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- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
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- What Matters
Adj. Precise, as apposed to approximate.
It was a little too cold to be getting ice cream, but the wind had died down and the sun was out. We walked away from the shop laughing and licking away at our ice cream. I bit down on a hard M&M. Crunch, crunch. Maddy murmured another thank you for the ice cream. She took a huge bite, smearing ice cream all over her face. I started to giggle, and Maddy began to laugh, choking on the ice cream, which only made me laugh harder. A shout from across the street caught my attention. Maddy and I turned to watch Anna walk with her mom towards her car. I waved and smiled,
“Have a good break!” I yelled from across the street, pulling a funny face as I passed.
I kept bouncing along the sidewalk next to my friend, eating ice cream and reviling in the freedom of vacation.
“Oh, thank God, I’m going to be home in three hours!” I said between licks, smiling over at Maddy.
“You mean five,” she replied.
“Hm, so how was your math final?” I said. I took a big bite of ice cream, feeling the cold lump slide down my throat, freezing everything in its path.
“You can’t be home in three hours because of the bus ride and the plane flight,” she said, completely ignoring my question as she waved her ice cream in my face.
“Does it matter?” I squeezed a piece of waffle cone between my fingers.
“I’m pretty sure two hours matter,” she said, pausing between each word.
“Not really, I was just saying that I was happy to go home,” I said, exasperated. I took another bite of ice cream and angled away from Maddy on the sidewalk. I began to walk faster towards the dorm. I heard a snort for behind me, but I kept walking.
“Well, don’t you want to be right?” She said, keeping pace with me. Her voice rising.
“In this case I don’t think it really matters.”
“It always matters,” she said with a quirk of her lips and a tightening around her eyes. I let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of my neck, and staring up at the sky.
“I was speaking in general.” I said.
“But you’re wrong,” she turned to look at me. She was leaning forward, her face inches from mine. Cold coffee breath hit my face. I could see her rise to her tip-toes, making our heights almost equal.
“It doesn’t matter!” I said, throwing the words in her face.
“Don’t yell at me, I’m just telling you you’re not right.”