"I'm fucked up, Charlotte," Lyla's panicked voice sounded through my phone. I had picked up after the first ring, before checking the time.

1:27 am

"What's going on, Ly? Are you okay?"

Her breathing became heavier and shallower. "Can you come pick me up, please? I know you're sitting for the SAT tomorrow, but I need you," she pleaded.

In most messed up sense, it was calming to hear that she needed me instead of me always needing her.

"I'll get my mom's keys. Text me the address."

I hurriedly pulled on sweatpants and some sneakers. Mom's car keys were in their usual spot in her purse. Quietly, I went into the kitchen, digging around until I found her keys.

Having failed my driving test twice, I threw caution to the wind because my best friend needed me. The 1993 Honda Accord's engine sputtered, then turned over before I peeled out of the driveway and to the address Lyla texted me.

Fifteen minutes later, I not-so-parallel parked the car in front of a small brick home and ran up to the unlocked door. My nostrils were immediately attacked by the smell of alcohol and weed. I began asking people if they had seen Lyla using my default description. 'About this high, blue eyes, blonde hair.'

I received some vague points in general directions before I realized these weren't any help. Room by room I checked for Lyla. When I was down to two doors, I opened the door for the one on the left and saw my best friend's beautiful blond hair half hanging and half hanging out of the toilet bowl.

Immediately, I tied up her hair and helped sit her up straight.

"Oh, Charlotte," she hummed beside me, leaning her head back on my shoulder. "Thank you for being my friend," she mumbled.

"Sure thing, Ly. Come on, let's get you up," I said through gritted teeth as I struggled to pick her up. "Right this way." I corralled her like a sheepdog until we reached the car. I unlocked it and carefully helped her in and buckled her seatbelt.

I knew in her state I couldn't take back to the Porter household and I made my way back home.

That night brought us closer. I felt depended on and needed and she felt safe and cared for. We sat in the corner of my room, our backs against the walls. A trashcan in front of Lyla and a book in front of me.

"Don't let me die like Jimi Hendrix," she requested before throwing her head back into the trash can.

Hours later, once she had emptied her stomach into my trash can, I set a blanket on top of her after she crawled in my bed.

"I love you more than Goldfish," Lyla murmured before falling asleep.

"What about you?" he asked as I leaned back to rest on the windshield.

We were back at Grabbing Grove, eating Twizzlers by the handful and reminiscing.

"What?"

"Did you ever bring someone out here? Make a mark on the tree?" he clarified. My teeth pulled at the tough Twizzler before it tore and shook my head.

"No. Not really my scene, you know." Wesley grabbed a Twizzler from the bag and stuck it in his can of root beer, using it as a straw. "Gross," I commented.

"Try it," he said before he held it out to me.

"Not bad," I reviewed the combination. "Eight out of ten." He laughed and it was nice. "It's good to hear you laugh."

"Yeah, but I rarely do it much anymore." He took a bite of the Twizzler in the can and chewed it as he lay back on windshield next to me.

"Is it because of Lyla?" I asked, staring at the clouds above us.

"Kind of. She helped me a lot, but it's mainly my parents." he took a deep breath before continuing. "They're on my back about college and I hate it. Lyla always supported my decision of not wanting to go to college, but my parents won't hear of it. My mom's an OBGYN and my dad is a physician's assistant. My older brother, Elijah, is a fuck up. He's an owner of a marijuana dispensary with some of his friends from high school. They think he's a stoner and a failure but if they knew he was making more than what both our parents make in a year combined." Wesley let out a dry chuckle. "But they won't hear that their last son, their last chance, doesn't want to go to college."

I twisted over onto my side to face him. "Well, what do you want to do?"

"Marine Corps or maybe Navy. I'm not sure. Lyla loved the idea of me with a buzzcut, she said I would look hot and strong."

"That sounds like something she'd say." I paused for a second. "So, you said your brother owns a marijuana dispensary?"

---

"Your brother is the best," I said as I breathed out a puff of smoke. He did the same and smiled.

"He is very talented, I'll give him that." The sun started to set as we finished our joints. "Thanks for today, I had a lot of fun."

"No problem," I responded as I hopped off the hood of the car and sat in the passenger seat. Wesley joined me and we made our way back to my neighborhood.

Once we made it to the 'drop off zone,' which we had decided to call the house down the street from mine, he took off my bike and set it in front of me.

"Thanks again," he said as he shifted from foot to foot, not know what to say or do, neither of us wanting to leave.

"Like I said, 'no problem.'" I glanced up at Wesley who was grinning down at me. He quickly wrapped his hand around my cheek, his thumb grazing over my bottom lip. "What are you doing, Wesley?"

Instead of responding, he leaned in, brushing his lips over mine. Too suddenly for either of our likings, I pulled away, gazing up at Wesley, his eyes half closed.I cleared my throat and pulled him back to reality.

"What was that?" I asked, pulling my jacket tighter around my body.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Char."

"Don't call me that." Wesley looked taken aback at my words. "We're not friends. We're two people deserted by a common thread. It's late. We're tired, okay? Nothing more, nothing less."

He nodded and unlocked his car. "You're right. I'll see you around, Charlotte." His car door slammed and I shivered, watching him drive off before I mounted my bicycle and rode home.

Jeopardy's opening music played from the living room. With my shoulder resting on the doorframe, I looked at my mom. Her hair was a mess, she had drool pooling around her chin, her snores almost deafening over the Jeopardy music.

Quietly, I pulled the blanket from the end of the couch and placed it over her before turning off the television. I picked up her various soda cans and a half empty chip bag from the coffee table. After cleaning up and organizing everything, I trudged upstairs to get ready for bed.

In the hallway bathroom Mom and I shared was messy with heaps of clothing on the floor and knocked over bottles of soap. I grabbed my blue toothbrush and brushed my teeth, staring at the photo booth strip sitting in the frame of the mirror.

"Come on, Char!" Lyla pulled me with her out into the lobby of the movie theater."Let's take pictures."

"Lyla, I have popcorn in my teeth!" I said as I held a hand over my mouth.

"So what," she responded, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bucket wrapped in my arm and shoved it into her mouth, smiling, a few pieces falling out. I put in a quarter and we waited for the countdown to end.

"Funny one!"

"Serious one!"

"Glamorous one!"

"Popcorn one!" We each grabbed handfuls and stuffed our mouths just as the flash went off.

I picked up the photo strip and ran my eyes over each picture.

"Come on, let's see our they turned out!" We pulled back the bright orange curtain and stood in front of the dispenser, waiting for them to print. Slowly but surely, the photo strips dropped into the collection bin. Lyla quickly picked them up examined the pictures and groaned. "I look so bad in all of these."

"Shut up, Ly. No, you don't."

We each took a copy of the photos and promised to look at them at least once a day. She kept hers in her car and I kept mine on the bathroom mirror.

I kept that promise and looked at it everyday. I clambered into bed, waiting for sleep to take me.

---

"Hey, Momma," I said the next morning. She sat on the couch, a bowl of cereal in her hands, watching the morning news. She smiled at me and patted the space next to her. Not needing any convincing, I tucked my legs beneath me and sat next to her, leaning my head on her shoulder.

"What's going on, Charlie?" she asked, muting the television and setting her cereal bowl on the coffee table.

"I miss Lyla," I confessed, feeling myself break into a million pieces when I said her name. Mom wrapped her arms around me, holding me close as I silently cried into her fuzzy robe.

Without saying anything, she kissed the top of my head and held me until the tear stains dried and my breathing became normal.

"This is the first time I've seen you cry about this, Charlie," she whispered before rubbing up and down my back in a soothing manner.

It was true. This was the first time she had seen me cry over Lyla's death, it was also the first time I had ever cried over her death.

I prided myself on my emotional strength and resilience. Crying was never something that felt of use or need for me. It wouldn't change anything. I had learned that after Dad left. I cried for weeks, hoping that maybe he would see how much it was tearing me apart and come back, but he never did. After that I learned to keep it all inside.

"Screw him," Lyla said as she came back to the living room holding an overflowing bowl of popcorn. "He didn't deserve you." She rested her head on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me.

"I'm fine, Ly. I promise." I reached into the bowl and grabbed a fistful of popcorn mindlessly watching whatever 'news bloopers' video we were watching, our favorite.

After a woman accidentally said 'orgasm' instead of 'organism,' Lyla frustratedly muted the television and looked at me.

"How are you keeping your shit together?"

"It's not a big deal. We only dated for a few months, I knew he wasn't the one, Lyla." She huffed and slouched into the couch.

"When Wesley and I broke up for twenty four hours I was a mess."

"I remember," I teased as I reached for the remote to unmute the television. I could see Lyla was upset that she couldn't comfort me. It wasn't because she was unable to, I just didn't need to be comforted. However, I placed my head in her lap and we silently watched the bloopers, her fingers brushing through my hair, and I knew she felt needed.