"YOU WHAT?!"
"I'm sorry. I know, I shouldn't have done it. But I'm really hurt."
I stood there, behind the concession stand at the biggest basketball game of the season, with my jaw on the floor. You see, the thing about high school girls is that they can be the most petty, ignorant, dramatic, arrogant, pricks. I don't what it is about these four walls but the second you step inside them you're essentially on another planet. So as I stood there in front of Hannah, basically on Mars, all the air escaped my lungs and I could no longer see straight.
"Kolby told me that he talked to Diego and Diego said that the two of you texted after we broke up," Hannah told me.
"That was once!" I replied, getting visibly more agitated, "Literally months ago!"
We both were silent, looking at each other. I had trusted her. I had given her my password. I had let her back in. I should have known something like this would happen... because here's another thing about being on Mars: when your brain doesn't get enough oxygen (likely because the air is composed of cologne, perfume, and B.O.) you start doing dumb, stupid things. For example, it would be extremely dumb to go through your friend's phone while she’s in the bathroom and read the texts between her and your ex-boyfriend. It would be even more dumb if that friend was gay and you were the one that broke up with him.
"He only texted me to ask if I knew why you ended it!" I went on, "I—I can't believe you did that."
"I know I shouldn't have read it," Hannah responded, her voice somewhere between angry and anxious, "It was wrong and it hurts."
The reality is that you can't go on a four year journey without something going wrong and someone getting hurt. Hannah hurt Diego. But she hurt me too. That's why Diego and I texted. Hannah hurt herself by reading those texts. At first I thought that's what went wrong, but it's not. After four years I've finally come to terms with the fact that the something wrong was me and her. No matter how long we looked at each other, we never really saw each other.
"I need a minute," I said.
As my words floated off into the Universe, I turned around and walked away. And she did too.
I looked behind me as I walked away. Lana didn't. I held back tears. Something you should know about me is that I don't cry. Or at least I didn't. Now I do... more and more frequently. It's not fun having sixteen years of built up feelings come out all at once. It really sucks actually. I took a deep breath then went to sit back down on the uncomfortable blue bleachers that would undoubtedly leave me with back pain for the rest of the night. Our team was winning the basketball game 40-31 and the fans cheered loudly around me, dressed in neon pinks, oranges, and yellows. Everything almost moved in slow motion; Even the parents shouts at the refs sounded as though they were underwater. I felt heavy, like I was sinking. All I could think about is what I read: 'One of her teammates told me she's not even that good at volleyball.' 'I think it's going to take a lot for her to change.' 'Maybe we should egg her car.' 'She's not very big on self-reflection.' Fweeeep. I opened my eyes suddenly as the shrill sound of the whistle snapped me out of my spiral. I hadn't even realized that I closed my them. Other students flooded past me going to get snacks during halftime. I couldn't fathom eating red vines and a pretzel right now; my stomach was in knots. I wish I hadn't looked at Lana's phone. I never expected to find what I found or for it to hurt me the way it is. But at the same time, she's the one who wrote it. She's the one who texted him. She's the one who gave me her password. So is it my fault? Is her fault? Is both of our faults? None of our faults? Fault. Fault. Fault. The word echoed in my brain. The walls started closing in and my vision blurred. It felt like I was on another planet.
"I need a minute."
Hannah looked like she had just been on the world’s most terrifying rollercoaster, so the fact that she was merely stepping down the bleachers told me that something was definitely wrong. Lana had never even come back to the bleachers—oh… and just like that folks, we have found the problem.
I’ve known Hannah since middle school and we both met Lana freshman year. I’m pretty close with both of them, but we never really hangout the three of us anymore. Which is fine because if I’m being honest, girls are a lot of drama. It’s funny because Hannah and Lana loved each other and hurt each other more than any other pair of best friends I’d ever seen. Actually it was around this time last year that they got into a massive fight and didn’t talk for two weeks. After that they’d never been as close. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
I reached for my phone. Shockingly (that’s sarcastic), it was Lana calling me. I picked up.
“I had to go to the bathroom so Hannah came with, right? And she thought it would be funny to take a picture of her mocking the other team’s mascot so she asked for my phone password. Which I thought was a little weird because the phone doesn’t need to be unlocked to take a picture, but I was like whatever and gave her my password. Then I went into the bathroom. When I came back she didn’t want to take the picture anymore so we just started walking back to our seats but then she was like ‘actually can we talk?’ SHE HAD WENT THROUGH MY FREAKING PHONE and read the texts between me and Diego. I’M SORRY WHAT?!?”
“Woah,” was all I could muster as I tried to process what had just been said/yelled.
“I trusted her,” Lana’s voice cracked a little.
Just then, Hannah texted me.
Lana and Diego said some really mean stuff about me. I feel sick. They were my friends. I trusted them. I trusted her.
These two girls, it’s like they live on different planets. So they never really realize how similar their planets actually are.