shut the hell up for once." She commanded once she had finished, taking the cap off the lipstick container and, starting at the center of my top lip, working her way out.

"How do I look?" I asked after she had pulled away.

"Press your lips together." She ordered, reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing a tissue.

"Here, go like this." She put the tissue between her lips.

She handed me the tissue and I did the same.

"All done?" I asked.

"I did a good job." She complimented herself with a nod.

Farrah handed me my makeup bag and stood up to leave the room.

"Wait, Farrah," I sighed, stopping her from leaving. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about... whatever's wrong? You seem weird, I just..." I stammered.

"I don't want to be your friend." She said firmly.

"I didn't ask if you wanted to be my friend. I asked if you wanted to talk." I insisted. "You can't just keep acting like this and not expect me to be curious."

"Are our moms here?" She asked hesitantly.

"They're out sailing right now." I said, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be right back." She left and I heard her go down the stairs, and then back up. When she came back into the room, she was holding three cans of beer.

"Farrah, what are you doing with that?" I asked. I wasn't a prude or anything, but obviously I didn't think it was a good idea to drink. Especially when our mothers would be home later. It was just... the opposite of a good idea.

"Relaxing." She said, and sat down on the big windowsill, leaning against the wall and putting one leg straight out while she bent the other.

"This isn't a good idea." I told her, being as cautious as I could.

"You wanted me to talk? I'm talking. So listen." She squeezed her eyes shut and began to drink from the first beer can. You could tell she'd done it before, because she didn't cough or choke at all.

I sat on my bed as I watched her quietly.

"Okay. I'm a calm drunk. I'll talk and I'll trust you, so if you tell anyone anything I tell you right now, I will stab you with a fork."

"Got it." I nodded. She finished the first can and began to drink the second.

"Give it a minute to kick in." She hummed, closing her eyes peacefully.

I didn't agree with what she was doing, but she did look calm, and that was rare, so I let it happen.

She sat in the windowsill seat for a few minutes before she moved again, and it was only to start her third can. Farrah finished the last one and took a deep breath.

"Haven't had alcohol since a month before school ended. That crazy party...did you go?" She spoke softly, as if she was actually calm. Her voice was slowly becoming more relaxed.

"Um," I stammered, "uh, no. I didn't. I don't like parties."

"Good. Don't go to them. They're just a place for guys to get you drunk, and make bets on who will take their shirt off first. I remember when guys weren't like that, don't you?" She tilted her head and blocked the sun as it shone through the window in streams of light.

"I was never really friends with them in the first place, so I don't know." I began to smile a bit, enjoying this new, soft, peaceful Farrah, but tiptoeing around her in case she went off.

"I dunno. It's like...." she trailed off and chewed her gum loudly, looking at the ceiling. "Doesn't it feel like everything's changed since middle school? Everyone's different. I remember when Jason was the guy who lent me his jacket that one time at recess, and now he's the guy who sells weed behind the dumpster. Same with Dominic. He used to dance with me at school dances when no one else would, and now he pays girls to make out with him."

As she sat in the windowsill of the bedroom, light streaming into the room, I understood what she meant.

"Yeah." I nodded. "But don't pretend that you haven't changed, too."

She tilted her head to the right and looked at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you used to sit with me at lunch. Now you sit with the other popular kids. You talked to me in the halls. Now you only talk to me when our moms practically lock us into a house together. You were a nice kid, and I hate to break it to you, but you're a bitch."

Farrah gave me a soft look, the first I'd seen from her in a while. "I'm not a bitch, Cadence."

"You are." I frowned. "With your twisty hair and your perfect skin, quarterback boyfriend, fake friends, don't you get it? You're the mean girl. You're....the Regina fucking George of Milton High."

"I don't mean to be." She said, looking down so the sun silhouetted her face, only a few rays peaking out behind her. "Of course I've changed. We've all changed. You've changed. Your stupid shyness, stupid perfection... and you only talk to that Alex girl."

"Avery." I sighed. "And what do you mean, my stupid perfection?"

"You...ugh. I don't know. You don't argue a lot, and you're polite and quiet and nice and I really can't fucking stand you."

"I don't talk because I don't like any of the kids at our school." I said, and I felt the beginning of a blush creep up my neck.

"Do you like me?" She asked with a hopeful tone.

"I just called you a bitch." I laughed.

She smiled at me happily.

"I like you. I really like you."

"You just said you can't fucking stand me, with all my perfection." I loved this Farrah. Happy, calm, relaxed Farrah.

"I can't stand you, I just really like you. You're pretty. Do people tell you you're pretty a lot? I feel like they probably don't. They should. You are." She began to ramble with a blush on her face, then stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna need more beer if I'm gonna keep talking like this."

She left and was back in her spot in a minute with another more beer. Farrah was already sipping it as she continued to speak.

"Guys never tell pretty girls they're pretty. They tell mean girls they're pretty, but only when they're dressed like prostitutes." She spoke quickly and with a look of thoughtfulness on her face.

"Not that I have anything against prostitutes. I hear they make really good money, and if they're okay with doing whatever the hell they do, then good for them. You," she pointed her beer can at me, "you would make a great prostitute. Cause you seem quiet and nice, but I bet you're an animal in bed."

"Farrah, oh my god." I laughed, covering my face as it surely turned red. I loved this Farrah. Carefree, rambling, and honest as hell. She sat in the windowsill with her legs in front of her, eyes shut in peace, hair falling softly over her shoulder. She looked beautiful. She always looked pretty, but right now she looked beautiful.

"You really didn't need a makeover. I just wanted to give you one." She confessed as she picked up a beer can and tipped it back, reaching for any last drops.

"That's alright, it was fun." I smiled, and got up off the bed. I took a few steps toward her and reached the window, where I sat down across from her with my legs crossed, brushing my hair behind my ear. It fell back in my face as soon as I did. "You're awfully honest when you're drunk."

Farrah reached forward and pushed my hair back behind my ear for me, looking at me with a happy smile. As she did, my heart lurched and my stomach sank. Drunk Farrah was a little overly-friendly... not that I minded. It was different, and I liked it.

"Ask me stuff." She said. "I'll tell you anything, cause I'm drunk."

"Okay, um..." I thought for a moment. "What do you think of your boyfriend?"

"Brad?" She laughed. "I don't like him. I mean, he's nice, but I don't have feelings for him. There are people I'd rather be with. Brad is wrong. For me, at least." Even though the topic was somewhat serious, she spoke with such happiness, as if it was just regular gossip. "No, I'd rather be with someone else."

"Oh, really?" I raised my eyebrows with a curious smirk. "Who?"

She looked at me and cocked her head to the side.

"If you had to date a girl, who would you pick?" She asked.

"Philosophical." I nodded with a laugh. "Why do you ask?"

"Girls are so much nicer than boys. Brad is nice, but he doesn't show his emotions. He doesn't talk about things that make him happy, or things that he doesn't like, or things he's embarrassed about. Girls talk so much about how they feel, cause they're so trusting. Like you, for example. I know you don't like when people tell you what to do, you can't drink coffee because it 'doesn't agree with your stomach,'" Farrah used air quotes, "you make strange jokes to make conversation when it's awkward, you let people talk you into being insecure..." She ranted.

"I do not," I argued.

"You do. The boy at the ice cream stand? Why did you let me tell you he didn't like you? He did." Her face took on a look of sadness and her eyes bore into mine.

"Why did you tell me he didn't?" I asked, a twinge of anger flaring up inside me.

"Sober Farrah is the jealous type." She frowned.

"If Sober Farrah liked the boy, then why didn't she just get him herself?"

"I didn't like Ice Cream Boy." Farrah rolled her eyes.

"What?" My voice cracked as I asked for clarification.

"I didn't like him."

"Then why were you jealous?" I already didn't understand Farrah, but this just made it more confusing.

She sucked in a deep breath and looked me directly in the eye— the kind of look friends don't give to friends. There was a subtle yet nervous smirk on her lips, and she began to lean in slightly.

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Cadence?" She whispered.

My breaths came out quick and shallow as I thought of how to answer. What was she up to?

"No," I whispered, beginning to toy with my hands in nervousness. "Why?"

"Do you know how?" She leaned in so we were face to face.

"I guess so," I replied. My face was definitely bright red, probably matching my lipstick.

What the hell was happening? Farrah was slowly leaning in towards me, and I didn't even want to stop her.

Before I knew it, she closed the space between us, and I let my eyes shut. She barely moved, and neither did I, but it was calm and peaceful.

I liked it.

Moving ever so slowly, I put my hand onto her cheek and let myself push her hair behind her ear.

Farrah pulled back to breathe with a happy grin on her face.

"Your lipstick is smudged." She pointed out, breathing heavily.

"That's alright." I whispered.

At this point in time, I took a mental step back. I needed to think about what had just happened, and what Farrah and I had just done. Because I liked it, and Farrah was drunk. I wasn't even kissing the real her.

"Are you going to treat me differently tomorrow?" I asked, looking up at her softly.

"When I'm not drunk?"

I nodded.

"Well, Drunk Farrah just does the things that I'm usually too scared to do." She sucked in a deep breath. "I think...I like you, Cadence. It's scary because you're a girl and we're very different. I'll treat you differently, cause hello, I'm drunk right now. But I'll still like you." She nodded. "I just might be bitchier about it.

"Oh," I replied. "I don't even know if I like you." I felt bad saying that, but it was true. I had enjoyed kissing her, but I didn't think I liked girls that way.

"That's okay, figure it out." She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek quickly before standing up and gathering her beer cans.

With that, she left. And I sat alone on the windowsill feeling as confused as possible.