“We’ll talk about this later,” I told her.

What else could I say?

I drummed my fingers through the algebra exam and watched the clock as time inched by.

The day couldn’t possibly go by any slower.

I tried to take the time given to think about what I was going to say to her. But I couldn’t get passed it.

What do you say when your best friend confesses they love you? What do you say when they say they love everything you do, the way you walk, the way you laugh? What do you say when you’re faced between everything you were taught, and the only friend you’ve ever had?

I tried not to think about it.

Maybe if I pretended it hadn’t happen, she would too.

“Megan, did you hear me? I said I love you?”

Lord in heaven. This couldn’t be happening.

The bell rang suddenly. It seemed to echo in my head. I waited till the classroom cleared and tired to silence the pounding in my chest.

It didn’t make sense.

After being best friends for four years, how did I not see this coming? We spent nearly every minute together. We traveled through the states during the summers and planned all our classes in the fall. We went to church every Sunday and the movies every Friday night. I thought I knew her inside and out.

How did I miss that she a homosexual?

How did I miss that she wanted something more than just friends?

My heart was on fire. I was terrified. What was going to tell her?

She had just struggled through a terrible sickness and all on her own. She had lived her life with an abusive father and neglectful mother. She came to school in worn rags everyday and rarely had money for lunch. And I was always there. I wanted to be.

But I didn’t want this.

I didn’t her to say she loved me.

I didn’t want her to tell me I was all she had, the only thing keeping her stable.

“Megan, did you hear me? I love you? Say something?”

Say something?

What do I say? I can’t say I love you too Heather, that I’ve always loved you.
In truth, I wanted to mad. She knew I was Christian. She knew I’d been at the same church since I was three and that I didn’t believe homosexuality was right. She knew we were best friends and that no matter what my answer was; nothing would ever be the same. We could never go back to being best friends, even if we wanted too. There would always be this moment in the way.
“I had to tell you.”
Why? Why couldn’t she just ignore herself? Why couldn’t she just let things stay the same? Now how could I stand by her side when she cried? How would I be able to hug her tight or share the bed when she wanted someone to stay the night? How could be around her?
The hours dragged on.
The rain drizzled in the school parking lot as the students flooded in. The cars filed out pass me as I waited. I pulled my grey sweatshirt over my head, listening to the throbbing in my ear canal. I laced my fingers in and out, just waiting, panicking.
I looked up and there she was.
She stood a few feet in front me, she dyed dark curls a tangled wet mess in the rain. She’d left her hood down.
And as she looked up, I felt ashamed. Not for not loving her, but for judging her. So quickly, I had acted as most Christians do, with fear. She was still Heather. She was still my best friend. I could stand by her side now as much as ever and let know that I cared about her even now. I would never be able to love her in the same way, but together we could learn to understand and work through this experience.
She started to cry and apologize and I opened my arms as easily as any time before.
She was still Heather.
I could hug her when she cried and travel in the summers. I could sleep over and stay the nights laughing over old horror films. I could visit her in the hospital and I could love her as my best friend.
She was still Heather.
And I was still Megan.
And this was just a one more moment in our lives.
We would always be friends.