Part 1 
“The problem with planning my birthday party is that it gives me a chance to realize how many of my friends are no longer my friends,” I say. I’m leaning against the filing cabinet at the back of the classroom. Jess sits across from me on the heater, legs dangling a foot from the floor. She is wearing short shorts over leggings and a red plaid over an REM t-shirt. Don’t ask me how she pulls off this look. 
I’m not exactly fashionable...my Dad’s always saying how good I’d look in a button up, but the most I bother with most days is a clean t-shirt. I always feel weird wearing stuff people aren’t used to me wearing. I’d love to show up to school in a jean jacket or a fedora, but I just can’t. 
Jess nods. Birthday parties. Yes.  
“Yeah,” she says. “That was me last year with Amy and Is and those people. We weren’t really friends at that point, but I was just so used to inviting them.” 
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Or like, my out of school friends- what about them?” I sigh. It shouldn’t be this hard. 
“Oh, I always invite my friends from different places,” Jess says. “Nobody knows each other and it’s super awkward.” She grins. “It’s forced bonding.” I sigh, but I’m laughing. She’s both joking and not. I remember her last birthday party. 
“I just got so busy you know?” Like, most of my out of school friends are the ones I’ve become... what’s the word?” I think for a second. “Estranged from,” I say with a smile. She snorts. 
“You’ve become estranged.” 
“Yes.” There’s a pause. “Okay but seriously though. School is like scheduled time when I can see people. I never see my friends outside of school anymore.” 
I can’t help but think that it sucks, because there are people I really care about that I’ve lost contact with, and it’s not even really my fault. Stupid school. Stupid friends who don’t text back. I tried to write a song about it once: about people, one person really, who just stopped talking to me. I didn’t understand why or if it was my fault. The song didn’t get very far though. I’ve never been good at most creative things. 
I move from my spot against the cabinet and slide onto the heater next to Jess. I leave maybe a half a foot of space between us for safety. You can’t say I’m not careful. I really don’t want to mess up what we have. 
“I’m just so tired,” I say, breaking the quiet that has settled between us. “Not tired, just... tired.” Great. Go Justin. She seems to know what I mean though. 
“Yes!” she says. “I mean, I got 9 hours of sleep. I’m not tired, but I feel exhausted.” I smile. Exactly. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone just get it. She scoots into the space between us and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “It’s okay. We’re fine.” Then she leans in and whispers “but no hetero though.” I roll my eyes dramatically. 
My stomach doesn’t drop or melt or anything like that, but I have to admit it feels really good to be hugged. 
Part 2 
“The problem with planning my birthday party is that it gives me the chance to realize how many of my friends are no longer even my friends,” he says. He’s pouting again, and its kind or cute, because it makes him seem super huggable, like a big stuffed animal. I can totally relate though. 
“Yeah,” I say. “That was me last year with Amy and Is and those people. We weren’t really friends at that point, but I was just so used to inviting them.” 
That was a mess. We’d been growing apart for a long time, but we’d still hang out, so I didn’t have to admit to myself that we had nothing in common until a few months before my birthday. Amy got a boyfriend and her and Isobel would go to her house and talk about boy stuff. It’s not exactly true that I wasn’t invited, but it’s also not exactly true that I didn’t want to go. Anyway, by the time my birthday rolled around I had to turn around and really face it. God I was so upset. 
He nods and we joke around for a minute before falling into a comfortable quiet. He comes and sits next to me on the heater and I notice that his feet touch the ground when he sits. I’m still pretty bitter about my height.  
I’m so tired,” he says, then corrects himself. “not tired, just... tired.” I kind of want to make fun of him for his complete lack of eloquence, but I won’t. It’s kind of a hard thing to put into words. 
“Yes!” I say. “I mean, I got nine hours of sleep. I’m not tired but I feel exhausted.” There is just a level of doneness where it’s not even about being tired. If I was under slept that would make it worse, but its less about how long since I’ve slept and more about how long since I've had time to relax.  
“It’s okay. We’re fine.” I say in a mock comforting voice. I scoot over and give him a hug. “No hetero though,” I can’t help adding. I love running jokes. He rolls his eyes happily because he secretly loves them too.  
It’s nice that we can hug. I feel like we’re both a million miles away from wanting to be in a relationship, and that kind of makes it better. It makes it kind of perfect. It’s weird how I feel like I’ve known him for so much longer than I have. That’s so cliché, but I’m kind of a cliché person, and honestly who cares. Roses are romantic and I’d love to have someone say cheesy things to me. Maybe love is blind. And friendship isn’t something you should waste.