In eighth grade, all I wanted was to be best friends with Brooklyn Fink. Brooklyn Fink was not only the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, but somehow she did everything first. First one to see a PG-13 movie, first to kiss a boy, and she was the first girl in our grade to get a Juicy Couture tracksuit. Everyone loved her, even teachers! She’d say things like “Chillax, teach!” and they’d just smile and roll their eyes. Mom kept telling me that I shouldn’t worry about trying to make someone my friend, that friendship comes organically. I told her, “Chillax, Mom, I just want to be friends with her because she’s super nice and super smart, okay?”

Brooklyn joined the track team and I saw my window. Now everyday after school for two whole hours I had chances to talk to Brooklyn. I’d say things like, “Cool sneakers” or “Nice mile time.” And she’d say “Thanks, girl.” She was effortlessly cool and I was lame with the effort of a thousand giraffes learning to walk. I noticed in the locker room that Brooklyn had started wearing a bra. God, even her hormones were cooler and more advanced than mine!

Mom was late picking me up. Mom was never late picking me up. Brooklyn’s mom was apparently always late to pick her up. So there we were waiting, just us. Like a miracle. “Gum?” I offered. Nothing makes you more popular for thirty seconds in middle school than gum, just an FYI. “Thanks, girl. My mom is so lame, yours must be too, huh?” I tried to match Brooklyn’s cool, laid-back tone, “Totally.”

Another miracle, I got invited over to Brooklyn’s house for a sleepover. Mom drops me off, “Just remember, you can call if you decide you want to come home.” I shrug her arm off, “I won’t want to come home.” I run to the door without saying thanks or looking back to wave. Brooklyn’s house is almost as cool as she is. She has a trampoline, a golden retriever named Dude, and her step-brother Felix lets us play Guitar Hero with him! He’s older than us, like 19, maybe. I don’t tell Brooklyn, but I think Felix is really cute. We read Tiger Beat, drink diet coke, talk about how hard track is, and I can’t believe it, it’s like we’ve been friends all along.

A rustle wakes me up. Brooklyn’s purple alarm clock reads, 1:07 AM. I am facing away from the bed in my old Hello Kitty sleeping bag that I begged my mom not to make me bring. I hear a low voice harshed into a whisper, “Hey, shut up! You want to wake her?” I recognize the voice as Felix’s. Eventually the door shuts. 1:43 AM and Brooklyn’s snores softly. I watch the numbers change.

In the morning, I smile and thank Brooklyn for inviting me. “We should do this again.” She hugs me. “Totally.” I hug back. There is a family photo over her shoulder and I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to see them in the same frame. I ran outside without tying my shoelaces. I shut the car door and launch myself onto Mom, wrapping my arms around her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Thanks for picking me up.” We pull away from Brooklyn’s and down the street. “Well, how was the sleepover with the coolest girl in school?” Mom asks. “It was good. Do you think next time she could sleep over at our house instead?”