• "Aimee, I need to talk to you sixth."
    "Okay, yeah. Do you mean talk-talk or talk—"
    "Talk-talk."
    "Okay. Is it serious?"
    "Oh yeah…"
    Today was the day. In three hours, I was going to confront Aimee once and for all. The whole affair made me so nervous. Throughout fourth period, my whole body was shaking. I couldn't keep myself still. What was I going to say? How was I going to say it? How would I tell her that for a month or so, I had been staying up most nights crying over whether or not we were still friends? How could I say that I felt like I was only there when no one else was around? I'm not a talking type of person. I don't have a script. Exactly how was this going to play out?
    Five minutes before fifth period had left out, I sat in a desk, impatiently waiting for the bell to ring. The clock changed to 1:18. Class was scheduled to end at 1:19, but I've sat in front of these clocks long enough to know it was always a minute earlier. After a few more seconds, the bell went off. I tried my best to dash out of the room, though the crowd of students taking their time tested whatever patience I had left.
    Finally, I arrived at my sixth period class. As I sat my stuff down at my seat, I noticed that Aimee wasn't there yet. I decided to wait out in the hallway for her, since I wanted to get this done and over with before class started. However, as I stood outside the door, she never showed. It wasn't until the final bell that I decided to go back into the room. It had been another two minutes before Aimee finally arrived.
    Sitting next to me, she asked, "So, what did you want to talk about?"
    In response, I said quietly, "Could we talk out in the hallway?" She agreed before going to the teacher to ask for permission. However, we had to wait until she took attendance, and that only made me even more edgy. I had my shoulders hunched over, like a cat in a nerve wrecking situation, and my feet kept on bouncing in a fast rhythm. After a while, when she finished taking role, she gave the Aimee the slip to turn into the attendance office, and I followed her out.
    "So, what's up?" she asked. I tried to say something, but I wasn't too sure on what I wanted to say first. When I tried to, she would shout a brief conversation to some people that we passed along the way.
    When we reached an empty area, I began, "So… What's going on?"
    "What do you mean?" Aimee asked.
    "You don't talk to me anymore…" I stumbled in my words. I said it lowly and clearly, which came as a complete surprise to me, considering I usually talk in a sweet-pitched voice whenever I'm nervous.
    "Of course I do," she remarked, "I just talked to you earlier." Earlier that day, around the beginning of third period, she actually talked to me for about two minutes straight. It really confused me, and I didn't like how my feelings were being toyed with. That was what sparked me to have this conversation with her.
    "That's what surprised me…" I stated, twisting and turning my fingers. Another person passed, so I kept quiet as she exchanged words with them. When they were gone, I continued, "You talk to everybody else… except for me…"
    "Tricia, you have to talk to people," Aimee said. "You have to just yell at whoever."
    "I-I do, but…" For a brief second, we got separated by a group of students that passed by in the hallway. Since they weren't moving, having a conversation amongst themselves, I walked around them, meeting Aimee in front of the attendance office's door. After she dropped the slip of paper into the box, we watched as the group in front of us walked away.
    "Like them, for example," she explained. "You just have to shout at them to get out of the way." I didn't say anything in return. I don't think she understood what I was trying to say.
    As we began to walk back to class, I managed to continue, "Like… I feel like… a scapegoat…"
    "What?" Giving me a quick hug – which I felt very awkward in – Aimee said, "You're not a scapegoat. I talk to you all the time."
    I attempted to say, "The one time you talked to me today was the longest time you've spoken to me all week," but I got lost in my words, so I couldn't get the statement out. The rest of the walk back felt completely agonizing. I managed to say, "You know, the reason I wasn't in school was because I was too afraid to…" but I don't think Aimee heard me. She stopped to talk to some people real fast. I stood in the middle of the hallway, wondering whether or not to just go ahead and head back to class. Eventually, Aimee joined me once again.
    We returned to class, only to sit separately again. The classroom was dark, since we were watching a movie. I felt completely distressed. I never got my message across, and it made me feel worse than ever. I got out my phone and held it close to my face as I texted to my mom, "I think my talk failed…" As I clicked send, I began rocking back and forth. I really wanted her to respond as soon as possible. I wanted her to talk to me; I wanted anybody to talk to me!
    My eyes began to leak tears. To avoid any attention, I pulled my hood over my head as far as I could. Finally, Mom replied to me, asking "Why?" In response, I answered, "I don't think I accomplished anything!!!" (I meant to put three dots instead of exclamation marks, but my eyes were too filled with tears to even notice.) I didn't feel like I was going to make it, so I scurried over to the teacher to ask if I could go use the restroom.
    "What's wrong?" she asked as she noticed my drenched face. Due to her pointing it out, I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I began crying. (Thank God the TV was louder than a siren.) The teacher brought me out to the hallway, asking, "What's wrong? I can't just send you to the restroom like this." I tried to say something, but nothing came out. What was there to tell? "I tried to talk to my friend about how I was feeling, and she didn't listen"? There wasn't anything to say. My weakness led me to a sticky situation.
    "Who is it? Tricia?" The voice startled me, but I saw that it was Aimee, so I only ended up crying even more. Hugging me, she continued, "Tricia, what's wrong?"
    "What's going on?" the teacher asked her.
    "It's complicated," she responded. When the teacher suggested that I go see the counselor, Aimee agreed and began to walk me to the counselor's office. She continued to ask me what was wrong, but when I tried to explain, I couldn't, so it made me even more upset.
    As we went up the stairs, she told me stop and sit down, so I did so. Sitting beside me, she asked, "So, what is this about? Is it about before? Or is it something else?"
    Struggling with my emotions, I eventually managed to say, "It's the same thing as before…"
    "Tricia…" Aimee said, but said nothing more.
    I continued, "I don't feel like I'm your friend anymore…"
    "Tricia, you're still my friend," she said seriously, looking dead at me.

    I sat for the rest of the period, talking with her about all the stories and events that I wanted to talk to her about before. Truthfully, I thought that everything had been fixed.
    However, in the end, nothing changed. Whenever I would try to interact with Aimee, it didn't work out. I kept on running into that brick wall. Despite how much it pains me, I have to stop running into that wall.