The first time that I saw you, somehow I knew that you would be my best friend or my enemy. I didn’t know that it could go both ways.

One day in the playground, I got you out of jail in a game of cops and robbers. After that we were inseparable. I went over to your house on the weekends where we talked for hours, stuffing ourselves with biscuits and blueberries. We got through junior high together, with all its cliques, mean teachers and embarrassment. I could never get embarrassed when I was with you. You were like my sister. We had tacky necklaces from Claire’s to prove it.

Then the coldness came. You still smiled, but it was forced and it made your cheeks stretch and your eyes pop out. You tilted your head a bit to the side like you did when you were talking to strangers that you wanted to impress. We only talked about unimportant things: Mrs. G. ’s hideous new haircut, or the latest episode of Gossip Girl. When we hung out with other friends, you’d talk about shows I didn’t watch or parties I hadn’t gone to. It didn’t happen all at once. Sometimes you would have flashes where things went back to the way they were. Each time, I hoped it would last. It didn’t.

You carefully eliminated my defenses like a skilful huntress. Sometimes, all you had to do was ignore me and our friends would understand: I was out. With stronger personalities you had to work a little harder. You picked apart all the mean or stupid things I’d said and carefully fed them to the right people. You told all my secret thoughts, sometimes just implying how I felt with a frown or a smirk.

After that you were free to circle in for the kill. In just two weeks, you successfully alienated all of my friends and potential friends. All my old friends made excuses about why they couldn’t hang out with me that weekend or why they preferred to walk down the stairs instead of taking the elevator with me. Even people that I would never have dreamed of sitting with turned their backs on me. I struggled. I tried to ask people what was wrong, but nothing was wrong. Nothing concrete anyway. After all, you can’t blame people for not liking you.

After that, you were free to gorge yourself on what was left of me. There was no one to challenge you now. You started calling my birthday “the date of hate”. You cut off the straps of my new bag when I left it in the classroom. You sent me awful messages by Facebook. You even kicked me-just once and not very hard. Not enough to make me cry out, but just enough to let me know you hated me.

Then it was over. We never spoke again.

Rest in Peace.