"Help me zip this up," Danielle says, strutting into my bedroom all dolled up in makeup and a silk white gown that stops right above her knee. Without being zipped up it's already hugging her lower body curves.

Though once I'm done helping with the zip, her curves are all over the places. We've both got what annoying fashionistas call 'a pear body shape', which is basically being thin waist up and chubby hips down. But Danielle's even much curvier, kinda like my body's mega version. It should make her more insecure if she were me, but she's not. She's Danielle-Soledad Martinez.

"Thanks." She chimes once I'm done, and begins checking out the cosmetics on my dresser. "Are you using make-up?"

"Not.. really? I was planning on just eyeliner."

"Not trying any concealer?"

"Soledad." I groan.

"What?" She starts laughing. "It's red, okay? And you're pale. I swear it's so goddam obvious."

We've been good since last night. I don't really know how it happened but at some time after dinner, I found myself gushing about Tyler to her and every little thing that's been going on with us, while she hung off the sofa with a mischievous grin on her face. Then at one point she called out my pimple.

She'd already done that once during dinner. I just think that's how it happened. I was asked to pass her the salt shaker and she said thanks, nice pimple.

We proceeded to go back and forth on it but it's not a topic I genuinely feel triggered about. I'm glad that as pessimistic and insecure as I can be, pimples has never been something that irked me. I don't know why. I guess, it's just the fact that I know it's a phase, something natural at my age and will certainly— well, hopefully— not last forever.

So whenever she brings it up, I tell her to let it go. But those who know my sister can testify that the opposite of Danielle-Soledad, is let go.

"I'm using eyeliner and that's that."

"Fine." She drawls, facing the mirror as she applies lip gloss. "Go around town with your pimple face."

"Pimple face? It's on my chin and is barely visible, Soledad." I counter, also checking my face out in the mirror, and tilting my head up to check out the pimple too 'cause... you know. I almost get a bit uncertain but quickly remind myself it's totally normal. Plus I've too many insecurities to add occasional pimples to the list. "We both know you're just trying to do my makeup."

"And is it too much to ask?" She cries out, "What's the harm in a sister trying to showcase her extreme expertise on your bland dull facial features?"

"The harm is that you're not an expert." I say. Even though I know It's all talk. Danielle's a natural beauty but her makeup does make her even prettier, she has a way of bringing out her eyes with that wing liner, and her face looks so glossy I can probably see my reflection on it. But making yourself up is different from making someone else up. Plus, the occasion is nothing special— if anything, I should want to hide back at home. So, eye liner would just have to do it for me like it does every other day. "Also calling me bland and dull is definitely not a good marketing strategy on your part."

"I'm joking, anyway, you look alright." She caps the gloss and flashes me a smile. To which I return with a scowl and she laughs. "Okay. Your dress is nice too."

"Is it?" I ask, hypothetically though 'cause I really do think it is nice. It's a teal A-line dress that goes a little above the knee and is studded with precious stones. I bought it last year for an event of dad's I ended up not going to, crazy because the outfit cost a few thousand. But at least now I get to wear it.

"Mhm." Danielle hums, eyeing the dress. When her eyes come back up, she gives me that proud look that has me know what's coming.

"Stop." I tell her in advance.

But of course she won't stop. "You've grown so big!"

"You're barely two years older than me, it's not right for you to say that."

"Two years is a lot! So, shut up. I remember when you were brought home from the hospital, so tiny and precious."

I stop applying liner to eye her. "Well, you clearly didn't think I was precious back then. Dad said you were always trying to kill me."

"Well, duh. And so? You were goddam annoying! Crying all the damn time, what did you expect me to do?"

"Understand the fact that I was a baby and not kill me?"

"That's tough. I was sort of a baby too, two years ain't all that."

"Exactly!" I laugh. "Exactly why you're in no place to tell me I've grown so much."

She scrunches up her nose in a cute way. "Ass."

"How many more hours have I got to wait for?" Dad calls from outside.

Both our eyes grow big, and I go back to lining my eyes while she answers. "We're coming, pàpà!"

"I'm ready." I tell her dropping the cosmetic I'd been holding, about to start leaving the room when I see her do something with her bra from underneath the dress. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to make my boobs fit."

"Trying to make your boobs fit or trying to make them bigger?" I ask, walking past her to the door. Though when I get by it I still wait with a hand on the doorknob.

"What's the difference?"

I laugh in disbelief. "But I thought your all time logo was 'small tits are where it's at'?"

"Well, not when I'm wearing a dress with a neckline so low I literally look flat chested." She answers. Continues fussing for a while till it seems like she's done. "Want me to help you do yours."

"No," I shake my head. "Small tits are where it's at."

"You're an ass." She doesn't smile about it but I laugh. We meet Dad downstairs who starts acting like Danielle had been when she noticed my dress, we tell him to please stop. He doesn't. Of course. Instead, he goes on and on about how we're growing so fast.

Toby comes in next, strolling in from the kitchen as we all go Danielle on him. He, as expected, hates every second of it, yet we still let him know how good he looks in a tux.

He just tells us it itches and that we should be on our way now so we can come home early.

We're not having a driver because dad says it's unnecessary. But what's really unnecessary is us using a car for a five second drive. It's not just unnecessary but ridiculous too because Pamela's house is right next door. However I get that it's more of a status thing, after all we're not the only influential family invited, especially now that Pamela's dad has won another elections. There'll probably be higher ranked people in government present.

"I call shotgun!" Toby yells and races to the front seat quickly as if that'll help. Soledad rolls her eyes, once we get there, she practically drags him out and takes over the seat.

"I hate being the youngest." He mumbles, now seated beside me at the back.

"Trust me, being the middle child is worse."

The gate opens automatically when we're close enough, and I start to feel giddy 'cause I know we're only three seconds away from our destination. Literally. The only thing that can help to delay the ride are when we have to round the fountains in our house and the one at her house. Or if I jump out the car right now, get injured so my family gets hysteric, dad drives us back home, calls the doctor once I'm all lay down in bed, the doctor says I'll need a two week break. Then we won't be able to go anymore. Or they'd have to go without me.

But it stops all in my head, I'd never jump out of a moving car. I'd had the same thought on Saturday, yesterday when we'd been on our way for the 'informal' picnic Senator Williams organized in order to show how much of a casual family man he is. There were about a hundred cameras round about the compound. That's how 'informal' it was. Not a lot of people showed up to that one, all dressed in their expensive but 'casual' shorts and shirts to show how laid back the occasion really was.

I've never been a natural at these kind of things, I'm always much too concerned of how I look on the cameras to be myself. And yesterday I was even more jittery 'cause I kept expecting things to go wrong, I kept expecting Pamela to show up. Come out of the house I'd thought she'd been in. I waited hours. But later on, indirectly, I found out she wasn't even home at all. That she had a compulsory cheer practice to be at. Senator Williams laughed as he talked about how dedicated she is to her team, it's why she's the leader after all. I wondered if the practice thing was true, or just an excuse, maybe she knew I'd be coming.

"Anica."

"Yeah?" I look at my sister through the side mirror by her window, trying to play it off. Trying to play off the fact that I'd been deep in thought and hadn't noticed we've arrived at my former best friends.

Dad and Toby have already left the car, leaving only my sister and I. Another thing I'm just noticing, but play it off again when I see her still staring.

She's leaned back in her seat, eyes narrowing when they don't need to be. The smokey eyeshadow she used have made her eyes look like slits already. "What's with you?"

"Nothing?"

"Anica."

"I swear, it's nothing. Can we get down now before the dinner ends?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I roll my eyes, gathering the flay parts of my pink dress as I shift towards the open door of Toby's side. "I won't like anything, Soledad, let's just go."

I wait for her to get down once I have, and even when she does, she still gives me the I know something's up look. Now, this is dramatic.

"Soledad, we don't have all day."

"You still haven't told me the real reason you both aren't friends anymore."

I scrunch up my nose, "I have."

"You really fought 'cause of a boy."

"When you put it like that,"

"It's what it is, 'nica, you fought because of a boy."

"Tyler's not just any boy." I tell her, but I'm met with a flat look. Anyways. I begin walking fast so we can get into the royally lit house and this conversation can, hopefully, end. "See, Soledad, we've liked him since we were twelve, he surprisingly shows up here four years after our shared crush began. And surprisingly kinda likes me when she's so much prettier."

"So much prettier?" Danielle echoes in disbelief and I inwardly groan, knowing what this would lead to. "¿Seguimos lidiando con problemas de autoestima?"

"It's not an esteem issue. I was just saying."

"That neckline is giving. Okay? That neckline is giving." We both turn to the voice, and sure enough it leads us to Natalie coming out from behind of a tall flower bushes with a glass of champagne in hand and a cheeky smile on her face. She looks to be at least a little bit drunk.

"Girl!" Danielle calls out, laughing. "I am so mad at you, why the hell did I not see your ugly ass here yesterday?"

"Ugly?"

"Yes? Very ugly because you didn't come and I had to deal with Tunisia's annoying self."

Nat giggles, getting closer as we're both walking to meet each other half way. I should probably go inside. I mean. But I don't have any friends in there, so I'd rather just cling to my sister. And well, her friend. Natalie's in a simple chocolate brown dress with a neckline as low as Danielle's, though it's as long as mine.

"Tunisia wants to be friends, Danny, but she's told me how you're nothing but a bitch to her."

"A bitch? I barely ever talk to the girl."

"Exactly." Nat states, bumping Danielle's nose with a finger, then she turns to me. "Hi baby, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I like your dress."

"Right? Danny here is yet to come to her senses and compliment me."

"Where were you Natalie Gardener?" Danielle asks, ignoring the statement and stepping right past us to where the outdoor flight of stairs are.

Natalie groans before following her. I automatically follow as well. "Because you won't lend me any money, I had to ask my dad for another monthly allowance. He called me spoilt like I knew he would and told me I need to get a job, I explained why the hell I won't, also highlighting the fact that he won't let me anyway. So, do you know what this man did? He gave me one. I was basically the errand girl of the entire house, I tell you."

"It's why you should spend less."

"No. I wasn't born to be poor."

Unlike yesterday, there's a doorman by the door who opens it immediately we get there. I'm a bit far behind them so when they go past, I notice the guy still holds it open, waiting for me. Which is awkward. I try to hasten my steps, as far as these silver heels will let me.

"Thanks." I tell him before passing through and he nods, smiling. It's the first time I've ever thanked a doorman. I don't why I did it.

Or maybe I know why. Nat's statement of how she wasn't born to be poor sort of sent me back a few days ago. To that place Tyler had taken me to. It's not a place I'd ever imagine a person like him to be at, let alone be friendly with the people there. I felt awfully uncomfortable, though it got better as the minutes passed. But it did feel uncomfortable at first because I didn't think I should've been there. One thing I constantly hear from the people around me is that poverty will always exist, and trying to change it is an impossible cause. Also placing yourself around them only leads to unnecessary pressure.

The latter seemed to be true, I'm not sure about the pressure being unnecessary, but I did feel it. Now I'm not sure if it's because I knew I can't be of any help if I tried, or because I knew I could be of help if I tried. If I'd ever tried.

The living room is classically lit up, and since Senator Williams isn't trying to be 'informal family man' like yesterday, there are butlers in uniforms carrying round trays of champagne and people dressed in outfits that expensive enough to buy a bank. Like I thought, there are much more influential people here than there've ever been in his previous year parties and even yesterday. Anyway, only close friends were invited so it makes sense.

I corner butlers and small groups of people talking, laughing. Where am I headed so confidently? Honestly, I don't know. Last year, and all the years before this, I'd probably be going for Pamela's room. We'd stay there, drink everything possible— except alcohol. And eat everything possible— except what we really want. Or what I really want? Not sure. Since she joined the cheer group, she turned vegan, which shouldn't be bad. I guess it only sort of is because the decision to be vegan never seemed to be hers but Amy's instead. So well, I turned vegan too. A false one, anyway. As I only ever practiced whenever I was around her or her friends.

"Melissa," Senator Williams cheers, with an arm opened out for me. Oh, so this is where I was headed. Subconsciously.

I go in for the side hug.

Senator has always been a nice man. Well, besides never being around for his only child, he's still okay. After my dad, is him. And I guess they're similar in a way. In parental style as well.

His dark hair is slicked back and his face looks like it was touched up alittle for this event. It probably was. Pamela got all her looks from her mom, though, she looks nothing like her dad. He's all dark hair and dark eyes, and she's all light hair, light eyes.

"Look who showed up," He says to his wife, as if I hadn't showed up yesterday. I feel awkward. I think the more up in politics they go, the more awkward I feel around them. They're definitely not the Mr and Mrs Williams I knew when I'd run round their garden with Pamela at eight.

Pamela's mom flashes me a huge smile, as she walks towards us looking like a femme fetal in that black dress. But she's so beautiful. Pamela definitely looks like her mom, and the only thing she took from her dad is the height. Standing at a rather tall height for a girl, 5'8. It's why I'm able to see her from behind her mom.

"Melly baby, how are you?" Mrs Williams asks, I'm about answering her but she's introducing me to the people around her husband. I automatically shut up, knowing my Fine isn't needed and will go completely unheard. "This is Melissa, second daughter of the famous Chaste Martinez."

I'm graced with focused gazes from the people I just got introduced to, as expected. Whenever things like this happen, I always get looked at as a daughter of wealth. Or the daughter of a man who's come all the way from Mexico to steal up wealth that shouldn't belong to him. Overtime, I could care less.

Especially now since I'm busy staring at Pamela. Her eyes watch me back from behind the glass of wine she's seeping.

There's still chatter amongst the people I'm around anymore, but I don't think it's about me anymore. Regardless, I whisper that I'll be upstairs to Mrs Williams.

"Oh, okay." She nods in response, though as if just realizing something, she calls for Pamela to come over. That her best friend is here. I thought as much that she wouldn't have told her parents about our drift, because besides the planning of this two day event being hectic, her relationship with them isn't tight enough to spill it out within a short period. 'Cause yes, Mr and Mrs Williams only came for this cause, to show that his family and friendship circle are doing Okay. By tomorrow or next, they'll be gone. It's always like that.

"Hi, bestie." Pamela greets, the hand without the glass of wine going round my shoulders to hug me. I can't even respond. Why is she hugging me? "Why didn't you come earlier? I texted you."

I glance up at her, "You did?" But she doesn't reply. I don't think she even heard, I barely heard myself. The question came out more as a whisper.

I remain unresponsive as she now turns so we stand side by side staring at her father's friends, with her hand still round me.

Her parents talk about how far back our friendship goes, adding some of the silly things we used to do back then, to which Pamela lets out a firm, "Mom. Please."

"What?" Mrs Williams laughs.

"Oh well, I'll take Melissa here with me so you don't burn her ears with stories she already knows." Linking an arm with mine, she does as stated. As we walk past different groups of people talking about whatever, I keep glancing up at her to know what's going on. But she never returns it, her face is kept straight ahead, and it doesn't help that we're of different heights.

I should've left my phone on, then I'd have seen her text. I didn't even bring my phone. Why didn't I bring my phone? I should've brought my phone. Wait, how would that help?

Are we friends now? Is she suddenly dropping all the hate? Maybe her parents told her something. That I'm nice. That I wasn't so awful a friend. That we shouldn't fight just 'cause of a boy. Maybe not her parents, but she saw it somewhere. Or—

"You can get something non-alcoholic here." She says, drawing me out of my thoughts. And into the kitchen. We push past the white door and automatically walk over to the island, our arms now unlinked. I choose a stool at the center of the left side, and for some reason she chooses to sit on the same one on the right side so we're basically right opposite each other.

There's no smiles anymore, no causality... just tension. It's like she didn't just call me bestie two seconds ago.

"What would you like, honey?" A maid asks me, and because of how awkward this whole thing is, I first of all just nod like that's an answer. It's when she blinks that I hastily tell her non-alcoholic wine.

Her glass now empty, Pamela sets it down on the table, arms crossed as she graces me with no more than a flat look.

The maid brings my wine over and once I thank her, she's gone. Actually everyone's gone, it's just me and Pamela.

"Um." I stutter, shifting a little on the stool. I watch her eyebrows go up at me, but no more than that for a change in facial expression. "I wanted to ask... Did you ever text me?"

Crazy enough, she seems to think about it. Wouldn't she know if she did?

Her eyes find mine again; and then. "No."

I watch her get down the stool, take her glass to the sink before strutting out of the kitchen. I'm first too stunned to stand, until I shake it off. And follow her.

Outside the kitchen is so crowded. I think it was this way even before we got in, but walking with her made it seem not. It was easier to maneuver people standing and talking, butlers, and of course women with dresses so long you could step on the ends.

Honestly, it's frustrating. So I stop walking and try to just look above the people to find her. That's when I finally find her. Though I'm met with her back, the peach dress she's in revealing almost all of her back, plus the blonde hair packed up in a tight bun let's me know it's her.

With correct knowledge of where she's at, passing people by doesn't feel so stressful anymore and in no time I'm following her up the stairs.

Since it's quiet here, my footsteps echo. As a result when she turns, her eyes instantly find mine. I first wonder if she'll tell me not to follow but she doesn't.

It's only when I've followed her all the way to her room that she reacts. "What do you want?"

"Why are you pretending we're friends?" I ask, ignoring how sad the sharp tone of her voice made me feel. "In front of your parents you said you text me. What's the whole act for?"

She wrinkles her nose, taking her eyes off to the side where the pink curtains flay largely like it might rain tonight. It might rain tonight. "They like you, my parents. That's why."

I cross my hands over my chest as she starts doing her own thing. Which is getting out clothes from her wardrobe and placing them on her bed. "They're not a big fan of any of my friends like they are of you, so yeah."

"Oh."

"Yes." She answers without bothering to look at me. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I thought things were getting better, that she was starting to rethink the cause of our fight and find it unnecessary. Maybe I thought we could be friends again.

"Pamela—"

"Melissa please. Not that, okay? The night'll be over before you know it, all I ask is for us to stay in character for my parents sake." For her sake, actually. But I don't correct her, not to lead to further strife.

"Are you really that mad at me?"

She pauses with the clothes. Sends me a death glare. A death glare that starts to soften as it appears to me she's thinking of it. "I'm not..." Sigh. "Melissa, I'm not mad at you. I'm just... hurt."

I feel a tug in my heart as what I'd assumed at the start of our fight was the case is confirmed. I really did think that at first, but she begun to look so angry I couldn't imagine her being hurt.

"I was at the party that night. When Amy showed me the picture. Same Amy who's never held back remarks of how much of a farce our friendship was and you know it. And she was right in the end, about everything. About how one-sided our friendship was. I suppose it's my fault 'cause since the very beginning it's always been me reaching out. I'm the one who chose to sit next to you in first grade, I'm the one who'd crawl up your window because you'd told your sister to tell me you weren't home, I'm the one who's always reached out. And I think the only reason we ended up friends was because I tried so hard and you got tired. Plus I see you're doing alright, anyway, with your Victoria friend. You've also got Tyler on your side, along with his friends. Saw you at their table the other day."

I remember it. I was also the person who'd offered to sit there. It's most likely the feelings I now knew he had for me that gave me the boldness to not sit alone at the cafeteria that day, but to walk all the way up to a table full of seniors and ask if I could join them. I was welcomed... nicely. Much better than I'd ever imagined to be honest. But at the end of the day, they were seniors. And strangers. So, I still felt out of place in all their conversations and confused at all their inside jokes. Tyler did squeeze my hand from time to time to make it all better and it did.

But I wish Pamela hadn't seen all that.

"You're doing just fine without me." She continues with a shrug, and a painful look in her hazel eyes that I notice have gotten glossier than usual. I want to hug her. Maybe I really would if she didn't shake her head and go back to tough girl mode. "So, yeah. For tonight, can we just pretend everything's fine?"

I never gave an answer to that, however my actions did. The rest of the night when we return downstairs, we pretend to be the best friends we were during summer. For her parents sake, rather than hers like I'd initially thought because as I started thinking about it later on, the truth is she doesn't want them to worry. To search up Colorado's best therapist. To think they're bad parents, or at least incompetent— which..... Well, I'm not one to judge so I won't say they are.

She's a great actress, Pamela, surely would do well in drama class. I'm not sure how I acted but I'm certain it was bad acting. Especially since my primary aim that I never achieved... was to correct Pamela. Tell her she's wrong. I'm not doing just fine without her.