My best friend in eighth grade was Emily. We were often thought to be sisters, inseperable, connected at the hip and every other cliche you can think of. We went everywhere and did everything together. We even finished each other's sentences, as scary as that thought is. Emily was the first person I trusted absolutely. I even let her read my diary, which , as any former thirteen-year-old girl knows, is huge.

About a week into the school year, our history teacher told all of his classes about an opportunity involving a little extra credit...oh, and a free trip to Washington DC, but he wasn't overly interested in that. If we wrote a five paragraph essay about the changes Ammerica should make to the government, how, and why, we'd recieve at least a C in his class that semester. Most of the class was not motivated by this prospect. It was eighth grade; we did not yet fully comprehend the meaning of G.P.A.

But to me, the passing grade was little more than a side dish to the main meal. I had never been further than a few miles beyond the state border. A trip all the way to the other side of the country, and for free to boot, was like some far off dream of fairies and waterfalls. But this dream had the possibility of coming true! I was all but drooling, already dreaming about flying in airplanes and getting lost in tourist centers. Needless to say, I decided to write the essay and enter the contest.

After class, I talked to Emily about it; she told me she would enter an essay too. At first, I thought nothing of it. Emily wanted to enter too, great! But about a week later my boyfriend (yes, I did the boyfriend thing at thirteen, don't laugh too hard) pointed out that if one of us won, the other would lose.

Emily and I had never been in a situation where one of us would come out the worse for wear before. I decided that it was best to just get the issue out of the way, reather than brooding over it and blowing the whole thing out of proportion. I confronted Emily about it that same day.

"Em, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked.

"Sure, what's up buttercup?" She replied, as always with that silly little phrase.

"Well, I just realized that if I win this contest, you'll lose. Are you okay with that?" I asked, not expecting anything unusual. But Emily was quiet for a moment before answering.

"What makes you think I can't beat you? What? Am I stupider than you or something?" She practically spat the words at me, then turned on her heel and stormed away.

What was I supposed to say to that? I hadn't been thinking like that at all. In retrospect, it really would have been better to word the question differently, but I was thirteen, secure in my relationship with my best friend, not thinking about that kind of thing, and a complete idiot. I tried to catch up to her, but she rounded a corner and disappeared in the sea of students crowding the hall. So, I walked home, trying to rationalize her very irrational reaction and getting angrier all the while. Upon arriving home, I went to my room, slammed my door, blasted my stereo, and cried my eyes out on the bed. I officially entered typical-teenagedom.

It was the first time Emily and I had ever fought in our three-year friendship. I was devastated and confused by her reaction to such a simple question. At least I had come to her with my concern for her feelings! At least I was't being stupid and saying my best friend thinks she's smarter than me, especially since that was the furthest thing from the truth.

As I sat there, stewing in contempt and self-pity, guilt managed to creep into the pit of my stomach. Did I really think I was smarter than her? Did I really believe that she couldn't beat me in some essay contest? Was I really that concieted? I fell asleep with these troubling thoughts and woke the next morning determined to settle this stupid dispute once and for all.

But Emily wasn't at school. I searched for her before school, between classes, at lunch and after school. But my attempts were fruitless. I called her house when I got home, only to have her mother tell me she was "away." In the end, I gave up and decided that two could play that game.

The next day was Saturday, and normally I would have hopped on my bike at nine in the morning to go to Emily's house. But on that Saturday I stayed home and worked on the essay. I had come to a vinidictive conlusion during the night. I wasn't just going to win the contest; I was going to slaughter Emily. She had acted like a child. Why not return the favor? Thirteen really is a very foolish age.

I worked for nearly a month on that essay. I must have written fifteen drafts, only to change my main idea and write fifteen more. I became my own drill sergeant, scolding myself for the simplest of mistakes, always looking for the best effort, then for ways to improve upon it.

At last the day came to hand in the essays. I had sheathed my weapon for Emily's downfall in a clear, plastic cover. I handed it over to my teacher much as a mother would her only child to the hands of death. Over the next week, I sat on tenterhooks, knowing all the while that my efforts would be wasted and that Emily would win. Friday arrived. Judgement Day had come. I sat in my seat, listening to the announcements as though God himself were speaking to me.

I lost most of what was said to the sound of my own chattering teeth, but I heard the principal say "Congratulations to Miranda Shanks. She has won the essay contest and will be going to Washington DC this summer!"

I punched the air with my fists and jumped out of my seat to do a little boogie-dance, getting high-fives and pats on the back throughout the rest of the class period. Emily losing didn't even cross my mind. All the evil thoughts I'd been having over the last month had been wiped from my memory. I smiled the entire period, envisioning the White House, with all its lords and ladies, and meeting the President (that was when I still liked him). What an adventure! But the best part of the day came after the bell rang.

I walked out of class and headed for my locker. I was about two feet away when a little blur intercepted my path. Emily had sprinted all the way from her side of the building to mine. She collided with me, screeching like a wild banshee, and hugged me, hard. It was both the most painful and best hug of my life. It was like the last month had never been. Everything was back to normal, aside from my aching ribs.

I took the trip to Washington DC, and did some truly amazing things. I visited the White House, saw all the historical monuments, and even found out I'm the same height as George Washington. I have to pictures to prove it. But all of that pales in my memory compared to a simple hug. One little action that made a lasting impression on me, and taught me that friends really do last forever, even after they grow apart, as long as they remember who they were then. It really is the simple things that make a difference.

Thanks, Emily.

Lilian Leader
April 2005