Sometimes, she draws pictures and writes short letters to her. She writes about her own day and asks her how was her's and wishes that she was there with her. And sometimes she attaches little comic strips in hope to make her laugh. The pictures and the letters were left unsigned. And she hopes one day she'll be strong enough to slip them in her locker.

Some days she'll watch her talk to others and watch her light up as something she truly loves is mentioned in the conversations and she can't help but smile. Some days she'll watch her amongst their group of friends. Just because. And she hopes that sometimes she'll gather enough courage to talk to her without mumbling or stumbling over those stupid things called words. She was better at writing things down. Sometimes she wishes life was scripted, but then decides against it because then life would be boring.

Once, on an act of whimsy, however, she was strong enough to slip one of her letters in her locker. It wasn't much. It was just a line, asking her how her day was.

Once, on an act of laughter, she takes her hand and dances with her, just a small fun dance, the ones where you grab someone and although you are in a postion of a waltz, you sway around aimlessly. She did it when they were at a friend's house, helping to make a project, and they had taken a break and one out of around 10 plays the piano, a song that most know, and they all had burst out singing and dancing and laughing.

Once, a long time ago, she told her about the stars, about the line I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish upon the first star I see tonight.

Ever since, she'd find a shining star in the pitch black sky, close her eyes tight and wish for the answers to those questions never asked.

Once, she had been feeling down and she didn't know why, but then she'd given her a great bear hug and asked what was wrong. She just told her she was feeling much better.

Once, she told her she was a great friend.

And then once, oh so long ago, she had told her about the stars, about wishes, about dreams.

And so ever since then, she'd find a star each passing night, and wishes for answers, answers to those questions she never once had the courage to ask.

Graduation. Seperation. Growing up. University. She finds herself in the midst of it all, and so she looks out at the night sky. She finds a star and wishes, wishes still for answers to those questions never asked.

They line up, in alphabetical order and in graduation gowns, waiting for each of their names to be called.

She walks onto the stage. Take the diploma. Shakes the principle's hand. Smiles. And walks accross and down the stage. She sits on back on her respected seat.

Other names were called. More seats in the crowd for the graduating students were filled. One last speech.

Then the caps were thrown freely in the air above their heads almost spontaneously. And then there was laughter and the great feeling of We made it, we pulled it through!

After all the hugs and great job! from her parents and sibkings, she sets out to find her friends, and she was glad she had done so because she had spotted her first, and they had walked and chatted and made a hunt out of finding their missing friends in the crowd.

They find the others after several minutes of searching. And there was bone-crushing hugs and several tears and reassurance of meeting up in the summer.

She hugs her last. It wasn't a short and brief hug like so many of the ones before. It was a long hug, perhaps a bit too long, but she didn't care, no one noticed anyways. She thinks that she could just stay there all day, in her arms, and she wishes that time stopped. But time never did, because she let go, because it's why this the last day of highschool, because they're leaving, each chasing dreams, the friends of three years.

And she's leaving her.

The thought hits her hard, harder than when someone tackled her when she was playing basketball a few months ago. And then she remembers she hadn't told them the news, the fantastic news that she had gotten a week ago. She had been accepted to one of the top art school in North America. That was the good news. The bad news? She's leaving in just two weeks.

Two weeks was not enough time to brace herself with the thought of leaving, the bravery she needed to tell her that she likes her, the strength to maybe mail one of her letters she had written long ago to her, without a return address or a signature at the bottom.

Her eyes flickers to her direction, and her breathing hitches when she starts to walk over. "We're all going to McDonalds," she says. And then, as if reading her thoughts she added, "Your sister asked your mom already. You guys can go."

Chuckling a little and a bit amused, she joins her and they catch up to their friends and together they walk the near by McDonalds.

They arrive rather quickly, it was just a block away, after all. They ordered and got their meals, sat down quickly and began to eat.

And that's when she gathers up courage. She gathers up strength. She closes her eyes, and tried to wish upon a star that wasn't there.

She didn't wish for answers to questions never asked. She wished for the strength to ask the questions, to physically tell her. And get an answer. A real one.

So when the rest of her friends went together as one gigantic group to get ice cream and apple pies, she stays behind with her. "Hey."


"How are you today?"

"Good. How are you?"



She decides this would be a good time to tell her. "I - uh, like you."

Her friend laughs. "I like you too."

"No - I mean, like, uh," she fidgets a bit. "More than friends."




"I got accepted in an art school."

"The one you wanted to get in to?"


"That's great!" her friend exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. "Did you just get the news?"

Oops, she thought. "Uh, two weeks ago, I got it."

"Well why didn't you tell us?"

"Uh," she rubs the back of her neck. "Um. I leave in two weeks."


"Oh I think they're asking if I want ice cream I'll just go over there real quick and-"

Her friend didn't buy it. She takes her by the wrist and pulls her down. "Where are you going?"

"Ontario," she squeaked.


She looked over to her friend. SHe had let go of her wrist.

"You look upset," she notices.

Her friend just tuck her hand away on her lap. "Do you want an answer?"

"To what?"

"To whether I like you or not. As more than friends."

She hesitates for a bit. And then, finally, after all this time, she said, "Yes."

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